She gave him a narrow-eyed look as if he were daft. "Living in a make-believe world, are we, MacLeod?"
He smirked. When it came to her, he likely did, but he couldn't stop himself. "Well, you're always threatening me with those hidden knives you carry on your person at all times. I would truly love to see if you ken how to use them like a warrior."
Lifting an auburn brow, she sent him a challenging look. "You don't believe I can use them?"
"I have no inkling. I've never seen you in action. By the time I came upon you and MacBain, you were already trussed up like a—" He clamped his lips closed.
"Like a what? A boar?"
"Nay, like a tall, elegant stag."
She snorted and leapt up. "Come. I'll show you. We'll go to the end of the beach, near the cliffs where your guards upon the ramparts cannot help you."
He laughed. "Saints! You must indeed be deadly."
"I've hurt a few men but never killed anyone."
"'Tis a great comfort to me," he said in a dry tone and stood, smiling at her cocky attitude. "I'm up for the challenge, m'lady. But surely we aren't going to fight with sharpened blades. I don't wish to hurt you either."
She chuckled and headed along the beach.
Using long, quick strides, he caught up with her. "Are you certain you don't wish me to go back for the bow and arrows?"
"Thinking you'll need an extra weapon to defeat me?" she asked.
"Ha. Not likely."
She gave a confident smile, and he was glad he'd been able to turn her mood from gloomy to merry. He hoped this would be only a wrestling match, where she ended up pinning him to the ground—he'd let her do that. Aye, indeed. His body went on high alert, for he'd long imagined what her slight weight might feel like upon him. Like a dream come true.
"We'll have to use sticks instead of real knives," he said, trying to focus on the issue at hand and not his growing arousal.
"You fear me?"
"Aye, indeed," he said in a wry tone.
She laughed.
He'd love to know where on her body she had the rest of those hidden knives secured. He wanted to take them off her naked body, one by one. How delicious that would be.
"I often see red deer coming from that direction." She pointed toward the grassy sand dunes to their right.
Unexpectedly, Torrin tripped over something, and someone shoved him from the back at the same time. His face plowed into the sand. "What the hell?" The words blasted from his mouth. Spitting out the salty sand, he quickly rolled to his back and grabbed the dirk from the scabbard on his belt. He froze when he didn't see a band of attacking outlaws. Only Jessie stood above him, grinning like a banshee. Of course, he'd known she was the only one near, but he couldn't believe she'd gotten the best of him like that. Damned if she wasn't strong. His warrior skills were slipping, or mayhap he'd simply been distracted with his fantasies of stripping her naked.
"You tripped me!" he accused.
"You mean, I tricked you." Her smug smile was clear, even with the blinding sunlight behind her.
He narrowed his eyes. "Proud of yourself, are you?"
She shrugged, and he pushed to his feet. He'd have to be more careful around her. She was more wily than he'd anticipated. He glanced back at the castle, hoping Iain nor any of his men had witnessed that. He'd never live it down.
"You don't fight fair," he muttered.
"Most Highlanders don't. We're too canny. Fighting fair will get you killed, you ken?"
He laughed, then faced her with his arms down at his sides. "Are you ready to try it again, then, lady warrior?"
"Nay. I prefer surprise attacks." She backed away from him, moving further along the beach.
He knew what he had to do and 'twas naught more than she'd asked for, knocking him to the ground like that. He ran toward her, his body hunched low.
She screamed and bolted like a deer, flying over the sand. He quickened his pace, caught up to her and grabbed her. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he lifted her off her feet.
Kicking and elbowing, she fought him. He grasped her right hand so she wouldn't grab one of those knives. He hoped she wouldn't stab him, given the opportunity, but he didn't know for certain. She was a hellion… and he loved that about her.
She hooked her heel behind his knee. Losing his balance, he dropped to the sand, taking most of the impact with his shoulder and hip, but he didn't let go. Having captured both her wrists in one hand, he pinned her to the ground, half on her side and half on her stomach.
