by Jackie Ivie
Scrawny arms? Morgan wondered, trying to curb the insult from showing on her. She had well-developed and tanned arms. She could do a hundred push-ups, and take down any of her lads in an arm wrestle. And Zander FitzHugh called them scrawny? “I’m as good with it as I am with my dirks. Maybe better.”
“Just as I suspicioned. On your toes, lad. We’ve been sighted.”
Morgan looked up at the thirty-some-odd men cresting the hill and coming head-on at them. Unconsciously she stopped her pace and stepped a bit to the back of Zander. They were approaching a Scottish gathering, and wearing FitzHugh colors? They were going to be surrounded and captured, maybe even stoned themselves.
“FitzHugh?” One of the leaders bellowed
“Zander.” He bowed deeply. “Of the Highland FitzHughs. Doona’ mistake me for my eldest brother.”
“We’ve heard of you, Zander. You may approach. You can bring your frightened boy with you, too.”
Zander’s glance said enough of his disgust that Morgan didn’t have to guess what he thought. She set her lips and stepped out from behind him. She’d never done anything so insane before. She’d been the only one in her village brave enough to challenge the ghosts of the dead! Yet now she had acted so completely against her character, she didn’t know what to think.
She hung her head a bit, then raised it. She had acted like a frightened rabbit for a moment or two, when she hadn’t done anything like that in more years than she could count. It was Zander’s fault, too. He had her dirks.
“Smart lad,” Zander whispered. “They’ll na’ suspect your expertise if they expect fear.”
Morgan’s face split with a grin, then she stopped in her tracks. She was smiling because the kin of her mortal enemy praised her? She was going insane! She pulled the sling-shot from her wrist and started stretching it as she jogged to catch up with them.
There were more people in that gathering than in her village, and more than she’d seen, alive at one place, in her life. Morgan hung back behind Zander, catching the interested eyes of lasses as they eyed first Zander, and then her. She had to look away from more than one who would lower her lashes a bit and then boldly stare back at her. Morgan knew her cheeks were rosy. She just didn’t know how to stop it.
“Look about, lad. There’s lasses a-plenty here. There might even be one fitting your ideal maid.”
‘‘Perhaps. There’s also sow-size ones for you, I notice.”
His lips twisting was the only sign he’d heard. “I’ve seen their stoner. He’s of a slender size, like yourself. Very accurate. If you best him, I’ll give you one of your dirks.”
“Two,” she returned, beneath her breath.
He glanced sidelong at her. “Very well. Two,” he agreed.
There were two stuffed dummies placed on poles, already showing the results of earlier contests. Morgan eyed them. From the marked-off distance, she could take out any piece of straw on either dummy’s head.
“’Tis too easy,” she complained.
Zander held up his arm and started speaking, in such a loud booming voice, Morgan wasn’t the only one staring at him with her mouth open. “My friends! I’ve a gamble to make today! I’ve a newly acquired squire you see before you. Not much, you think? Well, this lad will take out your target’s eye at this range, much less any hit. I suggest we double the distance! Are there any takers?”
Three. Morgan eyed them as they did her. Three young men, not one as tall as her, but none with what Zander would describe as scrawny arms.
“He’s got no strength to toss with, and you’ve not shown us the color of your silver.”
“A Scotsman with silver? The fairies have stolen your wits. I’ve more than silver, though. I’ve this squire. He’ll make any a fine servant, and well-trained he is, too. I’ll personally guarantee his service for three years.”
“Zander!” Morgan gasped, lifting her eyes to his. She had a perfect aim, but had never had it tested with her own freedom at stake.
“The lad begs to differ!” Zander shouted, “His aim is so true, he’ll give five years, and mark off another ten paces!”
He wanted to be rid of her that much? Morgan felt what had to be her heart hitting the region of her well-filled belly, and then she was angry. So angry in fact, that her entire body shook with it. She controlled it viciously, until only her hands felt it, and then it stilled. Zander FitzHugh was going to rue the day he put her on the bargaining block. She was going to enjoy making him, too, and he was going to give her two dirks back for the pleasure.
