Chapter 49

Jenefer had simply acted on instinct.

She wouldn’t have fired.

She knew the difference between a real threat and an imagined one. Even if that imagined threat was brandishing his claymore at her again.

He’d only startled her.

And she’d definitely startled him. His eyes widened, and he slid to a halt not five yards from her.

For a breathless instant, frozen in time, they stared at each other. Her three fingers, curled around the taut bowstring, were all that kept her from loosing the arrow and slaying him where he stood.

And he knew it.

Two days ago, she might have considered shooting him. This was war, after all. And one Highlander was a low price to pay for a prize like Creagor.

But two days ago, she hadn’t known Morgan. Two days ago, she hadn’t been in love with him.

From behind her, William suddenly squeaked with guilt. “M’laird!”

She heard the lad’s bow clatter onto the grass. Without turning around, she knew he’d turned as red as a cherry.

They’d been caught. And now Morgan would confiscate her weapon.

She silently swore.

Defying Morgan would only make things worse. With a sigh of frustration, she lowered her longbow.

Morgan’s fear vanished, replaced by anger and outrage.

“Where did ye get that weapon?” he demanded, indicating her longbow with the point of his sword.

Jenefer had intended to be reasonable. She’d intended to remain calm. But his question made her hackles rise.

“This? ’Tis mine,” she declared. “I found my longbow in your armory. Where did you get it?”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and she saw him muttering curses under his breath. To William he said, “Leave us.”

“Aye, m’laird,” William choked out.

“Wait!” Bethac’s sharp bark, coming from the nursery window above them, surprised Jenefer as much as it did Morgan. “Ye stay right there, William.”

The lad hesitated, unsure whether to obey his laird or his grandmother.

“M’laird,” Bethac continued, “ye cannot blame the lad or the maid. ’Twas my idea.”

“Your idea?” Morgan burst out. “Your idea to arm a lass who has a grievance against me?”

“Och, m’laird! She has no grievance against ye. Do ye, lass?”

To be honest, she had several. But Bethac didn’t give her time to answer.

“Besides, I’ve been right here, keepin’ an eye on her the whole time,” the maid continued.

“She has,” Feiyan confirmed, appearing at the window beside Bethac.

Jenefer didn’t mention that she could have shot William, Morgan, and half the laird’s army before the old maid could have done anything about it.

Morgan probably knew that as well. “So ye approved o’ this? Ye approved o’ your kin consortin’ with the lass?”

“Consortin’?” Bethac scoffed. “I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about. The lass was only doin’ me a kindness, trainin’ my William so he’d not be killed in battle.”

“Battle?” William yelped. “Is there to be battle?”

“Nay!” Morgan ground out in exasperation. “There will be no battle.”

“But there could be,” Bethac argued. “And ye can’t deny his marksmanship has improved. Hasn’t it, lad?”

“Och, aye,” William said with a proud grin.

“He hasn’t missed the target once,” Feiyan said. “And he shot two bull’s-eyes.”

“The lass is remarkable, m’laird,” Bethac gushed, “as skilfull as Flidhais.”

Jenefer lifted her chin a notch. It wasn’t the first time she’d been compared to the goddess of the hunt.

“Flidhais? Is that so?” Morgan asked, arching a sardonic brow. “So ye think I should put her in charge o’ my army now?”

“Och, nay, o’ course not,” Bethac said, wrinkling her nose. “Just the archers.”

Morgan pressed at his throbbing temple.

Jenefer bit her lip. Here was a tempting idea. If Morgan put her in charge of the archers, she’d get to keep her weapon.

“I’ll do it,” she blurted out.

“What?” he scoffed.

“I’ll train your archers.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“Aye,” said Bethac. “Why not?”

He glanced up at the maidservant. Jenefer knew he didn’t wish to reveal the truth to her. That the warrior maids were not in fact guests, but prisoners. Not innocents to be protected, but foes to be feared.

“I can train them myself,” Morgan said.

“Do you doubt my skills?” Jenefer said in bold challenge.

“Do ye doubt mine?”

She gave him a grim smile. She’d never seen him draw a bow. But she was confident she could outshoot any man.

“I’ll make you a wager,” she offered. “Three shots. Whoever wins gets command of the archers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“A contest of arms!” Feiyan cheered from above.

“You can even fetch your own longbow to make it a fair match,” Jenefer said. “I’ll wait.”

“I’m not goin’ to shoot against ye,” he told her.

“Why not? Are you afraid you’ll lose?”

Young William stepped forward in his defense. “Laird Morgan isn’t afraid of anythin’. Isn’t that right, m’laird?”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked. He was trapped now. And he knew it.

“Very well. I’ll shoot against ye,” he said. “But only on one condition. If I win, your bow belongs to me.”

Feiyan crowed with glee.

Jenefer shrugged. “Fine.”

He stabbed his claymore into the ground and gestured to William. “Lend me your bow?”

Jenefer lifted her brows. “Don’t you want your own weapon?”

William’s bow was far too small and light for him. Unless he tempered his strength, he risked breaking it.

“’Twon’t be necessary,” he boasted, taking the bow and three arrows that William offered.

“You’re sure?”

He answered her with a smug grin as he stabbed his three arrows into the ground. Then he indicated with a magnanimous sweep of his hand that she should shoot first.

She looked forward to wiping that grin off his face.

William quickly removed the arrows still stuck in the target and stood back to watch.

Jenefer gave Morgan a smoky smile as she slowly drew an arrow from her quiver. Then, just to unsettle him, she didn’t bother turning toward the target. Fitting the arrow to her bow, she waited until the last moment, and in one continuous movement, swung around, drew, and released it.

It struck the target dead center.