Fourteen

Maggie stood, quietly fuming, at the base of the recently sheered cliff. The pyre still rested above her, but the route up to it would be difficult and dangerous with the unstable, fallen rock. Even more so than the path they’d already traveled to get to this point. Wind tore at her clothes and hair and threatened to blow her back down the mountain to where Drustan waited with the horses, but she’d dug her feet in and clenched her hands around her blanket to keep it in place.

And because her blood boiled, she was hot.

Five days she’d been traveling with these men, including four days of competing with Callum and besting him every time—he may not have lost, but she’d definitely won in the eyes of the men. She was the better archer, the better aim at throwing daggers. Better than him, better even than Gill. They’d seen her make the shot in the dark from the top of the keep to the tree, and they still hadn’t thought about asking her opinion on this shot to the top of the cliff.

Because they couldn’t do it, they assumed she couldn’t either.

She looked up again at the pyre. Aye, it would be difficult, especially with the wind blowing almost constant gusts in all different directions. She’d have to feel the weather and time her shot, pulling hard enough to make the distance to the top of the pyre but soft enough that the lit arrow didn’t blow out on the way there or fly past her target and land on the rocks rather than the wood.

She lifted her arms and closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the bow and learning the chaotic pattern of the wind. She pulled on the imaginary arrow, feeling the warmth of the flame near her hand before she loosed. When she opened her eyes, the men were still looking up, chattering in front of her about the best path to take to climb up the rest of the way over the dangerous, loose boulders.

All except Callum, who looked at her. Watched her. “Can you do it?” he asked.

Gavin heard and glanced over, followed by Gill and the rest of the men.

“I doona see how,” Gill said. He plucked a hair from his head and held it out. The strand blew sporadically in the wind. “The arrow will be blown off course even if you do manage to get the distance right.”

She studied the pyre. “The flame will have to be hot. Otherwise, the fire will be blown out.”

“Too hot and the shaft will burn down too quickly,” Gill said.

“Do you have a glove you can wear to protect your skin?” Callum asked.

“Nay. And even if I did, I wouldnae wear it.”

His jaw clenched, and a tiny muscle jumped on the side. She could see he wanted to deny her, wanted to end the discussion immediately.

“Maggie, there’s no need for you to be hurt. We have other options. And I doona mean that we climb up to the pyre either. I willna lose men o’er this. We can turn around and make our way to the castle without alerting them. There are good reasons we should do that anyway.”

She nodded. Lifting her arms again, she drew on the imaginary arrow, testing the distance to the pyre, the strength of the wind, and how close the flame would come to her hand. “I willna have to draw as far as you think. I will feel the flame, and my skin may be tender afterward, but I doona think it will be close enough or long enough to blister. ’Tis a risk worth taking, aye?”

She could see he didn’t think so, but after a moment, he scrubbed his fingers through his scraggly beard, his green eyes somehow even brighter. Then he said, “Aye.”

The knots in her stomach—of anger and anticipation of his denial, no, his betrayal, for that’s how it felt—loosened. He believed in her. Valued her.

Their eyes met, and she could see the battle that raged within him, his need to protect her overruled by his need to respect her.

She smiled; she couldn’t help it. It burst out of her. Wide and happy and filled with joy.

The men didn’t hesitate, coming forward to light a fire and search through their packs for linen that would be cut into strips and wrapped with twine around the tip of her arrow.

Gill moved to her side and looked up at the pyre, quietly assessing the shot. She let him, even though she knew exactly what had to be done. Finally, he said, “I have ne’er seen an archer as good as you. If anyone can make this shot, ’tis you, lassie. You doona need my advice on this.”

She squeezed his arm and smiled the same luminous smile she’d given Callum. “Will you stand beside me and hand me the arrows? Four will do.”

“I’d be proud to,” he said, returning her smile.

The others had the fire burning now in a hole to help block the wind and were smearing the linen strips with tallow. “Your arrows, Maggie,” Gavin said.

She pushed back her blanket, bracing herself for the cold, so she could unbuckle her quiver and hand it to Gavin. He took it from her, and she wrapped herself up to stay as warm as possible. She needed her muscles to remain loose—although that was almost an impossibility in this weather.

Looking up, she moved forward slowly, finding the best position to stand. Once she had it, she squatted and moved the rocks from around her feet. Callum crouched beside her to help. He took her hands when they were done, lifting the left one to his mouth to kiss it exactly where the flame might touch her skin. It felt like a seal, protecting her from fire in that spot.