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
“What is the contest?”
“One of your stoners hits the dummy. If my squire hits the same spot, I gain another servant for a term of a year, either the stoner or a member of his family. If he loses, the stoner gains my servant for a period of five years. Who takes the challenge?”
The three young men all stepped forward again. Morgan eyed them again and her lips tightened. What was Zander going to do with three more squires? she wondered.
The distance was doubled, by taking both dummies and marching them a significant piece away from the tents. Then ten paces were added. Morgan ignored what they were doing as she went looking for stones. That’s when the nymph she’d described earlier to Zander tapped her on the shoulder and held out seven, perfectly rounded stones.
Morgan looked up into the most beautiful green eyes she’d ever seen, set in the most beautiful face, surrounded by a wealth of reddish-brown hair, and atop the most perfect form a bliant could wrap. Morgan wasn’t male, and she knew she wasn’t male, but everything in her that was female was instantly alerted.
Her eyes widened at the instant emotion, and her nostrils flared with it. She had her teeth so tightly gritted that her jaw twinged. The girl smiled.
“For luck,” she whispered, picking up Morgan’s hand and dropping the stones into it. Then, she blew her a kiss. Morgan’s knees jerked and she searched for Zander. The last thing she needed was a lass like this making love-struck eyes at her. Zander would be unstoppable with his teasing.
“Who wishes to be humiliated first?” Zander called loudly. “My squire grows impatient, and I’ve three servants to gain! Come, my friends! Put your champion forward!”
The largest stepped up, fit a stone into his sling and started swinging. He spun it too fast, Morgan noticed, intent more on speed than accuracy. She wasn’t surprised when he hit one of the dummy’s arms, although a great cheer went up in the crowd.
“Your turn, Morgan,” Zander said.
Morgan fit one of the stones into her sling, and started looping it cross-wise at her side, barely missing her own body with it. Then, she let it fly. The arm fell off with her shot, and the gasp that ran the crowd was more gratifying than anything she’d ever experienced. Morgan lifted her eyebrows and met Zander’s gaze.
“Check it, Ian “
“Aye! See it checked! It must be a trick, “one of those gathered about said.
A young lad ran to the arm and brought it back, and there was some consternation as they tried to find where Morgan’s stone had hit it. Zander explained it to them before he dug out her stone. She’d put it in the exact same hole.
That gasp of reaction was even more stimulating than the first had been, and she smiled before ducking her head.
“Is there another taker?”
“Best two of three!” The stoner yelled. “Lucky shot!”
“Morgan?” Zander asked. She shrugged. “My squire accedes to my wishes, and I’ll grant it. Best two of three. You! Take your shot.”
This time, he was sweating, and tried harder. His shot was faster than the previous one, but did as little damage, as it winged where the hip would be, leaving a half-hole.
“Can you hit the same spot now, squire?” he taunted Morgan.
“How will I prove it?” she asked quietly.
“What the lad says is truth. There is na’ way to prove it unless we fill the hole with something,” Zande
r’s booming voice replied.
“Hit the other side,” someone suggested.
“I have a better idea,” Zander spoke. “Take a bit of this biscuit and plug the hole. Ian?” He motioned for the young lad again. “Go out and stuff this into the hole.” He held out one-half of a MacPhee irresistible biscuit to the young man and everyone waited until it was set into the gap.
Morgan stepped up to the line, selected another of the stones and set it. Then, she began spinning her sling, letting it fly when the arch was perfect. The biscuit didn’t move.
“He missed!” the stoner yelled.
“Did I?” she asked quietly.
Zander met her gaze. “Send Ian out for the biscuit. Go lad.”
They all waited until he returned. Morgan knew what they’d find and enjoyed every bit of the surprise, awe and then applause at the hole that went right through the center of it.
“The lad is good, FitzHugh. He’s very good. My boy will be honored to accompany you as your newest squire.”
