Page 110 of Desire's Ransom
De Ware had brought a veritable army, complete with horses, swordsmen, and archers. If this wasn’t a siege, it was a damned good imitation of one.
Then, as Cormac squinted against the sunlight flashing off of their helms, he saw her.
Temair.
He almost didn’t recognize her. She was no longer the ugly, wild, flat-chested urchin he remembered. She’d grown into a woman. She was almost beautiful. Like her mother. Yet nothing like her mother.
She was dressed like a soldier, covered in leather armor andtrius. She had a bow slung over her shoulder. And she was holding on to those two infernal wolfhounds that had always snapped at him.
Then she turned her face toward him, and he remembered the insolent mouth that was always begging for a clout, the sly eyes that needed blacking, the stubborn jaw that made him long to crack it.
“Shoot her,” he bit out to his archer.
“What?” Goffraid asked.
“Shoot her. Now.”
“A woman?”
“Shoot her, or I’ll shootye.”
Goffraid’s eyes widened. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it into his bowstring.
Cormac’s nostrils flared as he waited impatiently for the archer. “Through the heart,” he growled. “No need to make her suffer.” In truth, he wanted her to die fast to be sure she couldn’t blurt out some unfortunate confession with her last breath.
Goffraid’s arm wavered as he drew back the bow and took aim.
“Hurry up!” Cormac hissed.
Goffraid licked his lips and blinked as if trying to clear his vision. The longer he waited, the more his arm shook.
“Do it!” Cormac snapped.
Goffraid, startled, let go of the string, and the arrow flew wildly off its mark, arcing over the treetops and disappearing into the woods.
“Fool!” Cormac barked, backhanding the bowman, who staggered back and fell on his hip. “Must I do everythin’ myself?”
Cormac snatched the bow from him and set an arrow into it. Closing his eyes down to vengeful slits, he aimed at Temair’s wicked, conniving heart, drew back, and let the bolt fly.