She cupped his cheek and dragged her fingers through his thickening beard. Their eyes met and held. God Almighty, he was handsome—even unkempt as he was now, as they all were. He would rival the angels themselves.

The look they shared. So much emotion passed between them. So much was said through that one touch. It was chaste compared to how they’d touched before but perhaps more intimate than ever.

She rose to her feet. Callum stepped behind her and wrapped his arms and extra blanket around her. His big body protected her from the cold, and she warmed.

They stood there quietly as she listened to the blowing wind, envisioning the shot in her head, accommodating for the weight of the flame on the end of her arrow, the thinner air, and the weather. She felt the shot all the way down to her bones.

“Maggie,” Gill said.

She looked over to her right and saw he held her arrow out to her, three more in his other hand.

“Do you want me to light it for you?” he asked.

“Nay. I’ll do that once I have the arrow set.”

“I’ll light a torch and hold it on your other side,” Callum said. “That way you willna have to change your position or wait too long before you loose the next arrow.”

“I’ll get it,” Finnian said, his voice pitched high with excitement as he ran toward their pile of supplies beside a big boulder. He stopped at the fire on the way back to set the torch aflame, using his hand to shield it as he walked over.

“Ready?” Callum asked her.

She gazed up at the pyre and breathed deeply to settle her nerves. “Aye.”

Callum stepped to her left side, taking his warmth with him, and held out his hand to Finn for the burning torch. Maggie pushed back her blanket so her arms were free. Clasping her bow, she took the arrow from Gill, the tip wrapped in the tallow-smeared linen and tied in place with twine. She nocked the arrow and lit it in the flame. The linen caught fire with a bursting crackle, and she lifted the bow, sighted the pyre, and drew the shaft. The flame quickly heated her hand as the fire neared her skin. She drowned out everything but the distance to the pyre, the weight of the arrow, the feel and sound of the wind.

On instinct, she loosed the shot. It flew upward and gently over the edge of the pyre, disappearing from sight. She held out her hand and repeated the process with the next arrow. She loosed again on instinct, not really knowing when the next big gust of wind would blow, feeling it in her body instead of assessing it with her mind. Staying open to her gut feeling, her intuition.

The arrow went slightly higher this time before disappearing over the edge of the pyre. She held out her hand for the third arrow and shot it, then the fourth, which looked like it might have been blown slightly wide at the end.

Callum passed off the torch to Gavin, then stepped behind her and wrapped his arms and blanket around her again. Until then, she hadn’t felt the cold, but suddenly, she was shivering. They stood quietly, anticipation a breathing, living thing among them. No one broke position, staring up at the pyre, willing it to catch fire.

Time dragged. Seconds became hours.

“The wood may be wet,” Finn said.

“Hush,” Artair reprimanded him.

Hours became days.

“The wind is stronger up there. The flame may have been blown out,” Artair said.

“Hush,” Gavin quieted him.

Maggie sniffed the air, hoping to smell smoke—other than that from the torch that burned not far away, of course. Surely at least one of the arrows had landed, and they’d see flames soon.

“The shots landed, Maggie. I know they did,” Gill said, as if he was thinking the exact same thing.

Gavin sighed. “Maybe if we climbed halfway up, we could lob some torches over the edge. They’d hold the flame better than the arrows.”

“You will hush!” Callum said. “’Twill light!”

Maggie held her breath and waited, hoping Callum was right, but when no flames appeared, disappointment seeped through her. She’d let everyone down. Worse, she’d let Callum down, and she sagged against him. She’d just opened her mouth to apologize, although she knew she’d done her best, when Callum’s hands tightened on her waist. Finn yelled, “There!”

Jerking her gaze up to the pyre, she saw smoke billowing from the top and the orange glow of flames licking over the edge. A cheer went up.

Maggie screamed excitedly, her arms shooting into the air. Callum squeezed her waist from behind and lifted her off the ground, twirling her in a circle. Finnian danced a funny little Highland Fling, while Gill and Artair clapped their hands above their heads. Gavin wrapped his strong arms around Callum and Maggie and lifted them both off the ground.

She laughed as Gavin set them down and joined Finn in his dance. Turning in Callum’s arms, she embraced him, her arms squeezing around his as she tilted her face up to him. “Kiss me,” she said.

He dropped his head, and she could feel his smile against her lips, feel the joy humming in his big body, making hers sing along with his. The scruff of his five-day-old beard scratched her cheek and sent shivers racing along her skin. She pressed closer, rising onto her toes, seeking more of him, all of him.

