Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

A s Ciara scanned the crowd beyond her little station at the periphery, she thought back to seeing the large man she’d locked eyes with earlier. His eyes were the first thing she noticed. They’d been so blue, they were almost silver and were piercing. Probing. When his gaze had fallen upon her, Ciara had felt like he was seeing through her. Like he could discern her thoughts with nothing more than his smoldering and intense stare.

The man was tall and lean, with a look of athleticism and agility, and had wavy hair the color of coal that framed a strong jawline and face with high cheekbones and sharp features. He looked like a man who could handle himself well. There was a slightly dangerous edge to him and Ciara thought he was not a man to be trifled with. She had instantly feared him.

When their gazes had locked, Ciara had had the unsettling feeling that he recognized her. She couldn’t say why, he was a complete stranger to her, but there was something in his eyes that made him seem almost as if he’d been waiting for her. It had obviously sent a wave of near panic through her. She feared he had been sent by her father or Lord Fairfax to drag her back to the shackles of a marriage she did not want.

But he had not come for her and allowed her to continue on her way. Ciara thought she’d seen him in the crowd following her, but whenever she turned to confront him, he hadn’t been there, leading her to believe she was letting paranoia affect her mind. Not that she didn’t have a multitude of reasons to feel paranoid.

At that point, Ciara wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath, have a good meal, then lie down in an actual bed. Life on the road to Seabridge had been difficult. She was not used to sleeping rough and not having food brought to her whenever she desired. She didn’t consider herself pampered, but she was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself, there were certain perks to being a laird’s daughter.

As she weaved through the crowd, the hair on the back of Ciara’s neck stood on end and her skin broke out in gooseflesh. A heaviness settled over her and set a flutter through her heart. She knew instantly that she was being observed. As she moved through the crowd, Ciara stole a glance over her shoulder and saw the man with the icy blue eyes moving among the throng of people behind her. The flutter in her heart turned into a hard, steady pounding and her stomach clenched so tight it was almost painful. She knew then she wasn’t being paranoid.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she whispered to herself.

Being small and fast of foot, Ciara had the advantage as she darted around the bigger bodies of the men all around her. She knew there was no way the large man behind her would be able to track and follow her through the mass of bodies. It was one of the few times in her life she was grateful for her small stature. When she thought she’d lost her pursuer, she ducked behind the booth of a vendor selling mugs of ale and peered around the corner. She’d lost him.

Not seeing him though, made Ciara wonder yet again if she was simply jumping at shadows and seeing things that weren’t there. She was already tense, and her emotions were heightened. Had she simply seen somebody who resembled the man she’d locked eyes with earlier and let her imagination fill in the blanks? Had anybody been following her at all? Or had the fear that her father and Fairfax would send somebody for her make Ciara view every stranger as a threat? Home was many, many miles to the south. How would they even know she was in Seabridge?

Feeling slightly better, though still a bit wary, Ciara found her way to the other side of the pond where Isobel had indicated the archery contest was being held. A man stood behind a table, providing commentary on the contest while also encouraging others to join in. Ciara stepped to the table.

“How much to play?” she asked.

A slow smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “Are ye sure want to risk the three coppers?”

All around her, she heard men snickering at her. Ciara’s cheeks flushed as the blood in her veins heated with anger. All her life she had been underestimated and she had grown tired of it a long time ago. She fished the three coppers out of her purse and silently lamented the dwindling rattle of coins left inside. But she believed in herself—and she needed the money.

The coins clinked as she threw them into the small box on the table. “Aye. I’m sure.”

“Very well, lassie,” he said. “Come on around and get ready.”

Ciara took a position at the end of one of the lanes that had been set up. At the other end of it, maybe thirty yards away, stood a stack of hay bales with the outline of a man painted upon it. Behind her, she heard more men chuckling and the clink and rattle of more coins thrown into the box as the men lined up to take her on. As the men took their positions at the head of their lanes, she noticed them smirking at her.

“Goin’ tae bae an expensive lesson, lass,” said the man directly to her right.

“’Tis adorable ye think ye can shoot with the lads,” said the man to her left.

“How’s it goin’ tae look when ye both get beat by a lass?”

The men who’d lined up to compete against her, seven of them in all, laughed together. Ciara gritted her teeth and tried to keep it from getting under her skin. She tried to clear her mind of all emotion, as she’d been taught, and focused on the target at the end of her lane. It was the only thing that mattered. Her teacher had stressed the importance of focusing on the target and shutting out the distractions. And these men laughing at her were just that. She would show them.

