Page 17 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D avina gathered the remnants of her roll of bandages and fastened the lid on the tinctures and creams. Replacing them in her basket, she was about to head back to the infirmary when Everard emerged from the house. A little imp inside her was disappointed to see he had regained his shirt.

His bow and the leather quiver containing his arrows were slung over his shoulder, and he was sheathing his broadsword in the leather strap on his shoulder.

“I wished tae thank ye, lass.” He took the basket, his hand folding over hers as he did so.

Something like a bolt of lightning shot through her as their hands met, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

“Would ye permit me tae walk ye back tae the infirmary?”

Almost lost for words, she shook her head. “I… dinnae wish tae keep ye from yer archery.” She glanced at the bow slung casually over his shoulder. “’Tis a fine hunting bow ye carry.”

“Aye it is.” He grinned at her and raised a curious brow. “And how daes a gentle lass such as yerself ken one bow from another?”

“I once had me own bow and arrows.” Her heart leaped, a sliver of memory swimming in her mind. “Mayhap I learned as a child. I cannae remember. But when I was at the Priory I would sometimes hunt small prey fer the cooking pot. Rabbits, hares, squirrels.” She gave a soft laugh. “I pride meself on having a good eye fer a target.”

He gestured toward the target on its stand at the end of the grassy butt some distance away. “Would ye enjoy some target practice this morning? I would fair enjoy a challenge tae me skill since young Ulric is abed and cannae compete.”

“Ye’re joking, me laird?”

“Nay. I’m well serious. Ye could test yer skill against mine in a contest. If ye win best of five, I’ll give ye a wee pouch of coins tae spend at the next fair in the village.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. What a joy it would be to make her own purchases at the fair. Why, there was a comb she’d longed for, a scarf, a pair of dainty carved-bone earbobs They could be hers if she won this wager.

“I’ll agree tae yer contest, me laird.” She flung him a look full of mischief. “But what will be yer reward if ye happen tae win at this game?”

He hesitated for a moment, scratching his head thoughtfully. “Ah lass. I could ask ye tae make me a potion that would make me handsome.”

She shook her head at that, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes. “Nonsense, me laird. Ye’ve nae need fer such a potion. Ye’re handsome already.” She felt a surge of heat to her cheeks. I am flirting with him.

He hesitated a moment and she caught the light in his eyes.

“So, what d’ye desire should ye win?”

Everard was almost in a daze.

Observing the way the lass had attended the giant so tenderly, watching her elegant, slim, hands stroking Ulric’s leg as she felt around the swelling, her fingers splaying over his ankle, and then slipping so delicately along his foot and around his toes, had aroused him in a way he’d never before believed possible. It had started a most god-awful throbbing in his groin, and it was the devil of a job to divert his thoughts to poor Ulric’s pain in order to keep at bay the threatening hardness of his manhood.

Of course, it was unseemly of him to contemplate those sensuous hands of hers on his body, slowly stroking his leg, gently probing higher, and even taking his shaft and sliding…

He coughed.

She was close enough to catch her delicate rose scent. If only he could throw his arms around her, and kiss her with all the hunger that was building inside him.

She would be horrified if she had even the slightest inkling of me wicked conjuring.

He managed, at last, to disentangle himself from his rampaging thoughts and return to the game at hand. His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “Well lass, if ye think me handsome enough that I’ve nae need fer one of yer potions, mayhap I could steal a wee kiss from ye, instead.”

Now, not only was she was quite certain this was flirting, she reveled in it. It set the blood rushing in her veins and her heart hammering a fierce beat against her ribcage.

She tossed her head and a wealth of auburn curls spun at her neck. “Well, if that is all ye wish as the winner of our contest, I cannae refuse it.”

“A contest it is, then.” Laughing, he placed her basket on the rock, unhitched his broadsword and took the bow and quiver from his shoulder.

He brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead. The blue of his eyes had deepened as he met her gaze.