He groaned and deepened the kiss as her mouth opened to his, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. She sucked on it, excited and thrilled, and when he drove his hand into her hair at the nape of her neck to hold her still, to devour her, she groaned too.

He withdrew slowly, and she tried to keep him close to her, chasing his mouth, her tongue sliding across the seam of his lips. He shuddered, but he held her tight in place against him as he raised his head. She opened her eyes slowly, her face turned up. He stared at her—skin flushed, lips red, and lids heavy, looking almost feral.

It made her want to bite him. Or push him over and climb on top.

“Good shot,” he said with a slow grin.

She burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Hearing a sound behind her, she looked over to see Gavin, Gill, and Artair lined up and watching them, indulgent smiles on their faces. Finn still danced his Highland Fling in the background, whooping and shouting out every once in a while.

“Oh look,” she said. “’Tis sappy old Wynda, Glynda, and Nan, watching us young folk live our lives.”

“I’m not Wynda,” Gavin said, “I’m Glynda.”

“And I’m Nan,” Gill said. “I think ’tis obvious Artair is the Wynda of the group.”

“I canna be Wynda,” Artair said. “My ma was named Wynda. And she always said if she had a daughter, she’d name her Brunhild after the Viking shield-maiden. ’Tis rumored she’s our kin.”

“I want to be a shield-maiden too,” Gavin said. “’Tis not fair Artair gets to be one and we do not.”

“Aye,” Gill said.

Finn had stopped his dance and listened quizzically. “What are you all going on about?” A spark floated down from above and landed on his plaid.

Artair slapped him on the shoulder and put it out. “Vikings, Finnian. And weddings.”

“Naught was said about weddings, Finn.” Maggie tried to scowl, but it probably looked daft when she was tucked up so tightly against Callum, who grinned again and pressed his lips to hers. She couldn’t help softening under his mouth.

He pulled back almost immediately and said, “Nay, you were too busy kissing me to say aught about anything.” He turned with her and headed down the mountain, keeping her under his extra plaid as the others fell in behind them, explaining to Finn, in a vague sort of way, what had happened.

Callum kissed her hand in the exact spot he had earlier. Maybe his kiss had protected it. It didn’t hurt at all.

“Let’s go before the whole pyre tumbles down on us,” he said, “or I find myself at your mercy and suddenly married. You looked verra determined to make me yours.”

* * *

Callum sighted down the arrow at the tree that blew in the wind. ’Twasn’t a difficult shot, other than the fact that the target wouldn’t stay still. He tried to channel Maggie, closed his eyes and opened all his senses to his surroundings. Tried to feel the wind—become the wind, as he’d heard her say—and know exactly when to loose.

“It looks like he’s bloody well gone to sleep now,” Artair said, and Callum opened his eyes with a scowl. Then was glad he had when he saw he was way off target. He didn’t know how Maggie did it, but if he tried it her way, he’d end up alone in his keep with only Drustan for company.

“Shut it, you great giant of an ablach,” he said.

Everyone laughed, and when he heard Maggie’s lighter trill, not as loud as the men but still hearty and full of mirth, it sent shivers down his spine and straight to his cock. He tightened his fingers on the string, determined to hit that bloody tree. He’d end up with Maggie in his keep for good.

He drew his arrow, his jaw clenched tight, and released it toward the trunk of the tree. The wind blew the tree sideways at the last minute, and his arrow hit an outer branch—way off target.

God’s blood! I missed!

No cheers or laughter sounded behind him this time. Nay, they wanted Maggie to marry him almost as much as he did. The silence was almost oppressive. He glanced over his shoulder at Maggie, his heart thudding, afraid of what he might see—her smiling or even stifling a laugh. But her face was stricken, and his heart eased.

Aye, she no more wants me to lose than I do.

“Maggie. Your turn,” Gavin said, sounding clipped.

She hesitated, then stepped forward to stand beside Callum. “’Twas the wind. ’Tis blowing like a squalling bairn.”

He didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything. His jaw was clenched so tightly, he might never be able to separate his teeth again.

What will she do?

“Might as well get it over with, lass,” Drustan said, sounding a little too cheery for Callum’s liking. Wasn’t Drustan supposed to be on his side?

And aye, this was a contest, but everyone knew Maggie was the better shot. The best they had all been hoping for was a tie so Callum could stay in the game, keep her by his side as long as possible.

And win her back.

