Page 113 of Bride of Fire
“Another bull’s-eye!” William crowed. “Och, this is goin’ to be a good contest.”
William’s cheer jarred him back to reality. He glanced down the field. Three arrows now crowded the center circle of the target.
Jenefer stepped back with a magnanimous gesture of invitation. “Morgan?”
On her lips, his name sounded like a purr. Pleasant. Sensual. Arousing.
But he couldn’t let her unnerve him.
Damn her feminine temptations. He had to win.
Jenefer had been so sure she’d leave Morgan in the dust. Feiyan was right. She’d always been able to outshoot her father’s men.
And once she’d seen Morgan’s dreadful form—his hooked finger, his squinting aim, his dropped elbow—she’d almost pitied him. With such terrible technique and a bow that was the wrong size for him, he’d be fortunate to hit the target at all.
His first shot might have been luck. But she wasn’t certain enough of that to let down her guard. This time she’d watch him carefully.
Sure enough, this time he didn’t hook his finger. Or squint. Or clamp his elbow against his side.
But he did talk the entire time. Which was equally disturbing.
“So how long have ye been an archer, lassie?” he asked, cocking his head away from the bowstring to eye up the target.
Shouldn’t he be focusing on his task? Didn’t he need to concentrate? Hold his breath? Steady his aim?
“Ever since I can remember,” she replied.
He sniffed, adjusting his stance. “Indeed? And who taught ye?”
“My ma.”
“Your ma?” he said in surprise. He lowered the bow and shook his head in amusement. “Aye, o’ course she did. Warrior maid, aye?”
Raising the bow again, he pulled back the bowstring until his knuckles rested against his cheek.
“And did she teach ye to fight with a sword?” he asked, eyeing up the target.
“Aye.”
“And a dagger?”
“Aye.”
“What about your fists?”
Now she was getting exasperated. “Lucifer’s ballocks. Do you intend to shoot, or are you going to chatter at me all afternoon?”
To her utter annoyance, he chuckled. “Ye know, that temper o’ yours,” he said, unexpectedly releasing the arrow mid-sentence, “is your fatal flaw.”
She scowled. Had he actually managed to wedge his arrow between two of the others? While he was carrying on a conversation?
William cheered.
“Bloody hell,” she said.
How had he done it? How had he managed to shoot in the midst of rattling on about her temper?
Hertemper?Her hackles rose. There was nothing that incited her to anger faster than someone mentioning her temper.