Zander bowed his head, accepting the lad. Then, he motioned to the remaining two men. “Who takes the challenge next? Well? Speak up lads! I’ve a hankering for a new tent and servants to assist with it. Who is next?”
“I’ll na’ take the challenge,” one of them said and backed from the line.
“That leaves Jaime,” someone said. “Jaime canna’ take the challenge, either.”
“Hush, Ma,” he said.
“But you’re my only son. I canna’ do without you. The crops, the babes, you know with your father gone....”
“Hush, Ma,” he said again.
“Does the lad have siblings?” Zander yelled. “I’ll not ask more than a year of fealty from them. Then, I’ll return the child to you, Mistress.”
“I’ve seven daughters, m’lord,” she replied.
“Daughters? What say you, Morgan? Can we take a servant girl with us?”
“’Tis unseemly,” she answered. “Who would be there to see to her modesty?”
“Have you two daughters you’d send with us, Mistress?”
“Two? Jaime?”
“You already have me losing, Ma,” he protested.
“True, but you saw the lad. We all saw the boy.”
“It will mean two less mouths for you to feed, Mistress Hobbs. Two less. And Zander FitzHugh is a man of his word. If he does na’ return them next year we’ll all search out the why.” The old man talking had the respect of the grouping all about them. Morgan watched the nodding of heads at his words.
The murmurs seemed to surround them. Morgan listened to the hum of sound without hearing it. She wondered why Zander was so insistent that he have new servants. According to him, he already had too many. She shook her head at it.
“I take the challenge,” the lad named Jaime said and stepped up the line.
CHAPTER SIX
Morgan followed at the rear of Zander FitzHugh’s new band of servants, trying to ignore the lasses. She should have known that Jaime’s sisters included the chestnut-haired nymph, and worse, that Zander would spot her and start his teasing. Morgan tried to keep from catching the girl’s eye but every time she turned around, she was looking for FitzHugh’s first squire, and eye contact was made.
Morgan blushed the last time, and hoped it would get dark soon. She had yet to relieve herself, and it was going to be even more difficult to do so with as many servants as Zander FitzHugh seemed intent on gathering. That was coupled with the distinct displeasure of not having him to herself, too.
She could hardly wreak any amount of vengeance on him with another squire serving his every need. Worse still, this new squire knew about horses. Zander kept a companionable arm about the boy’s shoulder and talked horses and battles and manly talk, while Morgan brought up the rear, doing her best to avoid catching the beautiful lass’s eye.
She probably should have missed the dummy, she thought.
“Morgan!”
“Aye?” She lifted her head and met Zander’s eye.
“Show the lasses the cook-fire. Not the one I bedded in, the other one, and then go get us another meal. I’ve a hankering for partridge. Can you hunt me a partridge?”
“I’ll need an arrow,” she answered.
“You hear that, Martin? He needs but one arrow. He’s that cocky and self-assured. You’re a fair shot, too, though. That’s why I wanted you. Can you imagine better squires than two as good as you two are at stoning? There won’t be an enemy allowed near me.”
Morgan snorted her disgust. As good as what two? she almost asked.
“Hello,” the girl said.
Morgan’s eyes widened and she mumbled something the girl took as a greeting as she matched her steps to Morgan’s. Morgan walked a bit farther with each one, forcing the girl to increase her stride. The girl was even more beautiful up close. She was small, too. She barely reached Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan already detested her.
“You’re called Morgan? ’Tis a manly name, to be sure. You’ve a very good aim, too. I’ve never seen such a shot. I had shivers!”
“Uh…thanks,” Morgan answered. She looked away from where the girl was hugging herself, easily forcing a bit of cleavage to the top of her shift. She wondered what the girl would say if she was told that Morgan’s real name was Morganna. She decided against asking it.
“Her name is Sheila, Morgan.” That voice Zander had used on the crowd was just as loud in the forest near his camp, she decided. She cringed from it. “You’ll have to give him a bit of time, Sheila. He’s shy. So shy he can’t even ask your name when it’s what any lusty lad would be for asking.”