“All right, lads—and lass,” the man running the game called. “The purse for this game is twenty-one coppers, minus my three-copper fee. Which means ye are all competin’ fer eighteen coppers. ‘Tis a very nice haul fer the winner.”

The men all around her nodded their approval and Ciara could see them already spending the extra coppers in their minds. In a way, Ciara liked that they underestimated her. It would make the look of shock on their faces when they lost to her all the sweeter.

“All right, folks,” the man announced. “The rules are simple. Three shots. The one who’s closes tae the heart of the target with all three arrows is the winner. Simple enough?”

“Aye,” everybody said in unison.

“All right then, ye may fire at will,” he finished then stepped out of the way.

“Hey, lassie,” the man on her left said. “Let me show ye how it’s done.”

“Are ye ready for a lesson?” said the man on her right.

“Aye,” Ciara replied. “Teach me.”

The men on either side of her nocked arrows and released them in one fluid motion. The man on the left hit the target in the lower stomach while the man on her right planted an arrow in the target’s arm. Ciara bit back the laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

“’Tis me turn,” Ciara said.

She drew her arrow and let out a breath. The men around her hooted and hollered, doing everything they could to distract her. But Ciara shut it all out and narrowed her vision to just the target, just as she’d been taught, then loosed her arrow. It hit the target with a satisfying thump and she smiled as the feathered shaft quivered, directly in the heart of the man-shaped outline on the hay bale. She turned to the men with a smirk upon her lips.

“Aye. Thank ye both fer the lesson,” she said. “Ye’re excellent teachers.”

The two men exchanged a look of surprise with each other, then harumphed as they set themselves up for another shot. None of the other men competing came close to the heart of the target and two missed the hay bales entirely. It was almost too easy. The second shots fired by everybody mirrored the first, though the man on her right nearly hit the heart, his arrow protruding just below it. And for the second time, Ciara buried her arrow straight into the heart.

“What the bleedin’ hell is goin’ on here?” as the man on her right. “How in the world are ye doin’ that? That’s two fer two.”

“She must bae cheatin’ somehow,” grumbled the man on her left.

“I’d like ye tae show me how I’m cheatin’ then,” Ciara challenged.

“All right everybody,” called the man running the contest. “Third shots now. Nock and loose.”

Ciara nocked her arrow and drew, focusing on the target and exhaling a long, steadying breath then loosed. The arrow whistled through the air and thumped hard into the hay bale, striking the outline of the man alongside the other two arrows in the heart. Nobody else came close. The men in the firing line all turned and looked at her with expression of shock and amazement—and more than a bit of consternation—on their faces.

“Wow. That was unexpected,” said the game runner. “Very unexpected.”

Slowly though, as the reality that she’d beat all six challengers settled in, laughter and applause exploded from the crowd that had gathered to watch. The game runner handed Ciara the small leather purse and she bounced it in her hand, grinning at the soft clink of the coins inside. Most of the men congratulated Ciara on her victory, but the man to her left continued to insist she cheated somehow then walked off grumbling to herself. The man to her right though offered her a smile.

“Dinnae mind him. He’s always sour and grumpy about somethin’,” he said. “Well done, lass. Ye’ve got some skill with the bow.”

“Thank ye. I was fortunate enough tae have a good teacher.”

He looked at her closely for a long moment. “Nae many lasses have a teacher. Ye the daughter of a laird or somethin’?”

Fear surged through her veins like electricity. She’d said too much. The man looked at her curiously, as if she was some strange species of animal that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. It scared her. She didn’t want anybody knowing who she was for obvious reasons.

“Or somethin’,” she said.

“Well, good job,” he said. “Are ye goin’ tae try yer hand again?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Well, if I see ye on the lanes again, I’m goin’ tae bow out. I’m nae keen on throwin’ me coppers away like that,” he said with a laugh. “And dinnae expect tae sneak up on anybody next time.”

He patted her on the shoulder as he walked away, an amused grin on his face. Feeling better about it all, Ciara hefted the purse in the palm of her hand again. In just minutes, she’d made enough to get herself a warm bath, soft bed, and hot meal. Not bad for a day’s work.

As she turned to go in search of a reputable inn, though, she stopped as the blood in her veins turned to ice. She swallowed hard as fear battered her insides. The man with the coal-colored hair and icy blue eyes stood amongst the crowd, his gaze locked onto hers.

“Maybe I wasnae paranoid enough,” she whispered to herself.