Chapter Two

The giant pig of a man glared at Sorcha. "Move yer arse out of this line now, or I'll move it for ye."

"If ye lay a hand on me, Benedict, I'll shoot ye in the crotch and do all the lassies in this village a favor."

The keeper of the contestant list for the bow-and-arrow competition drew his lips back over his rotting teeth in a snarl. "Ye need to learn yer place, Sorcha, and use that mouth of yers for something other than sassing." Benedict gave her a lecherous grin that made her skin crawl. "If ye'd like, I could show ye."

"I'd rather drink poison, thanks," she said as the man leaned so far over the stand that it tipped and a few of the coins he had collected spilled out at her feet. Sorcha stared down at the desperately needed coin for a moment and forced herself not to bend down, scoop them up, and run. Stealing would not fix her and her sister's problems, and it wasn't enough anyway. She needed to win the prize money for today's contest fairly, and she didn't doubt she could. She was an excellent archer, far better than any man in this village. She'd watched enough contests from the crowd to know this to be true. And she had on her good luck twine that she wore every time she'd been victorious with the bow and arrow. She ran a finger over the rough twine that was wound around her right wrist.

When she looked up, she blinked in surprise. Benedict had moved around the stand, and there wasn't even enough room for air between them. He grabbed her by the waist, yanked her to him, and crushed his mouth over hers. He didn't taste any better than his rotted teeth looked. Around her, laughter erupted as she tried to shove him off, and then, suddenly, he released her. She stumbled backward, then leaned forward, setting her hands on her knees while still clutching her bow in her left hand and her arrow in her right, gasping for air as she stared at the dirt and struggled not to toss up her most recent meal.

"I dunnae think the lass wishes for yer attentions," came a deep voice with silken tones and an edge like jagged steel.

Sorcha pushed to a standing position, chest still heaving, and squinted against the bright sun. Her lips parted as she saw, standing before her, a man who'd been blessed by the gods. His midnight hair hung just below his ears in waves that made her want to run her hands through it. He had piercing blue eyes, the color of the sky that had cleared after a storm, but they held a look of barely contained danger. He had a strong jawline, a noble nose, and full lips, and he was tall—so very tall, like a well-rooted tree with solid branches. He stood with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest.

She gave a little sniff. If she was going to go all foolish over a man, it would be one like this, but she knew far better than to swoon over any man. Her mother had taught her that marrying and giving a man complete power over you was folly. Even if she had learned nothing from her mother, her years of dealing with her father and unwanted gropes from guests at the inn had taught her well. All she wanted regarding men was the means to serve them their due punishment should they hurt a woman, and that she would get when she opened her apothecary shop. She just needed to win the contest and the prize money. Then she could create the potions to serve the justice that her dear, sweet, departed mama never received.

"And I dunnae recall asking ye what ye think," Benedict snarled.

She was about to open her mouth to tell the stranger she didn't need his help, but he spoke before she could. "Are ye so wretched that ye must take from a lady because nae any will give to ye?"

"Of course he is!" she crowed. "Have ye seen his face or smelled his fetid breath?" she asked, pointing at Benedict's pockmarked skin. She wasn't one to make fun of others, but she'd warned Benedict time and again not to paw at her. When he reared back to slap her, she reacted without thought. She yanked up her bow, nocked her arrow, and drew back the string, the arrow pointing between his eyes. Around her, all the guffaws of the other men stopped, and silence fell. Benedict's hand was suspended in midair between them.

"If yet think to hit me, ye best think again, Benedict," she warned. "I'll shoot ye between the eyes and the consequences be damned."

He glared at her as his face turned red. "Ye're nae worth my trouble. Go on with ye, Sorcha. Go back to yer da and dunnae come back here thinking to join a contest that's for men. Ye're only a woman."

"How observant ye are," she grumbled, keeping her bow at the ready as she backed up.

"Are ye scairt the lass will best us men?" the stranger demanded.

