Later that day, Spring made her way to the practice yard, being urged on by Colina. It was a beautiful, spring day and the smell of the early wildflowers filled the air. The sun’s rays lit up the land, making the rebirth of the foliage more noticeable. Sprigs of green stalks and lush grass on the rolling hills and meadows made her feel alive inside. Or, perhaps, it was still from the coupling she’d had with Shaw last night.
She walked with Colina, thinking the birds were chirping louder than usual. Or, mayhap, she’d never noticed them before. Colina smiled happily and her eyes twinkled. The girl liked her. Spring like that. After all, she had never had a real friend. The women of the Gunn Clan didn’t befriend her because all their husbands were constantly eying her up. The men of the clan never stopped trying to bed her. She’d always slept with one eye open, never feeling safe, even when she was home.
The men all liked her too much – and that was the problem. They were not to be trusted in the least. The only men she was friends with were her brothers, Bodil and Egil.
“Hurry up,” Colina said, taking Spring’s hand and dragging her toward the practice yard. “My da willna be practicin’ much longer.”
Spring had tried to hide away from Shaw all day, purposely heading the opposite direction whenever she saw him. She felt uncomfortable being around him ever since she’d broken down in his arms last night. She didn’t like that she’d become so weak so fast being away from her clan. Certainly, none of her Viking ancestors would have ever cried the way she had. She needed to stay in control of her emotions, just like her father had taught her to do.
It felt odd for anyone to want to hold her hand. She pulled away. “All right, Colina, I’ll go with ye, but I dinna understand why we need to watch yer faither practice.”
“He’s good with the sword,” said Colina. “I thought ye’d like to see him duel with some of the others.”
“I’ll watch, but I dinna like sword fightin’.”
“Why no’?” asked the girl. “Does it scare ye?”
She would never admit that she’d been having nightmares her entire life after seeing the girl’s grandfather lying dead with his throat slit and blood everywhere. To this day, the thought of it sent a shiver up her spine. She’d gotten used to seeing dead warriors on the battlefield over the years, but that dead man’s eyes were embedded in her mind. She would never forget the way it made her feel when she stole the bow he grasped that had done nothing to save his life.
“When I was just a wee bit younger than ye, I saw the damage a blade can do to a person,” she told Colina. “I prefer the bow and arrows because there is a lot less blood.”
“I prefer the bow and arrows, too,” said Colina. “Mayhap, ye can convince my faither to let me learn to shoot from ye after all.”
She chuckled inwardly. That was the last thing Shaw wanted and he’d already made it quite clear. “I dinna ken,” she said. “Yer faither doesna seem keen on the idea.”
“My faither taught my brathairs to fight. They even have their own swords. And Leith is only eleven.”
Spring stopped in her tracks and turned toward the girl. “They are boys, Colina. Ye have no idea how important a son is to a man. My faither treated me and dressed me like a boy for the first ten years of my life. He wanted me to be like my brathairs, Egil and Bodil.”
“How old are yer brathairs?” she asked. “And how old are ye?”
“We’re one and twenty years of age.”
“All of ye?” Her brown eyes got larger. “So ye are triplets like the bastard triplets of King Edward III!”
“Nay, we’re no’ triplets,” she said, shaking her head.
Colina made a face. “Then how can ye all be the same age? I dinna understand.”
“We . . . just are.” Spring didn’t know the answer to this question and had asked her father about it many times while growing up, but he always shrugged it off and didn’t give her a definite answer. She had figured they all had different mothers and he didn’t want to admit it. If her mother had still been alive, mayhap she would tell her. But her mother died from eating tainted meat when Spring was only six. She wished she’d had a mother growing up and had always yearned for one. “So, tell me about the bastard triplets of the king,” she said, wanting to change the subject. They talked as they continued toward the lists.
“The bastard triplets are three men who used to raid the king and were known as the Demon Thief,” Colina told her excitedly. “For a while, everyone thought the Demon Thief was one man who could change the color of his hair.”
She chuckled. “That’s silly.”
“Nay. They all have the same face. And the same bright, blue eyes. But one has black hair, one is blond, and the other has hair of flaming red.”
“Really?” A vision flashed in her memory of the three boys she’d seen the night of Burnt Candlemas. She didn’t remember their faces, but they all had different colored hair. She remembered the boy with the red hair had bright blue eyes when he’d looked at her. She would never forget that. This was interesting. She would have liked to ask more about it, but they arrived at the lists. Colina took her hand again and pulled her over to the crowded benches.
“There are my brathairs, Leith and Donel,” she told her, waving her hand wildly in the air to flag down her brothers. The boys saw Spring and scowled. Then they whispered behind their hands to each other.
