Page 134 of Bride of Fire
Swallowing back maudlin tears, she hefted up her weapon again and strode to the archery field. Once she had a drawn bow in her hands and began hitting bull’s-eyes, she was sure she’d forget all about the laird she couldn’t have.
Davey Campbell advanced on Morgan, pressing him back against the wattle fence. Their blades ground together, making sparks. Morgan gave him a hard shove with his targe, and Davey retreated a step.
“Aim!” Morgan suddenly heard from the archery field. He blinked. Jenefer. Her voice was unmistakable.
In that instant of inattention, Davey almost lopped off his sword arm at the shoulder.
“Draw!” Jenefer cried.
Annoyed at himself for his slip, Morgan lunged forward with a vengeance, forcing Davey back with successive slashes of his claymore until the lad tumbled back into the dust.
“Loose!” she called out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw a volley of arrows arc toward the target.
“Not bad,” she told the archers. “But you can do better.”
Realizing Davey was still lying in the dirt, Morgan dropped his targe and extended his hand to help him up.
“Good sparrin’,” he mumbled, distracted by the activity in the adjoining field. “Carry on.”
While his men continued to do battle, he leaned against the fence, removing his gauntlets, to watch Jenefer work.
She was a dedicated instructor. Patient. Observant. Generous with her praise, yet unforgiving of flaws. Under her direction, his men thrived, improving with each subsequent shot.
He wished he could do as Bethac suggested and keep her as his archery master.
But she was a warrior and might be a laird in her own right one day, with a husband and a clan and children of her own. She could have no interest in becoming his hireling.
Besides, he thought, as he watched her demonstrate a shot at close distance—swiftly drawing back the bowstring and firing in one direct, forceful movement—he wasn’t sure he could endure living in such close quarters with the beautiful, tempting warrior lass.
His jaw clenched with frustration, and his heart ached with regret. If only things had worked out differently… If only Alicia hadn’t returned from the grave…
He knew it was a wish that bordered on blasphemy. And yet he couldn’t help but imagine how much better all their lives would be if she’d only stayed dead.
As if God had heard his wicked thought, a bolt of lightning streaked across the heavens, followed shortly by thunder. Rain began to pelt the earth.
His men quickly gathered their weapons and headed for the armory.
Jenefer sent the archers off with their bows and quivers, then went to collect their arrows from the target.
As the rain started to fall in earnest, everyone scattered for shelter until only he and Jenefer were left, standing in the downpour.
When she turned and saw him, her face was bleak. The fire in her eyes was dimmed by sorrow, and the rain seemed to make tears upon her cheek.
He too felt as if the raindrops made a mockery of his anguish, drenching him with wet misery to match his mood.
They continued to stare at each other, careless of the drowning deluge. A jagged bolt of light speared the black clouds, and neither of them flinched. Thunder crashed over their heads, and they stood their ground in brazen defiance.
It was as if they both knew they could be struck by lightning at any instant. Yet it was worth the risk to stand here, sharing this rare moment.
The rain increased until it pounded the sod, pinging off his plate armor and making a halo of mist around her. And still they stood, two souls lost in a maelstrom not of their own making.
They were kindred spirits, he realized, warriors, children of the storm. Born in battle. Tempered by fire. Hardened by misfortune.
They wouldn’t let a mere storm defeat them. And he’d be damned if he’d let anything stand in the way of their love.
When they came together, it was in a collision as dramatic as the thunder clapping above them. Heedless of who might witness their perfidy, they dropped everything and rushed forward, meeting across the wattle fence.