“Daes this contest have rules, me laird?” Her palms were suddenly damp, and her mind was racing. What kind of madness was this, accepting the MacNeil’s challenge? By God’s bones, he must surely be the best archer in all the islands. And he’ll take his prize.

A kiss.

The air rushed out of her lungs and she froze at the thought of his lips on hers. Why, in the name of all that was holy, did her thoughts leap from kissing to that glimpse of his beautiful naked chest? Furthermore, now that the word ‘kiss’ had been mentioned, why could she not put out of her head the thought of them coming together, of her hands slipping over that warm flesh she’d glimpsed that was so enticing. Oh, the sinful joy of tweaking his nipples and toying with the smattering of those short black hairs? Or even, what it might feel like against her own nakedness?

Such wicked but delicious thoughts.

Everard cleared his throat. “Have ye changed yer mind Mistress Davina? Daes the thought of me taking me prize make ye afraid?”

“Why… nay… nae at all,” she stammered guiltily, striving to discard her vision of their kissing. “I’ve nay fear at all, me laird.” She met his steady gaze. “Fer I will win the contest and take yer purse.”

He nodded, “Of course ye will. And I shall be happy tae give ye the purse.” He paced toward the target and made a mark in the grass with his foot. “This is the mark where we’ll stand tae shoot our arrows.”

He proffered the bow. It was made of stout yew and was elegantly shaped and formed. She took it in her hand, weighing it. “’Tis heavier than I am used tae, but I see it is well-balanced and will fire the arrows with great accuracy.”

“Aye. ‘Tis mine since boyhood. Good fer hunting but nae fer warfare. Fer that I keep the longbow.”

She took this in, nodding slowly. Yes. There were different bows for different purposes. Was this knowledge she’d forgotten? It had a familiar ring to it, causing her to think that in some time in her past she’d been among warriors.

He took one of the wooden arrows from the quiver and handed it to her. “D’ye need me tae assist ye in nocking it?”

“Nay, me laird. I can dae it meself.”

Her hands were shaking slightly as she again gauged the weight of the bow and the tautness of the string. She nocked the arrow into place and drew back the drawstring, focusing her eyes on the target, striving to tame her trembling hands. She lowered the bow, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Are ye all right, Davina?”

“Aye. I am sorry, I need a moment tae gather meself.”

He nodded. “Would it make it easier fer ye if I were tae have the first shot.”

“Mayhap that would help me tae settle.” She handed over the bow and arrow, breathing a series of steadying breaths in and out.

Everard took up the bow lightly and nocked the arrow with scarcely a pause. Squinting at the target, he drew back the string and let the arrow fly. It landed with a satisfying ‘thunk’ on the outer edge of the innermost circle, close - but not quite on - the bullseye.

She took her turn, still not as settled as she wished to be. And, as he’d half-expected, her arrow landed just outside the mark where Everard’s had hit.

“Dinnae fash, Mistress Davina. Ye’ve still got four more attempts.” There was a certain smugness in his tone that immediately aroused her determination, overcoming the slight tremble that still remained.

She would show him she was no dithering convent weakling, but someone with the heart and soul of a hunter. Or even a warrior.

Stepping up to the mark she inhaled a deep breath and held it while she nocked the arrow and raised the bow. With her eyes focused resolutely on the bullseye, she counted to three in her mind and exhaled her breath as she let the arrow loose.

This time, it flew sharp and keen to the very center of the inner circle.

She handed the bow to Everard and stood aside while he took his turn. His arrow flew straight, landing slightly closer to the bullseye than his first attempt.

He handed the bow back to her and took another arrow from the quiver. “Here lass. Dae yer best tae reach the bullseye again.”

Was that a mocking smile? Did he think her first attempt was only down to good luck?

She took up the bow and nocked the arrow, even more determined than she’d been with her first effort.

This time her arrow landed beside the first, and she turned to him with a grin of triumph.

Let him try and better that.