Maggie lifted her arrow, and he held his breath. A moment passed, she lowered her arms, and he released the air in his lungs.

“The wind is too strong,” she said. “Maybe we should choose another day. We skipped yesterday. We can miss today too.”

“We missed yesterday because we lost so much time going up to the pyre,” Finn said. “We’ve made good time so far today, haven’t we?” He looked around, eyes wide and inquiring, and Callum wanted to punch him.

Maggie slowly raised her arms again. “Aye.”

She chewed on her lip and never once closed her eyes to listen to the wind, which had died down considerably in the few minutes since Callum had taken his shot. She’d have no trouble hitting her mark.

“You’ve got it, lass. Take the shot,” Drustan said, right by her shoulder.

She released her breath, centered. The tree barely moved. Still, she waited.

“Maggie,” Callum said, and she loosed. At the last minute, she jerked her arms to the left, and her arrow shot wide, landing in the branches close to his.

A collective gasp went up from the men, and Callum stared at the arrow. Everything within him slowed for a moment—his pulse, his breath, every thought—before rushing back louder and stronger and faster than ever. One phrase pounded through his mind.

She missed.

For me!

“The wind took it,” she said. “God above, ’tis a blustery day.”

He turned slowly, looked at her. She caught his eye, and her cheeks reddened before she glanced away.

“Verily, we shouldnae have been competing today,” she said, repeating herself. “’Tis as strong a wind as I’ve ever felt.”

“Aye,” he said. “The wind certainly took my arrow.”

“What are you talking about, lass?” Finn asked, failing to see what everyone else already knew. Maggie had pulled her shot so Callum wouldn’t lose. And now she was blaming the wind. She might not have said the words, but her actions had spoken loud and clear. She wanted to stay with him.

“The wind had died,” Finn continued. “’Twas blowing much harder on top of the mountain yesterday, and you made all four of those shots.”

This time Callum wanted to pat Finn on the back. Not so Maggie. She scowled at the trees, her face even hotter than before, a bright, fiery red beneath all those freckles.

He wanted to kiss every one, and now he knew he would.

Aye, Maggie had just become his.

“Go, Finn,” he said. “Check the arrows.”

“Aye, Laird.” The lad ran for the trees.

“And be careful of the wind,” Gavin yelled. “’Tis blowing so hard, it might knock you o’er.”

The words caused Maggie to scowl harder. The men laughed quietly. They would be excited and charmed to think Maggie had surrendered to him, the wind no stronger now than a gentle breeze. She brushed her hair away from her face and retied it at the nape of her neck, then darted a glance at him and away when she saw him looking. Her pulse beat frantically in her neck, and he marked it as a place to kiss once they were alone. Because this time when he started kissing her, he didn’t intend to stop.

Maggie had pulled her shot. He needed no words for proof. She. Was. His.

A holler sounded from the trees, and she looked toward Finn. Callum continued to watch her. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—look away.

“’Tis Laird MacLean’s arrow that’s closest! Laird MacLean won!” Finnian yelled from the branches.

This time the men did cheer, and clapped Callum on the back as they walked past. Gavin shot him a huge grin, then hugged Maggie. He whispered something in her ear that made her stiffen before he picked up his horse’s reins and moved on.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting Maggie alone. Finn ran up to them, both arrows in his hand. “It was close, I swear! Both arrows were on the same branch, next to each other, but Laird MacLean’s was nearest to the target.”

Callum reached for the arrows. “Thank you, Finn. You can go catch up with the others now.”

Maggie hadn’t met his eye since she’d loosed her arrow. She hesitated, then moved to dart after Finn. Callum caught her hand and pulled her into his arms. “Look at me, love.”

She finally did, her face a confusing mix of belligerence, fear, and desire. He held the arrows up between their bodies. “I’m going to save these arrows, Maggie, along with the target you sent to me from before. They’ll be part of the story we’ll tell our bairns and grandbairns.”

“Callum, you canna—”

“Aye, I can. You missed, Maggie. You missed.”

“You didn’t feel it. The wind pushed my arrow aside, just like it did yours.”

He cupped his hands around her cheeks and pulled her slowly into him as she kept babbling about the wind. “It’s verra unstable. It kicked the arrow aside at the last moment. ’Twas not here, but at the tree, it was a—”

“Kiss me, Maggie,” he said when their lips were almost touching. “Kiss me, and I promise you’ll have a warm bath tonight.”

She finally stopped talking, let out a wee sob, and pressed her mouth to his.

She’d missed her shot. For him.