“Let’s go sit with them,” suggested Colina.
“Och, I dinna ken,” Spring said, not wanting to go where she wasn’t wanted. It was bad enough she was here. She felt shunned by the rest of the inhabitants of the castle. Even though she was now Shaw’s wife, she still felt like an outsider. She was the enemy held at bay.
“I think here is fine.” Spring sat down on the bench a little ways away from the boys.
Her attention was taken by Shaw practicing the sword fight on the field with his steward, Leod. It was a warm spring day. Shaw had removed his leine and was bare-chested under his plaid. Every move he made was like watching a well-coordinated dance. He was light on his feet and very skilled with the sword, just as his daughter had said.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of his broad shoulders and massive biceps. His muscles stretched with each thrust of his sword, making her think of the dance of love they’d shared. Suddenly feeling flush in the face, she knew she needed to get away. She stood up and bolted toward the end of the fence that partitioned off the practice field.
“Bring me my bow,” she heard Shaw tell someone. Slowing down, she watched over her shoulder as Baen took Shaw’s sword to clean it and handed him the bow – her bow in its place.
“My laird, are ye goin’ to shoot a bow and arrows?” asked Leod. “That is no’ usually yer weapon of choice.”
“Well, it is today,” he said, taking the quiver of arrows from Baen next. “Bring the target.”
Several of the men rolled in a target made from a wooden structure. Atop it was a burlap bag stuffed with straw. And on it was painted three circles – each one getting smaller inside the other.
“This isna a competition unless I have someone to compete against,” said Shaw, looking from one man to the other. “Who will it be?”
None of the men volunteered.
“Shaw,” said Leod. “None of us are skilled with the bow. Only yer faither could compete with a bow and arrows.”
“So, no one will shoot against me?” he asked.
“How about yer new wife?” shouted Donel from the lists. “She’s supposedly good with the weapon, so let’s see her use it.”
Shaw turned around, looking surprised to see Spring standing there. Their eyes met and she shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to do it.
“My wife willna shoot,” said Shaw. “This is a man’s competition.”
That irked her to hear his words. And when Colina ran to her side, it gave her the push she needed.
“Spring, please show us how ye can shoot,” said Colina, coming to her and tugging at her arm. “Please. Do it.”
“Nay, Colina,” her father called out. “I told ye, I dinna want a lassie on the practice yard.”
Spring could hold back no longer.
“Why no’?” she asked, raising her chin in the air and walking toward him. “I think I would like to shoot my bow and arrows once more before ye’ve taken them from me forever.”
“Aye, I want to see her do it, too,” shouted Leith, spurred on by his older brother.
Then the brothers started chanting her name and pounding their feet on the ground. The crowd joined in until the noise was so loud it could not be ignored. Spring ducked under the wooden fence and walked with purpose to her husband. She stopped in front of him and, without a word, held out her hand.
“Nay,” said Shaw with a shake of his head. “Dinna ye hear me?”
“Dinna ye hear the crowd?” she asked, nodding toward the people watching just outside the fence that partitioned off the practice yard.
“Magna, I’m no’ goin’ to compete with ye,” said Shaw.
“My name is Spring.” She ripped the bow from his hand and he reluctantly let it go. “Now give me an arrow. Or did ye want to shoot first?”
Shaw’s ears rang with the loud chanting of the onlookers, all crying out Spring’s name. How could he deny her a chance to shoot with everyone watching and wanting her to do it? He was rather curious himself as to how good of a shot she really was.
“All right, ye can shoot, but I go first.” He took the bow from her and reached over his back for an arrow. His eyes stayed locked on hers all the while. He’d learned to shoot from his father and used to be pretty good at it, too. But ever since his father’s death he hadn’t been able to pick up a bow. It had reminded him of how guilty he felt that he hadn’t been there to watch his father’s back the night he was killed. His father had his hands full with his mother in her condition and must have gotten distracted. He had asked Shaw to go along on the trip with them, but Shaw said no. If Shaw had been there instead of home with his pregnant wife, his parents would still be alive today. “I havena done this in quite a while and I’m sure I’m a little rusty,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
He nocked the arrow, feeling the strength of his father flowing through him just by using his bow. It was comforting as if part of his father were right there with him. He pulled back the bowstring, loving the creaking noise of the tension of the twine bending the wood. How often had his father told him while hunting that same excitement flowed through him every time he heard that sound? It was the same for Shaw.
Lining up his mark, he let the arrow fly. It struck the target and the tip of the arrow sank into the second circle. He cursed under his breath, wanting to make a better impression on his new wife by hitting it dead center.
“I’m sure if I had all the practice with it that ye’ve had, I woulda had a better shot.”