“I was going to ask it,” Morgan replied loudly. Then, she turned to the girl. “Your name is Sheila, then?”
“Aye.”
She met Morgan’s glance, dropped her eyes and blushed. Morgan nearly choked.
“And my sister’s name is Amelia.”
“Sheila...and Amelia?” Morgan asked, looking to the younger, even more petite one. That one met her gaze and blushed, too.
Well, at least my gender isn’t in question, Morgan thought, although everything was getting plenty mixed up and confusing. It was all due to trying to turn Zander FitzHugh over on that battlefield, too. She should have listened to her instincts and stayed at Elspeth’s hut, eaten another unpalatable sup, bedded down on the earthen floor, and left that field unpicked.
Morgan nearly cheered their arrival at Zander’s camp, and she didn’t waste any time showing the lasses where the cook-fire was. She also wasn’t wasting time when she pulled his bow and an arrow out, looked at Zander and took another. Then, she was off, loping through the forest in such a hurry, she was scaring off game.
She didn’t stop until she’d gone far enough away that her lungs were on fire. She didn’t like the heavy pressure on her chest, either. She didn’t know what to make of any of it.
She only had to use one arrow to bring down his partridge. Without waiting, she drew aim and took a second bird. Now that they were five, it would take more to feed them. She still wondered why he wanted it this way.
Morgan had everything back in perspective when she got back to camp, finding it easily from all the noise. Martin was hacking away at logs, the girl named Amelia was sighing over his use of strength, Sheila was trying to make some semblance of order out of the sacks all about the ground and Zander was erecting another tent, although there was already a red-striped one tucked between two trees. Morgan stood at the edge of the clearing, the birds hanging by their claws from her hands and took it all in.
It looked like more of a permanent settlement than a camp. She wondered what that meant.
“There you are! Gone ages and avoiding all the work, as usual. It’s a good thing you’re a good provider. Give those to the lasses to pluck and skewer and come assist me.”
Morgan tossed them to the ground beside Sheila, avoided her smile and hurried over to him.
“Stand in the center and brace it until I get it tied down. I couldn’
t use anyone else. They’re too short.”
Morgan tried not to feel pleased about being needed, but she did. She stood until her arms were numbing, while he drove in some stakes, pulled on ropes and kept up a tuneless whistle, in between flirting outrageously with his new servant girls. All of which hit Morgan in her belly while she stood there impotently holding a tent up.
He had new servant girls, and they were probably maiden girls...and he liked them that way best of all...
And Morgan had procured them for him! She had to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t be ill. She was never ill. Her eyes stung with unfamiliar moisture as she looked over at him, nonchalantly leaning on one hip, his hand planted on it, and showing a clear silhouette of that manly physique to Sheila and her sister.
Morgan glared at him, giving every bit of her hatred to it. Zander looked up then, caught her gaze and grinned. Then he pointed down at the girl, before pointing back to himself.
Morgan sneered. If she had to pretend jealousy to keep the girl safe, she would. It was the least she could do for the girl’s mother and her brother, Jaime.
Zander pulled back in surprise. Then, he was pointing down at Sheila and over at Morgan.
She narrowed her eyes and nodded.
He stepped back, lifted both hands in surrender before walking back over to her. “About time you found some of it, lad,” he said when he got there.
“Get back to purgatory where you belong,” Morgan hissed.
He chuckled. “I’ll bet Sheila’s hair falls just like a curtain when it’s loose.”
Morgan clenched her teeth until her lower jaw hurt.
“It probably feels as fine as that tunic you wear beneath your shirt, too. What say you to that?”
“You owe me two dirks,” she replied finally.
“Well, I’m not so sure I should give them to you.”
“You a liar as well as a lecher, Master Zander?” she asked, snidely.
“You’re jealous.”
‘‘Perhaps,” she replied with as little inflection as possible.
“I would be stupid to put knives in the hands of a rival, no?”