The oddity of a man defending her left her speechless and too curious for her own good. She turned to look at him and was struck again that the gods had sculpted him specifically to tempt feather-brained lasses. Beside him, she noticed a man even taller and bigger had stepped forward. He could have made a lass a clot-heid, too, with his brown hair and green eyes that danced with merriment, but she was not a lass who would be made a fool. The man had one hand on the hilt of his sword, as if he knew the other man well enough to know he'd take the confrontation all the way to a fight, if he must, but he shook his head at his friend, as if to tell his friend he really ought not to do so.

"Say one more word, Laird MacLachlan," Benedict snarled and pointed at the black-haired man, "and ye'll nae be competing in this tourney, and from what I've heard, yer stronghold's crumbling around yer feet, so I'm thinking ye need this win."

Laird MacLachlan's gaze cut like stone. He opened his mouth to speak, but his friend nudged him in the side, and he clamped his jaw shut so tightly, it flexed where his teeth ground together.

"Oh, shut yer trap, Benedict," Sorcha piped up. She didn't generally stick up for men—actually she never had because she'd never met a man worthy of it—but this man had tried to aid her, so the least she could do was ensure he could still compete. Besides, a plan to anonymously compete disguised as a man was forming in her head, so she didn't mind pretending to be compliant with his ridiculousness. "I'm leaving. There's nae a need to keep crowing about how I'm a lass and so ye dunnae wish me to compete." She swept her gaze over the sorry lot of a dozen archers who'd shown up. She'd seen them all shoot but the stranger, and she knew without a doubt that she was better. "'Tis too bad ye have such a complex about yer manhood, little twig, " she said, referring to the moniker the lasses in the village had given him, "that ye wish to keep lasses down."

He lunged at her, but she skipped backward, swiveled on her heel, and raced away, leaving the roaring laughter of the men behind her. She stole a look back, half expecting him to be close on her heels, but he was sprawled on the ground and Laird MacLachlan was pulling his foot—the one he'd clearly used to trip Benedict—back toward himself. Their gazes met, and he winked. She nearly stumbled in surprise at the gesture, but she managed to stay upright and keep going, though the beat of her heart had changed. Oh surely, it thundered with her running, but in an odd fluttery way. "Nay, ye dunnae," she grumbled, pressing her fingers to her chest. "He's a man, and yer nae a fool. Fools end up wed and controlled." And then her dearly departed mama's words came to her as they often did. Keep control of yer destiny .

"Sorcha, ye kinnae do this!" Ada hissed beside Sorcha as she tugged on the tunic she'd pilfered from their father's bedchamber. It hadn't been difficult, given, as usual, he was so full of mead that he was asleep in the middle of the day. She pulled the linen tunic the rest of the way over her head, wrinkling her nose and pressing her lips together to keep from gagging. Her father's clothing reeked of body odor and mead. The tunic passed over her eyes, and there stood her younger sister, frown line between her brows, lips puckered, and her brown eyes a shade darker than a moment ago.

Sorcha pushed the long edge of the tunic into the braies she'd borrowed from Dougray. "I am perfectly capable of doing this for ye, and I will do it," she countered Ada's objection. Ada's expression grew thunderous, so Sorcha took the opportunity to look down and assess the braies and whether they would stay put during the competition. Her da's braies, which she'd tried first, had been much too big for her, but Dougray had been made rail thin by old age, and though his braies were also too large, she would not be in danger of them falling down during the competition.

She took up the cap that she had also "borrowed" from Dougray, but as she lifted her arms to put it on her head, Ada snatched it and shook it at her. "I kinnae let ye do this. If ye are caught impersonating a man, they might lash ye, and if they dunnae, Da surely will."

Sorcha seized the cap from her sister, thrust it on her head, and began the laborious process of shoving her long, thick hair under it. If it weren't the dead of summer and far too hot, she would wear a cloak to further disguise herself. "If I win, I'll nae be staying put for Da to lash me ever again." She'd had just about all she could stand of her da lashing her when he got in his cups or when he was simply irritable because he was a miserable man at heart. She did everything around the inn, and still, it was not enough to please their father. He didn't even treat her as well as he did Dougray. The stablemaster got coin for what he put up with, but she got nothing. She did not wish to wed, but if she did, he'd certainly not let her because she was his built-in free cook and servant girl.

