Page 29 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“It is your turn,” Isolde’s voice interrupted his thoughts. She scowled at him. “You seem far away in thought. Are you certain you wish to continue with our challenge?”

“Absolutely.” Orrick was caught and held by the brightness of her blue eyes. Those eyes showed no fear, betrayed no vulnerability, though he knew she must be terrified of not regaining her prior skill. A quick glance at the target revealed she had yet to hit the centre.

He fired two arrows, hitting the inner rings of the target before stepping back to observe her again.

She captivated him in a way no other woman ever had. While brandishing a sword, her movements had been tightly controlled, graceful, and yet elegant. She proved she had power and strength, but not at the cost of her femininity. While holding a bow, he could see the outline of the well-honed muscles in her arms, shoulders, and back. And while she appeared stronger than any woman he’d ever met, a softness, a suppleness existed also. He’d had proof of that when he’d pulled her body close to his while trying to stave off her chills.

She was feminine strength. An odd yet alluring combination. “You said your father allowed you to train with his other guards. How old were you when you started?”

She raised her bow, and with only a slight hesitation replied, “Six.”

“You were challenging adult males at six years of age?” He couldn’t keep the incredulousness from his voice.

She paused and turned to face him. “I sparred with my brother, John, and his friends until I was eight, then I started battling the younger warriors before moving on to the older ones.”

“You’ve been a warrior your whole life.”

She tipped her head, and the loose tendrils that had worked free of her plait touched her cheek. In the morning light, her hair shone like spun silk.

“When did you and your brothers start to train?” Isolde asked.

Orrick focused on the curve of her red lips as she took her next shot. “Not until we were twelve. My mother was determined that we focus on our lessons before we distracted ourselves with battles.”

Isolde nodded. “That was wise of her. Once you start battling, it seems to never stop.” She lowered her bow. “May I ask you a question about your mother?” At his nod, she asked, “How is it she became a ghost?”

Orrick looked away from her, inhaling to try to regain his focus. “Who really knows. She died a horrible death at my father’s hands. Most of her children suspect it’s because she’s protecting us from something.”

“Can she do anything physical to help protect you?”

Orrick nodded, looking at her once more. “She can move objects with her mind, but that is it. Mostly, she feels when someone in the castle is in danger and can give us advance warning.”

Isolde’s mouth slightly opened as amazement filled her eyes. “That can be helpful, at least. Even a moment of advance warning can make the difference between life and death sometimes.”

He didn’t want to talk about his mother or why she was here. With a sudden urgency, he wanted to win this competition. “Enough delaying. We’d best get back to our match. I believe it is still your turn to shoot.”

Isolde shook her head in mock exasperation before she smiled. “You were the one distracting me.” Her gaze moved to meet his and she motioned her hand for him to step back. “If you will kindly stand over there, I might actually hit the target.”

She had admitted that his presence distracted her. The thought made him smile in return. This time when she shot her arrow, it hit the inner ring, moving ever closer to the bullseye. She groaned. “What is wrong with me? I used to be able to hit dead on whatever target I wanted.”

“You’ll get back there with practise,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “You are holding your own against me.”

She drew her brows together and regarded him with a serious expression. “You are not shooting your best to try and spare my feelings. I wish you would be honest and put all your skill into this contest.”

“You want me to win?”

She narrowed her gaze. “I want you to treat me like a true competitor.”

He released a breath as he drew an arrow from his quiver and prepared to shoot. This time, he perfected his aim and sent the arrow flying towards the target. The arrow hit the centre just as he nocked a second arrow that soon joined the first. He had won whatever game he and Isolde were playing.

When he turned to Isolde, she tried to hide any emotion, but he saw much in the lines of her face. “You won. What boon do you ask?”

He set his bow on the ground then moved to stand before her. “I would have a kiss. A real kiss. Not a peck on the lips.”

A look of resolve settled on her face as she brought her right hand to his chest. In her left hand she clutched her bow. “I made a promise and I never go back on my word.”

At her touch, warmth flared through his chest and his gaze fell to her lips. She looked up into his eyes and rose up on her toes. His heart pounded. He could feel the whisper of her breath against his mouth. The kiss hung motionless in the air between then, waiting for him to either bend down or her to press forward. That was all it would take to bring their lips together. When he could wait no longer, he closed his eyes and leaned down.

Her lips were soft and tasted sweet, like honeyed wine. The shape of her mouth fit perfectly against his. As she returned his kiss, his world began to tilt. A powerful onslaught of sensation flooded him, and he pulled her closer until he could feel the rapid flutter of her heart against his own. He slid his hands up to cup her face and deepened the kiss.