“Spring’s turn now,” called out Colina from behind the wooden fence.
Shaw handed the bow to his wife and she took it.
“My arrows, please,” she said, holding out her hand.
He removed the quiver from his back, laying it on the ground. “Here. Take whichever arrow ye want.”
She threw him that stoic look again, and he just wished she’d say something. Where was that very vocal lassie he’d had in bed last night? Had he imagined that she’d softened, screamed out in ecstasy, and even cried as he’d held her in his arms? He liked that girl better. It was unnerving when she pulled the Viking act and not inviting at all.
Without a word, she picked up the quiver and slipped the strap over her shoulder. Then, eying up her target, she studied it with intensity. She stalled so long that he’d almost thought she was going to back out.
“If ye’d rather no’ do it -” He never had time to finish his sentence. In one fluid motion that was so slick he’d barely seen it, she grabbed an arrow from her back, pulled back the bowstring and let the arrow fly. A cheer went up from the crowd.
He turned to see her arrow had hit dead center of the target.
“The target is too close,” he said. “It’s too easy. Move it farther away.” He motioned to Baen who moved the target backward.
He took another shot and, this time, his aim wasn’t as good. His arrow hit the outer edge of the second circle. Still, he shouldn’t worry since there was no way Spring would hit the center mark twice in a row.
Handing her the bow, he mumbled. “This time, dinna take so long to shoot. Ye threw off my concentration.”
“I took too long for yer likin’?” Her long lashes blinked in a silent form of defiance.
“I just meant that -”
She swung around and, in the time that it took to face the target, she’d pulled an arrow from the quiver and shot it toward the target. Another shout went up from the crowd, and damn it, if she didn’t hit dead center for the second time.
The onlookers went wild.
“Spring, ye’re fantastic,” shouted his daughter.
“Colina, keep yer voice down,” he scolded, wishing she were cheering for him instead.
“Sorry, Da,” said the girl, sitting back down on the bench.
“Are we finished?” asked Spring.
“Nay, no’ yet,” he said, feeling as if he had to beat her with at least one shot before she walked away. He wasn’t going to let his wife be better than him. He was laird and chieftain. He had an image to uphold. “Baen, move that target all the way back to the fence and bring me those arrows,” he shouted.
“All the way back here, my laird?” asked Baen, moving the target back as far as it would go before it ended up in the orchard.
“That’s good,” he called out. “Now bring me those arrows because I’m goin’ to show ye how to hit dead center.”
“Didna yer wife already show us that twice now?” asked Baen, handing Shaw the arrows.
“Enough talkin’,” he said, taking an arrow and prepping it. He concentrated hard this time, envisioning the arrow hitting the center mark just like his father had taught him. He slowly pulled back the bowstring, holding his arm as steady as possible. Then he released the arrow and, to his joy, it hit the center mark. “Aye, that’s more like it!” He held up the bow and got the crowd to cheer for him this time. Smiling from ear to ear, he handed the weapon to Spring. “Let’s see ye do that three times in a row. Although my arrow is dead center, so wherever ye hit the target, I win this round.”
“Dinna yer mathair ever teach ye no’ to be so cocky?” She snatched the bow away from him, taking her time to choose just the right arrow.
“Pick any arrow,” he told her. “They are all the same.”
“Do ye really think so?” She chose an arrow and looked over to him as she nocked it and pulled back the bowstring. “I canna believe ye think that. Are ye sure ye really helped to make these?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Besides the designs on them, they are all the same.”
“There is only one I can count on for the shot I’m about to make.”
“What are ye talkin’ about?” he asked. “I’ve already seen ye hit the center target twice and ye didna make a big deal about choosin’ an arrow.”
“That’s because this shot is different. Now watch carefully.”
“I’ve been watchin’” he told her. “It’s all the same.”
“Dinna count on it.” She closed one eye and tilted her head and let the arrow fly. The crowd cheered when she, once again, hit the center.
“Nice, but I beat ye that time.”
“Shall we go have a closer look?”
If he wasn’t mistaken, he saw a slight smirk on her face. He walked with her toward the target. Baen ran ahead of them, getting there first.
“Och, ye’re never goin’ to believe this, Laird Shaw. I wouldna believe it if I didna see it with my own eyes.”
“What are ye talkin’ about, Baen?” he asked, smiling and nodding toward the crowd. He waved, just to get everyone to cheer louder, liking how powerful it felt.
“I win, once again,” said Spring, getting his attention.
“What? Nay, ye couldna have won this round. I hit dead center, I’m sure of it.” He pushed Baen to the side to see the target and his jaw dropped open. Spring’s arrow had hit dead center as well, splitting his arrow right down the middle!