Page 28 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

On the fourth day after she and Orrick had shared a passionate kiss, she ventured out of her chamber after breaking her fast. Lottie had assured her it was a time when Orrick was usually in the library reading. The healer also divulged that Orrick was a scholar, having brought back many books from his time away in Spain and the West Indies. He spent hours reading in the library every day, which meant it was safe for Isolde to venture into the armoury again to retrieve more arrows.

Carefully dressed in the golden-brown dress Rowena had let her borrow, with her hair neatly plaited and hanging down her back, Isolde crept down the staircase, careful to keep her steps light.

“Good morning.”

The quietly spoken salutation was so unexpected, Isolde gasped and nearly tripped on the stair. In a heartbeat, Orrick was beside her. His hand wrapped around her good arm until he was certain she’d regained her footing, and even when she had, he left it there. Warmth curled in her stomach at the sight of him. They had only been apart a few days, but she’d forgotten the way his linen shirt clung to his wide shoulders and the muscles that lay sculpted beneath. The features of his face brightened and a light came to his eyes when he smiled down at her.

Her breath caught as she stared at him in mute fascination. The muscles of her mouth and throat struggled to form words, to say something intelligible. When she could not, she gave up and greeted him with a simple: “Good day.”

“Are you feeling better? You must be if you are venturing out of your chamber. We’ve missed you the last four days.”

Isolde swallowed roughly at his nearness. “I apologise. I needed time—”

“There is no need for apology. You’ve been through an ordeal. No one would raise an eyebrow if you did not appear for another two weeks.”

Isolde laced her fingers together. “I am not so weak as that.”

“Good. Then prove it to me by sparring with me.”

She drew herself up. “Right now?”

Orrick responded with a smile. Not just any smile. A disarming smile. One that made her legs feel weak. No one had ever smiled at her like that before. “Seems like as good a time as any, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, I’ll not give you a chance to retreat to your chamber again.”

She wanted to object, but he was right. She had not only retreated. She was hiding as much from him as she was from herself. “Swords or bows? If bows, I do not have that weapon with me.”

“We already know your skill far outweighs my own with a sword. Let us stick to the bow. Perhaps I will have a chance to best you at that.” He tucked her arm through his and escorted her back upstairs to her chamber, where she collected her bow and quiver.

“I was on my way to the armoury to get more arrows when you came upon me. Should we gather more before we go outside?”

“Everything we need is outside waiting for us. I made certain of that earlier.”

“You knew I would leave my chamber today?”

He smiled at her again and her pulse quickened. “You had to leave sometime. I’ve been waiting for you for the past four days.” The husky baritone of his voice warmed her more than the cloak he settled about her shoulders before they stepped outside and made their way to the rear courtyard. He’d moved the hay piles inside the keep and had hung targets made from coiled straw in the middle of them. “Do you like this? I measured and the distance is fifty feet away if we stand here.” He stopped behind a row of shells he’d set on the grass.

He’d gone to a lot of trouble on her behalf. “It’s perfect,” she said, drawing a shaky breath, trying to still the rapid beat of her heart. No one had ever done anything to try to please her before. The knowledge that he had did strange things to her insides. She quickly attached her string to her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver. The familiar activity helped take her mind off the man beside her for a moment at least. “Ready?” She was suddenly eager to see if her strengthening exercises had been enough to help her shoot with more accuracy than she had before.

“Care to make this interesting?” He stepped closer and she could feel the intensity of his gaze upon her.

Isolde frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

He brought a finger to her mouth, tracing the sensitive outline of her lips, moving slowly across the top, then the bottom. “If I best you, I get to choose a reward. If you win, you get to do the same.”

No man had ever touched her in such a way before. Her mouth tingled as she fought the urge to lean into his pleasurable touch. “It is highly unlikely that you could win this challenge.”

“Shall we begin?”

“Aye.” She stepped back, forcing him to drop his hand. “Let the challenge begin,” she said, suddenly determined to win. What boon would she ask for? Or what favour would she be forced to give? Her heart raced in her chest as she nocked her arrow and sighted the target in the distance.

Or would she win either way? Because suddenly all her thoughts centred not on the red bullseye of the target but on Orrick’s smiling lips.

*

Isolde’s first arrow went wide, not hitting the target or the hay. Her features steeled as she sent a second arrow towards the target. This one hit the edge of the target, but her quick release of breath told him she was disappointed. “That’s not bad,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “That’s why we are practising. It will take time to get back to the markswoman you were before.”

He fired two arrows at the target, intentionally aiming for the outer rings. When it was her turn to shoot again, he watched her raise her bow and nock her next arrow. He had spent the last four days waiting for her to emerge from her chamber, and the last four nights contemplating the ceiling of his own. He was seized by madness. What else could explain the longing that had taken hold of him? The moment his lips had touched hers, some of the doubts that had assailed him since his return to Dunvegan had fled. He’d felt a sense of belonging, with a renewed vigour for life.

The words she’d said before running to her chamber came back to him. ‘Sometimes it is not skill that will see you through. It is the reason for which you are fighting. If the cause is just, then it is easy to pick up a sword.’ If he had to protect Isolde from harm, he might once again become the warrior he had been before the West Indies.