"Aha," he said against her ear. "Now we're even."
"Don't be so sure, MacLeod," she said through clenched teeth.
Something slammed painfully into his arse. Glancing around, he saw she'd kicked him hard with her bare heel.
He grabbed her ankle and pinned it close to him with his leg, then he tickled her foot with his free hand. She shrieked and squirmed about. With a sudden hard shove backward with her whole body, she flipped him onto his back. He tightened his grip on her wrists.
"Bastard!" she growled like a she-wolf and tried to untangle herself from him.
He laughed but feared she might get the best of him if he gave in to the amusement. He rolled her beneath him again.
She giggled but tried to scream at the same time. Squirming, she twisted and contorted her body, trying to wrest herself free. All she accomplished was turning to face him a bit more.
Her face was flushed pink, her eyes a glaring flash of blue, while her lips were scrunched with determination.
Damnation, how he wanted to kiss her. But she might break his nose if he did. He chuckled, amazed at how the thought of a violent woman aroused him. He had always thought he wanted a sweet, biddable wife. Now he knew he wanted one who would knock him to the ground unexpectedly.
"Admit defeat, warrior woman."
"Never!" One of her sharp elbows speared him in the stomach.
"Omph. Truce!"
She laughed. "The mighty MacLeod brought down by a mere woman?"
Releasing her, he leapt to his feet. "You are no mere woman, but a fierce and formidable one."
She smiled proudly, stood and dusted off her skirts. Her confidence was another thing he loved about her. Her rosy lips teased and taunted him. Again, he was staggered by how badly he wanted to kiss her, but he would wait until she was ready for it.
"I would like to learn to shoot a bow," she said, surprising him.
"Good." Now he simply had to figure out how to convince her to kiss him.
Chapter Six
After a trip to the castle to retrieve his longbow and half a dozen arrows, Torrin and Jessie headed along the beach again. Even though the sun was warm, the cool breeze off the sea kept the day from being hot.
Jessie glanced at him briefly, thinking about their earlier wrestling match on the sand. She had never imagined he would be as playful as a lad. He was a formidable chief, for heaven's sake.
She hadn't realized she was playful either. He must have brought it out in her.
Earlier, when he'd told her about how he'd also lost his beloved dog, she'd suddenly realized, deep down, that he was not that different from her. Of course, he was a man, a chief, and a fierce warrior, but he still had a heart. He was human, just like everyone else. Not the monster she'd always imagined him to be.
Still, just because she'd enjoyed talking to him and rolling about on the sand like a couple of bairns didn't mean she wanted to marry him. She didn't yet know him well, and she didn't wish to fall for another man who would desert her.
But she had to admit, when he'd had her pinned to the ground with his strong, lean body, the heat of arousal had singed her. It had been a long while since a man had touched her. And Torrin was more attractive than most. The wicked thought of what he might look like naked seared through her mind.
Jessie, you wanton wench. Though mortified at her own thoughts, she couldn't help wondering if the muscles of his arms, chest, stomach, and thighs were as sculpted as they'd felt pres
sed against her. Every part of him had been hard. She had even thought at one point, when his sporran had slid aside, that she'd felt that completely male part of him pressing against her.
The fact that he'd been aroused and hadn't kissed her or tried to seduce her told her much about his character. Aside from that, 'twas clear he'd almost kissed her that morn outside the kitchen, but he hadn't. Why? Had he known she wasn't ready?
Maybe he could be trusted. She glanced up at him again, taking in his steady green gaze, high forehead, solid, angular jaw and chiseled lips. Of a certainty, he was a charmer and a lady's man. He had no doubt seduced dozens of women. He could be the type who indulged in a tryst for a night or a week, then fled. She had no interest in men who changed their minds as often as they changed their shirts.
"Have you shot a bow before?" he asked when they neared the end of the beach close to the cliffs.
"I tried once but was so bad I gave up."
"Och. Never give up."
