“Excuse me, miss.” The handsome stranger appeared at Kinsey’s side once more. He smiled at her in a way she was sure other women found charming.
To her, it made him look like a false apothecary, selling off a bottle of common loch water as a cure-all potion.
Still, whatever he had to say would at least be more interesting than yet another discussion about the constable and his flimsy threats. She nodded to Clara to go on without her. After all, the vendor was only a few paces away. She would be able to keep watch on her sister.
Clara hesitated, but Kinsey waved her on, and she finally made her way to the cart. The man was still smiling when Kinsey returned her gaze to him.
“I’m William MacLeod,” he said as if he thought the familiarity of his name would warm her to him.
It didn’t.
“Ye caught my eye,” he continued. “I had to come to talk to ye.”
And here it went.
“Ye’re an exceptional archer.”
His compliment took her aback.
“I beg yer pardon?” A quick glance confirmed Clara was at the cloth merchant and being left alone.
“I saw how confidently you fired those shots.” He nodded the way men do when they’re impressed. “Ye’re damn good.”
Heat touched her face. “Thank ye,” she replied.
Was she really blushing and thanking him? She was getting as bad as Clara. But then, no man had complimented her skills with a bow before.
“I have need of a good archer,” he replied. “How would ye like to join my men and me in the fight against England?” He looked over his shoulder to indicate a group of men outside the inn before returning his attention to her. “To rise with the return of King David and reclaim the land that the English have stolen?”
Her blood charged in her veins at his words.
She’d heard of King David’s return to Scotland after his exile in France. He’d been there so long that she couldn’t remember a time when he had been on Scottish soil. She’d also heard of his determination to take back what belonged to them.
And she could be part of that army.
How long had she wished to exact vengeance on the English for their betrayal of herself and her family after their English father was slain in combat? How often had she lain awake in the manor, craving something more out of their quiet life?
This would be the ideal opportunity. The decision ought to be easy.
She glanced to where Clara sifted through several bolts of fabric with a careful hand.
Could Kinsey leave her family? Especially with their brother, Drake, already working for an earl on the wrong side of the border, and Faye being so far away?
And yet how could she not fight for Scotland after so many injustices?
William MacLeod had spied the fiery lass from across the market. What man would not?
Hair like fire, sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with a challenge, high firm breasts…aye, he’d have noticed her anywhere. But then she’d brought out that bow, quick as a snake’s strike, and expertly pinned the arrows into the ground right before the man’s feet.
That was the kind of archer William needed in his command.
A bonny lass to warm his bed would be an added benefit.
And yet she appeared hesitant.
“If ye join my men and me in our efforts to regain Scottish land from England, I’ll, of course, pay ye.” He winked at her.
She frowned slightly, almost appearing as though she found his charm off-putting. Strange.
Her fine lips pursed with shrewdness. “If ye pay me to do the job of a man, I’ll take the wage of one.”
There was something in the way she spoke that made her sound English. The Scottish burr was there, yes, but her words were less lyrical, crisper. He’d bet his life that she had mixed blood running through her veins, which meant neither country had likely been kind to her. He could use that to his advantage.
He considered what she’d said. While most men might balk at such a brazen demand, William found the logic of her request sound. “Consider it done. The pay of a man for the work of a man.”
“And I want armor.” She glanced behind him, where his men stood in their chainmail.
“Of course.”
Her eyes narrowed with a look of cautious intensity. “How do I know I can trust ye?”
He studied her, taking in the blue linen kirtle hugging her well-curved frame. The garment was fine enough, but not grand. Certainly, it was absent fraying hems or worn spots. Which meant she was not poor, but nor was she rich.
Her bow and arrow were of better quality, mayhap the best he’d seen on the borderlands.
She wasn’t unfounded in her lack of trust, especially on the border between England and Scotland, where treachery was prevalent, and reivers left everyone on edge.
She flicked her attention to where her lovely dark-haired companion pulled a bolt of fabric from a stack and handed it to the merchant with a generous smile.
William was running out of time.
“My father is Laird of the MacLeod clan on Skye.” He indicated his family crest on the hilt of his blade, the bull’s head expertly carved into the gold.
“And ye’re his heir?” The weight of her assessment settled over him.
William squared his shoulders. “Why would I no’ be?”
In his father’s eyes, there was one primary reason—disappointment. It had started early on when William was a boy. The knowledge that nothing he ever did was good enough to satisfy his father. After a time, William gave up trying.
He’d stopped caring. Or so he told himself. But with his father now threatening to name someone else as his heir for the lairdship, he had no choice.
This was his one opportunity to prove his worth by assisting King David in reclaiming Scottish land. And William would stop at nothing to ensure he succeeded.
“I must go.” The lass said abruptly.
“Can I no’ get an answer from ye?” he pressed. “What’s yer name?”
She smirked.
