William flashed his handsome smile but didn’t flirt. Rather, his gaze kept creeping toward Kinsey, though, of course, she didn’t let on that she noticed.
The ale at the tavern was different from what her mother made. Different even than what they’d had on the road. Stronger, with a sharp, nutty aftertaste. She didn’t usually consume very much, but now found herself moving onto her third as her head began to spin.
The more she drank, the looser the band of tension around her chest became. Her thoughts had continued to swing back toward death for the better part of their journey. They had been put there by Fib’s absence, by the decreased number of their army with the others they had lost.
And the men she had killed.
Mayhap it was cowardly of her, but she was glad the English guards had been at a distance. She didn’t know if she could kill someone up close.
At the moment when she’d shot them, they had been targets, an opportunity to save one of her own.
But on the trail when she’d had too much time to think, she couldn’t help but wonder at the children they might have had, the wives waiting for them to return when they wouldn’t, the mothers whose sons were now dead. And Kinsey had been the one to rob them of their loved ones.
How many had she killed?
She combed through her recollection of the night and tried to count them, but it was impossible. Yet not knowing made it even worse.
“Kinsey?” William asked. “Are ye well?”
She straightened. “Aye, of course.”
She was with men who had seen battle before, who had killed before. And among them, she was the only woman. She refused to say what was in her heart lest she be seen as weak.
Sir William’s eyes lingered on her for just long enough to indicate he didn’t believe her, but nor did he press the issue. Beside her, Alec had consumed more ales than Kinsey had bothered counting.
“Did ye see our archer in the attack?” Alec flung his arm over her shoulders. “No’ only is she bonny, but her aim is perfect.”
Kinsey’s muscles were relaxed from the ale, and she didn’t bother to push her fellow soldier off as he hugged her with brotherly affection, bringing with him the smell of stale sweat and ale. Sir William’s eyes narrowed.
“I wager she could be the one to beat Sir William at throwing daggers finally,” Alec boasted.
Kinsey lifted her brows at Sir William. “Are ye good with daggers, then?”
A smile lifted the corners of Reid’s lips. “The best.”
“I wouldn’t say the best,” Kinsey replied, thinking of her eldest sister. For all her gentle kindness, Clara had the accuracy of an assassin when it came to her daggers. If she could set aside her tender heart, she would be Scotland’s most sought-after mercenary.
A low murmur of appreciation went around the table, and Kinsey realized belatedly they thought she had meant herself.
Sir William’s eyes gleamed. “A challenge then?”
Kenzie opened her mouth to protest that she’d meant her sister, not her. She had some skill with throwing daggers, aye, but nothing like Clara. A cheer erupted from the men as they chanted her name.
Who could say nay to such a vote of support?
After all, her aim was true enough.
“I accept,” she said with a boast of confidence.
Mugs of ale were lifted high, and men pounded on the table in approval. Alec’s arm released her shoulders, and she rose from the table with Sir William.
“Shall we make this interesting?” He asked as he led her outside along with the others.
An old tree stump sat several paces from the tavern, its core scarred with pits and gashes from the many blades thrown at it over the years. They were evidently not the first to have such a competition.
“Interesting?” Kinsey looked up at him coyly. Maybe even with a hint of flirtation. Her head was light and her blood hot, both due to the ale she’d consumed.
And she liked it.
“A wager.” He withdrew the dagger from his belt.
“Ah.” Kinsey eyed his blade. It was a quality weapon with a straight, shiny blade and a smattering of what appeared to be rubies glittering at the end of the hilt. “If I win, I get yer dagger.”
William glanced at his blade, contemplating. “Verra well. If I win—”
“A kiss,” one of the men shouted. The following jeers supported the suggestion.
“I wouldna say nay to a kiss from such a bonny lass.” Sir William winked at her. “Though I wouldna want ye to think I was only trying to make ye my leman,” he said in a low tone, meant only for her.
A furious blush blazed at her cheeks.
It was a bold request. And one of little concern. After all, she would win.
She nodded. “A wager it is, then.”
8
William had competed in many throwing competitions in his life and had lost only once before, to a one-eyed man from Skye. It taught him never to underestimate his opponent.
He certainly didn’t with Kinsey.
She was the kind of lass to look a challenge in the face and laugh. That confidence showed itself now in the upturn of her chin.
He indicated the stump and stepped back. “Best of three. Bonny lasses throw first.”
Several men made lewd jests, which she responded to with a sharp look. The tavern kept a small bonfire burning for patrons who went outside for fresh air. It was by its flickering light that she aimed at the stump.
Kinsey pulled back her arm, paused for a brief moment and released the dagger. It sailed through the air and thunked into the center of the tree stump. A triumphant smile lit her face.
Someone whistled in appreciation.
William was next. He fingered the handle of his dagger, a gift from his father. One that he didn’t plan on losing. It had been given years ago before his father had lost faith in him. Before William had stopped trying.
The dagger was a reminder that no matter what William did, he might never be good enough again for his da. And so, William had to be good enough for himself.
He tossed the dagger. The action was simple but still caused a flash of pain to flare up at his side where the arrow wound had been stitched. He would need to be mindful of that.
The blade he’d tossed sank into the wood directly beside Kinsey’s blade.
They reclaimed their weapons.
“Nice throw,” he said.
“Yers was no’ so bad either.” She winked at him, almost flirtatious. “And by the end of the night, that pretty dagger will be mine.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be kissing ye senseless.”
She laughed. “Senseless?”
He merely lifted a brow and gestured for her to throw. She took a longer time aiming, but still managed to hit the stump. He used the opportunity to employ less force for his throw in an attempt to favor his wounded side.
The crowd watching them now wasn’t merely William’s men, but also several of the patrons from the tavern and a couple of serving wenches. The blonde one openly stared at him with interest.
After his last shot, she edged her way through the cluster of people toward him, standing far too close. Her forearm was warm and damp where it pressed against him and she smelled of ale. “Whether ye win or lose, I’ll keep yer bedroll warm tonight,” she said in a husky voice.