She smiled at his fierce gaze. "What will we shoot at?"
"This." He held up the short length of near worn out plaid, then pinned it to the high, vertical sandbank with two sharp sticks.
He moved back about fifty feet and she followed to stand beside him. She couldn't help but admire his strong, dexterous hands, long fingers, and muscular forearms as he strung the six-and-a-half-foot bow. Given the warmth of the day, he'd left his doublet at the castle and rolled up his sleeves. Though she tried not to stare at him and his physique, 'twas impossible to ignore his impressive arm and shoulder muscles that shifted beneath the ivory linen shirt.
"Here." He handed her a glove made of thin leather. "You'll need this to protect your fingers."
"Won't you need it?"
"Sometimes I shoot with it; sometimes without. 'Tis likely my fingers are tougher than yours."
She nodded and held the glove while watching him, trying to ignore how warm the leather was from his body heat.
He withdrew a thirty-inch arrow from the quiver. "You nock the arrow like this," he said, placing the feathered end of the arrow against the string while also pulling it back. The front of the bow curved gently. "Most men who have been shooting their whole lives don't take aim. They simply look at the target, and when they release the arrow, it goes where they intended. But since you're just starting, you may want to sight down the arrow and take aim. Line everything up. If there is a fiercely strong wind, you need to take that into account."
"Wind? There is never any wind in Scotland," she said wryly.
Sending her a richly sensual glance, he chuckled. Did he like it when she teased? After drawing his hand back even with his jaw, he released the string and let the arrow fly. It plunked into the plaid in the middle of a green square where two red lines crossed. The sandbank behind the cloth stopped the arrow.
"Now, you're going to tell me 'twas the middle of that square you were aiming at."
"'Tis exactly the one." He grinned and handed her the longbow. "Now you try."
After pulling on the glove, she took an arrow from the quiver and felt very awkward nocking it into the bow. Standing behind her right shoulder, he helped her position it. With great effort, she pulled the waxed linen string back, but not as far as he had. Her arms were shorter than his, and she didn't possess his strength.
"Sight down the arrow," he murmured in an intimate tone that scattered her thoughts for a moment.
Forcing herself to focus on aiming at the target, she let loose the string. The arrow sailed through the air but plowed into the sand a foot in front of the target.
"Och! You see. I'm terrible at this."
"'Tis your first try. We all miss on our first shot. Besides, the bow is a bit too long for you. 'Twas custom built for me with a long draw. Let's move forward a couple of feet."
"'Tis embarrassing," she muttered.
"Nonsense."
Of course, he was more muscular than she was; naturally his shots would be more powerful and the arrow would go farther. She'd always considered herself physically strong, for a woman, but she could never be as strong as he was, with his hard, defined muscles. She had never seen them nor run her hands over them, but she could see a bit of their bulk beneath the sleeves of his shirt, and when he'd had her pinned to the ground earlier, she'd felt them with her body.
"Try again." He handed her another arrow.
Once she had the string pulled back, he stepped in behind her and placed his hands over hers, helping her pull back the string a bit farther. "Now, we're hoping to put the arrow into that green square beside my arrow. This is where I would aim." His warm breath tickled her ear and she suppressed a shiver. "Now, hold it just there, and I'm going to remove my hand from the string."
When he did, her muscles started quivering. She released the arrow. It flew toward the target and thunked beside his in the green square.
"You see! You did it perfectly," he said with pride.
"With your help," she conceded.
"I'm glad to help." He observed her with a pleasant, amused expression just shy of a grin.
Her face heated and it had naught to do with the sun. She hated blushing. With her red hair and fair skin, 'twas not becoming.
"Try again," he suggested, handing her another arrow.
She took it and nocked it, determined to prove she could do this. Did she want him to be proud of her? Perhaps so. But mostly she didn't want to look the fool in front of him. She aimed as he had, pulled the string back tight until her muscles ached, then she released it.
