Page 17 of Seduced By the Reckless Highlanders
Presently, he turned toward the sound of another shot, then another, and another. This was no ordinary archer since the ability to fire arrows at such a rate was not a skill that was learned quickly. No, this was an expert who had been honing his skill for years and years.
Murdoch, driven by insatiable curiosity, crept into the trees to find the source of the sound. He did not quite know why he was being so cautious because he knew every archer in the area.
However, a bow was not a farmer’s weapon, and the chances were that it was no more than one of the guards from the castle honing his skills, yet something told him to be very, very careful.
He managed to get within ten yards of the bowman, then his mouth dropped open in astonishment. It was none other than Keira McTavish who was deftly pulling arrows out of a quiver on her back. She was fitting them to her bow before firing them in such quick succession that it seemed as though her movements were one continuous flow. Quiver, bow, loose. Quiver, bow, loose. She collected the arrows from the target every few moments and began the whole sequence again, and he was stunned by the accuracy of her shots and the rhythm of her movements. She looked as though she had been born to do this.
This was a side of Keira McTavish that Murdoch had never seen, and he wondered why she had chosen to be so secretive about her skills. Did she have something to hide? He thought of her father; she had often looked at him with murder in her eyes. It was perfectly clear to everyone, except perhaps the laird himself, that she hated him with a passion, and since Murdoch knew Laird McTavish rather well, he was not a bit surprised.
He edged closer, partly covered by undergrowth, and he became so absorbed in watching her that he forgot to watch hisfooting and stepped on a twig. He winced as the noise pierced the silence of the clearing, then screwed his eyes shut for a second at the sound, knowing he had given himself away. When he stood up, he was not surprised to find himself looking at the tip of an arrow no more than a yard away from him that was pointing straight between his eyes.
Keira’s eyes were blazing with fury, and at that moment, Murdoch genuinely feared for his life. “Are you spying on me?” she hissed. “Perhaps for my father?”
He could think of nothing to say for a few seconds, then he shook his head.
“No, of course not,” he replied as calmly as he could. “Why would you think that?” He pretended to be puzzled.
“Because I can think of no other reason for a man to be skulking around in the bushes watching a woman!” she shouted. For a time, while shooting at her target, she had calmed down, but now her anger was back in full force.
“No, I was not spying,” he replied. “I was merely admiring your skill.”
“In the middle of a bush?” she demanded, raising her eyebrows in sarcastic disbelief. “Forgive me if I find that hard to credit. Why should I not just shoot you where you stand? I am only a weak little woman, and you are a very big man. Nobody would blame me for defending myself.”
Murdoch drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at her, hoping his size would intimidate her, but Keira did not back down or indeed show any fear at all. She kept the bow trained on him, watching his every move minutely.
“Are you really going to use that?” he asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.
He felt ashamed of being intimidated by a woman, but she was skillful, the arrow pointing at him was very real, and so washis fear. As well as that, he could see that Keira was not in a very rational frame of mind.
“I was walking through the woods, and I heard your arrow hitting the tree. I was curious, so I came to have a look. I have no motive to spy on you or harm you.” He spoke as calmly as he could. “I am sure that I have done many things in my life to deserve being shot by an arrow through the heart, but I do not believe you are a murderer, Mistress McTavish.”
She was still glaring at him from behind the bow, but he saw a flicker of something in the depths of her eyes. Was it uncertainty? Whatever it was, it had no effect on her because the bow remained steadfastly pointed at him.
Keira’s arms were aching. Any moment now they would start to tremble and she would give herself away as the weak little woman she really was. Damn. Why was she doing this anyway? She knew that Murdoch Holmes was a good man, a steady man, who did strange things to her body that no other man she had ever met had done. Moreover, he carried with him an air of solidity, dependability, and trustworthiness.
Keira studied him. He was taller than any other man of her acquaintance, and his shoulders were wider. His calves, the only part of his legs she could see, were magnificently muscled. His hair, now tousled with the wind, was the color of ripe wheat, and it gleamed gold in the dappled sunshine. He was standing stock-still as he looked at the arrow, waiting for Keira to make a decision.
Eventually, however, the decision was made for her since her arms could not take the strain of holding the bow any longer, and she slowly lowered it, giving an angry sigh as she did so. She dropped to the ground and sat motionless for a while. Looking at the size of Murdoch’s feet and calves, she realized that whatever she had tried to do would never have been enough, unless she had shot him in the heart.
She was only a small woman, but he was a huge man, and she knew within herself that her heart was too tender to have killed him.
Damn him! Why did she have to be so weak-willed?
9
Murdoch stepped forward to pick up the bow, and Keira backed away, assuming that he was going to aim it at her, but instead, he laid it on the ground, then broke the arrow in half before picking up the quiver and setting it aside. He produced a flask of ale from his backpack and offered it to her.
“You look very pale,” he observed, then he twitched a smile. “I do not know which of us is more shocked.”
For a moment Keira hesitated, then she took it from him, nodding her thanks. She had not realized how thirsty she was until that moment. She drank a few mouthfuls, then passed it back to him.
Murdoch sat down opposite her, drinking the ale, then he spoke again.
“You are an enigma to me, mistress.” His voice sounded puzzled, and he was frowning but avoiding her eyes. “You give off the impression of being so calm and collected, yet when you use your bow, the look on your face tells me that you have passionate depths. In fact, you look as if you are trying to kill someone. Moreover, when you look at your father, it seems as though you hate him. Is that who you are murdering in your mind?”
“My father has given me plenty of reasons to hate him,” Keira replied bitterly. “He is the most selfish and dishonest man I have ever met, and he…he…”
She was about to tell him about the death of her mother but decided to keep it to herself for the moment. She hardly knew him, after all. She stuttered into silence.