His third arrow struck the target only a hair’s breadth from where her second arrow had lodged. He nodded as he passed the bow and took another arrow from the quiver to hand to her.

“Methinks we are well-matched, Davina.”

When she looked up and caught his gaze she wondered at his meaning.

Her next arrow went a tiny bit astray from the center mark, but not enough for her to be dismayed. She was still confident that her arrows were better positioned than those of Everard.

She handed the bow to him. “We’ve one more attempt. This will show us who is tae be the winner.”

He took the bow and nocked his arrow. His dashing smile had vanished, replaced by a grimly set jaw and his eyes fixed unblinking on the target. She held her breath. Her purchasing excursion to the fair was riding on this next shot.

And so was the kiss.

Not daring to breathe, she waited. Sure enough, the arrow flew true and keen to splice apart the second arrow she’d fired. It had been her best shot, already lodged deep in the very heart of the target.

She gasped. How can I ever hope tae best that?

And, by God’s bones, the laird’s eyes were shing with triumph.

Planting her feet apart, she took the bow, setting her nerves to steel, her hand as steady as the rock beneath Castle Kiessimul, her eyes on the prize.

Breathing in and out slowly, she brought herself to the moment when there was nothing in her thoughts but the distant target and the arrow standing upright at its center.

She drew back the string, released the arrow and closed her eyes.

At the sound of Everard’s gasp beside her, her eyes sprang open and she dared to look at the target. It took a moment for her to come to grips with what she saw. Her arrow had split his last shot in two, just as his had cleaved her second arrow apart.

“Well done lass.” He gave his head a disbelieving shake. “By me calculations we’ve scored exactly the same fer our efforts.”

Her heart stammered as she grasped all that that meant.

“It seems ye’ve a purse tae spend.” He was laughing as he reached for her hands and twirled her around. Breathless, dizzy with delight she ended up almost in his arms, heart pounding, laughter bubbling up.

I’ve done it. I’ve shown the laird I am his equal. At least where the bow and arrows are concerned.

Her eyes widened at the prospect of visiting the fair, but alas it was still some days off. She allowed herself a little happy dream of the scarf and earbobs and, mayhap, a sweet treat.

As her eyes lit on the arrows still lodged in the target, she caught her breath, making a mental tally as she did so. Ten arrows. First Everard’s and then hers. Studying the position of each of them, clearly added up to an equal score for their efforts.

She had won the purse. But he had won the kiss.

“Ye will have tae curb yer impatience fer the purchases ye will make…” he was saying. But she was hardly listening. Her blood was running thick at the prospect of him claiming his reward. A sudden tingling was coursing through her, starting with her lips, descending to her belly and rushing all the way to the forbidden place between her thighs.

She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, their ice-blue had darkened so that they were almost the color of sapphires.

“…but it is trying me sorely tae curb me impatience fer our kiss.”

With that, she was in his arms. Whether she’d propelled herself there or whether he’d simply wound her tighter, she could not tell

All at once she was close enough to breathe in his scent of leather and smoke and feel his breath in her hair. It was like the dreams she had, where he was holding her.

He brushed a wayward tress back from her forehead and smiled down at her and she saw longing in his eyes. His body was hot and hard against her, and she could scarce believe he was holding her as if she was beautiful and made of precious porcelain.

She raised her face, waiting and longing to feel the kiss she knew would come.

His lips hovered over hers for what seemed an eternity. Has he changed his mind? He daesnae wish tae kiss me?

“Me laird. Ye won the rights tae me kiss. Have ye decided that ye dinnae wish tae claim it now?” The words were out before she could stay them.

He looked to the sky as if he was hoping to find an answer there. Still keeping her close, he shook his head.

“Davina, I ken ye’ve nae been kissed before. Are ye certain that ye dinnae mind me claiming me prize?”

She looked up at him with pink cheeks.

“Me laird, I have nae been kissed, but now that ye’ve won me kiss, I want nothing more than tae find out what it is like tae be kissed by a man.”