The arrow flew faster than her first one and stabbed into the target two inches below the other two arrows.
"Excellent," Torrin said in an astonished tone. "You've made quick progress."
"I thank you." She gave a playful curtsy.
When the sunlight dimmed, Jessie glanced up and noticed thick black clouds approaching from behind the cliffs. "We'd best go back," she said over the rising wind and handed him the bow. She had been so focused on learning to shoot the bow—and on Torrin—that she hadn't paid attention to the sky.
He surveyed the clouds above. "Aye."
After he quickly gathered the arrows and plaid target, they took off at a brisk walk. Moments later, great rain drops splattered Jessie's hair and clothing. Blowing sand stung her face and hands. She sped up to a trot, and he was on her heels, but it was obvious they were not going to make it back to the castle before the downpour.
"The church," she called out over the fierce wind and thunder. It would be a good shelter. It was just off the beach and closer than the castle.
"Aye," he agreed, running alongside her.
Approaching the church, she pushed through the small wooden gate first, ran along the flagstone walkway and shoved open the heavy oak door.
Once inside the small stone building, he closed the door behind them. "The weather here is vicious."
"Indeed. Sometimes the only warnings are those dark clouds," she said, breathing hard.
"I've been out in some bad gales, but this appears to be one of the worst." He lay the bow and arrows on the floor.
Their loud breaths echoed through the church while rain pounded the slate roof.
"'Tis a new kirk, aye?" He glanced around.
Jessie nodded, admiring the polished oak ceiling, the carved pillars and beams. Her favorite were the stained glass windows, not so bright and colorful now since the sun was hidden by the clouds. "My father had it built last year, just before his death."
Torrin frowned. "I was sorry to hear of his passing."
"I thank you." She appreciated his compassionate tone, but it also made her a bit tongue-tied. "Da's tomb is here." She walked toward the front of the church and stopped before a plaque. Griff MacKay's face was carved into the stone along with his name and position. Though she hadn't been as close to her father as she might have been if she'd stayed here all her life, she did miss him intensely. He had been a good man and a much admired chief.
"I remember him." Torrin smiled. "A
jovial and boisterous man with red hair and blue eyes."
"Aye. And very tall and strong." What a great warrior he had been when she was small. Sadness caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. "When I was a wee lass, he would carry me around on his shoulder, and I felt like I was on top of the world." Her eyes burned with tears.
"I know you must miss him," Torrin said in a quiet tone.
"Aye. 'Twas never the same after Da remarried. Maighread wanted me out of her sight. 'Twas one reason I was sent to foster with the Keiths. I was never as close to Da after that."
Torrin's gaze dropped. "At least your father cared for you."
"Yours didn't?"
Torrin shook his head, his face taking on a morose expression she had not seen from him before. "Nay. He was a tyrant. He beat my brother and me every chance he got. I tried to protect Nolan from his wrath but it rarely helped. As we got older, Father focused most of his abuse on Nolan, for he was always displeased with him. I think that's why he became an outlaw. He turned out just like Father, being vile to people. Or mayhap 'twas simply in his blood."
"You're not like that," Jessie said, just above a whisper. Was he? Though she hadn't known Torrin long, she was fairly certain he wasn't as ruthless as she'd first thought.
Torrin shook his head. "I'm more like my grandfather. Levelheaded. I like to think things through before doing anything drastic." He stared directly into her eyes. "I don't make rash decisions. That should tell you something."
She glanced away, unable to hold his intense gaze for more than a few seconds. "What should it tell me?"
When he remained silent for a long moment, she found it necessary to meet his gaze again. What she saw in his eyes was as turbulent as the storm overhead.
"Asking Dirk for your hand was not a rash decision. I'd had plenty of time to think about it, and you, during the month I was here last winter."
Jessie's face heated and she paced away from him, a slight panic making her heart beat harder. "But we didn't talk. You didn't know me."
"'Twas not for lack of trying. You avoided me."
My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5) Page 8
