Page 112 of Bride of Fire
“Nay, nay,” he said, nocking the arrow. “I agreed to your challenge, and I’m a man o’ my word.”
He lifted the bow, preparing to shoot. As he did, he intentionally hooked his first finger across the top to hold the shaft in place. It was a mistake common to beginners.
Jenefer’s brow creased. She unfolded her arms. “Wait. Are you…?”
“Aye?”
“You aren’t going to leave your left finger like that, are you?” she asked in disbelief.
He shrugged.
A tiny, troubled scowl flashed between her brows. “The feathers will catch. You’ll be lucky if the shaft leaves the bow.”
He smirked. “How else am I to hold the arrow in place?”
The dilemma in her expression was palpable. Should she help him? Or let him fail?
“Fine,” she said tightly. “You’ve got three chances, after all, aye?”
He squinted hard at the target.
“You know you should keep both eyes…” she began.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He slowly drew back the string, hugging his elbow close to his side.
“Lift…lift your…” she sputtered.
Between gritted teeth, he said, “Are ye goin’ to keep interruptin’ me or let me shoot?”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Go on.”
As soon as she glanced away, shaking her head in pity, he opened his eyes, moved his finger, lifted his elbow, and released the arrow.
It landed with a thunk beside her shaft, in the middle of the target.
“What?” Jenefer exclaimed. The shock on her face was priceless. “How did you…?”
He gave her a one-sided smile. “Just lucky, I guess. Your turn.”
She was still staring at him, baffled, when he backed away to let her shoot.
This time, he saw she wasn’t taking any chances. Rather than risking a clever shot, she lined up carefully in front of the target, taking time to smooth the fletching on her arrow before setting it into the bow and resting it lightly on top of her left fist.
It was pure pleasure to see her shoot. Very quickly, he found himself watching her with more than mild interest.
There was something enticing about her flawless form as she lifted the longbow in one steady arm.
Something provocative about her slowly pulling the string back until it creaked and the way her fingers curled softly against her cheek.
Something intoxicating about the intensity with which she stared at the straw target.
By the time she let the arrow fly, he was too distracted, watching her, to see where her shot had landed.
And when she turned to him with a triumphant grin, he no longer cared. Her brilliant smile and her sparkling eyes took his breath away.