"Ye'd leave me?" Ada asked, looking every bit as aghast as she sounded. Her tone had pitched high, and she was now a worrisome shade of white.

"Ye'll be leaving da, too, when I get the coin. I told ye." And when a grin of pure joy tipped up the edges of Ada's mouth, it was all the reassurance Sorcha needed that she was making the right choice. Not that she'd doubted it, but it was still nice to see that Ada was indeed excited and had not wavered a bit in her desire to wed Hamish. That grin alone was worth risking a severe lashing for entering the contest, enabling her sister to have the coin Hamish's family required for him to be able to wed Ada.

Ada's grin faltered and then slid into a frown before Ada started nibbling on her lip. She popped it out from between her teeth and said, "I kinnae let ye risk yerself for me."

Sorcha dipped her fingers into the mud she'd put in a bowl and began to spread it on her cheeks and nose before rubbing it slightly to look more natural. She surveyed the results with satisfaction. Between Dougray's clothing, her hair being hidden, and the mud on her face, she hardly recognized herself, and she felt fairly confident that no one else would either.

"Sorcha!" Ada bellowed and stamped her foot.

Sorcha dragged her gaze away from the cracked looking glass and met her sister's worried one. "I'm nae asking yer permission. I'm telling ye what I'm going to do, and ye kinnae stop me. Ye want to wed Hamish, and Hamish wants to wed ye, but Hamish's family needs coin so ye need a dowry. Da does nae have a dowry for ye, and he will nae even try to obtain one because he's selfish and wants someone to pay him to wed ye." A derisive sound came from deep in her chest. "Ye kinnae do anything about it, but I can. I'll nae stand by and let ye lose the love of yer life—"

"But—"

"Nay, nae any ‘buts,'" Sorcha said. Ada opened her mouth to argue more. It was time to tell her sister the absolute truth. "The only reason I have nae left this forsaken inn before now is ye. Mama made me vow to take care of ye before she died because she knew Da would nae. I would have fled him and tried to open my apothecary shop much sooner, but I kenned it would be much harder to gather the needed coin for ye to wed Hamish if I did, and it has been clear to me since ye and Hamish first started ogling each other when ye were but ten summers, that he was the one for ye."

"What about ye?" Ada asked. "Dunnae ye want to wed? Mayhap ye'll need coin to wed a man."

Sorcha snorted at that. "Firstly, I dunnae ever want to wed, and secondly, I'd nae ever wed a man who needed coin from me in order to wed me—" She cut her words off when she realized what she'd said and how it sounded, but when Ada's face fell, Sorcha knew it was too late. "Ada, I did nae mean it like that. Hamish is wonderful, a good man, and perfect for ye."

"But ye'd nae wed him because he's poor."

"Nay." Sorcha shook her head. "I, well, I..." There was no easy way to say what she felt about Hamish's situation. "I could nae wed a man who is controlled by his mama, but it does nae matter what I would nae do. Ye can, ye want to, and ye love him."

Ada's eyes narrowed. "I love ye, Sorcha, but ye see things as ye wish sometimes and nae as they really are, and ye most often do this with men. Ye've had several verra nice men show interest in ye, and ye found ridiculous reasons each of them were nae for ye."

"What?" Sorcha gasped. "There's nae a need to try to be mean. I was nae trying to injure yer feelings—"

"I ken ye were nae, and I'm nae trying to injure yers, but ye do have a habit of making men out to be worse than they are. I guess watching how Da treated Mama did that to ye, but Sorcha, nae all men are Da. I dunnae recall mama warning us against wedding, as ye do, but—"

"'Tis nae just those things," Sorcha interrupted. "It was also all the groping men who come into this inn, and the men in town who grope and leer, and even the men who have offered for me, who dunnae ken a single thing about who I really am. They see a face that pleases them, and they think to themselves that they'll be happy to bed me and lord over me."

"Oh, Sorcha!" Ada said in an exasperated tone.

"I'm sorry that I dunnae have faith in men as ye do. I honestly failed ye," Sorcha said, meaning it. "I promised mama I'd rear ye right, as the eldest, and I tried my best, but ye still got all featherbrained over Hamish."

Ada reached out and gave Sorcha's arm a gentle squeeze. "Ye did try yer best, but the heart wants what the heart wants."

"It does nae bother ye that Hamish does nae stand up to his mama for ye?"

Ada shook her head. "Hamish does nae defy his mama because he kens his family needs coin to survive, for their bakery to survive. He does what he does for the good of his family. He puts the family above his own wants and desires, nae matter how great they are, and I find that admirable."

"Aye, but in doing that, the two of ye were nae going to be able to be together. He was looking for a lass with coin to offer to wed, and Da would have surely wed ye to the first and highest offer. Does it nae anger ye that Hamish would have allowed that?"

"Nay, because if he had disregarded what his family needed to survive and simply wed me as he pleased, then he would have left his mama and papa, and even himself, in a verra bad position, and that would have been selfish."

Sorcha opened her mouth to say Hamish should have found a way to gain the coin his family needed and wed Ada, but she'd already said this so many times she knew Ada no longer listened. And, since there was no changing Ada's mind, Sorcha did not want to put a permanent wedge between them. She would never even consider wedding a man who didn't love her so greatly that he would allow nothing to keep them apart, no matter the hardship it brought. But, of course, that kind of man did not exist, so it was but one more reason she did not want to wed.

Sorcha looked down at her chapped, red hands. They were ugly. Her skin was peeling from years of cleaning the inn, cooking, and doing the laundry, and her nails were yellowed and broken from tending to the garden. The only thing she didn't tend to was the stable, and she no longer checked in the customers or waited on them in the tiny dining room. Ada had done that for the last four years since turning fifteen summers. And their da did nothing but drink mead all day long and complain about how the two of them did things, and he'd done the same to their mama. No, she did not want a husband, and she prayed in that moment to every god she could think of, that Hamish would not be that sort of husband to Ada.

Sorcha glanced toward the rug in front of her bed. Underneath it, was all the coin she had managed to gain doing odd jobs for people when she was not needed at the inn. And since she was needed there nearly all the time, it had taken her five summers to collect the coin she had, and it wasn't enough, nor did she have much more time to gain the rest. Hamish would be wed to another if they did not produce a dowry soon, and as tempting as it was to simply let that happen, she could not stand by and watch her sister's heart break because she was foolishly in love. Still... "Ada," Sorcha said with a rush of worry for her sister, "if ye ever want to flee Hamish, I'll help ye."

"He's nae Da," Ada said, repeating the words she always did. "Ye'll see. And I vow one day, ye'll meet a man that ye will nae be able to help being foolish for."

Sorcha shuddered at the thought. "I'll nae ever allow that."

"Ye can raise yer guards as high as ye wish, but love is like water—it finds a way into the smallest cracks in yer heart ye dunnae even ken are there." Bells rang in the distance, saving Sorcha from having to respond to such a ridiculous statement. She knew those bells. They were the ones announcing that the annual bow-and-arrow contest was about to begin. She'd dawdled too long. "I have to go, Ada, or I'll miss the competition."

"I'll go with ye," Ada said, and started after Sorcha as she was already walking toward the door.

Sorcha turned toward her sister. "Nay. Ye stay here. If Benedict sees ye, it may rouse his suspicions about me, and I need him to barely give me a passing glance." That was true, but she had an additional reason for telling her sister to remain at the inn. If there was trouble, she did not want Ada involved. Lying to the keeper of the annual contest was punishable by a public flogging, and she did not want Ada to witness or be involved in something like that.

"Are ye worried?" Ada asked, her eyes wide once more and alight with fear.

"Nay," Sorcha said, sounding more confident than she felt. "I'm nae worried one bit. I have thought of everything that could possibly go wrong, and it will nae."