“You’re a pretty one.” One of the two Englishmen stepped from the surrounding crowd and approached Clara.
A delicate shade of pink blossomed over her cheeks, damn her.
“Thank ye.” Clara shyly ducked her head.
Kinsey didn’t bother to hide her huff of aggravation. Clara would eventually get them both killed.
“I bet you’re far sweeter than any honey I could buy here.” The man stepped closer, swaying a bit. His friend stood behind him, saying nothing as he offered them a smile that looked ready to slide off his homely face.
Clara shook her head, her smile wavering with uncertainty. “Nay, I—”
Kinsey moved to stand before her. “She’s not interested.”
The man didn’t bother to hide his lust as his gaze slithered down Kinsey’s body. “And I bet you’ve got the right amount of spice to offset that sweet, eh, Red?”
She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest to shield herself from his foul stare. Not only would she not give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d unsettled her, but she also wanted to ensure she could draw her bow quickly.
“I’m also not interested.” She notched her chin a little higher. “We’d like ye to leave.”
“What if I want to stay?” He licked his lips.
She slung her bow off her back, drew an arrow and sent one into the dirt just before his feet where he stood several paces away. He stepped back, and a second arrow landed where his other foot had been.
“The next one goes a little higher.” She nocked another arrow, aimed it at his groin and smiled. “Is that enough spice for ye?”
“Kinsey.” Clara’s voice held a note of warning.
Kinsey could already hear the admonishment. Though, with Clara, it was more a careful reminder than a chastisement. “Remember what the constable said—the next time ye bring out yer bow, ye’ll be fined.”
But Kinsey wouldn’t be fined. The constable made the threat often enough for her to know it held no weight. Then again, she’d only ever shot the ground. Would the constable continue to be as forgiving if she actually put her arrow into someone?
Eventually, she just might find out.
Today would not be that day, for the Englishman and his friend scowled and staggered away, grumbling their curses.
The cloth merchant was at the end of a line of booths, beside a cart offering jars of honey.
“Do ye need any assistance?” A voice asked from behind Kinsey.
From an Englishman to a Scotsman. God, how she hated market days.
“Commendable timing.” She glanced over her shoulder.
The man was lean and tall, his brown hair neatly combed to the side, his high cheekbones evident with the hint of a smile on his lips. He was the most handsome man Kinsey had ever laid eyes on.
And he knew it.
What was worse, he was undoubtedly a nobleman. His clothes were too costly to be a reiver. Or even a merchant from the border for that matter.
Before she could open her mouth to offer a smart retort to send him off, Clara spoke up. “Nay but thank ye for offering to help.”
Kinsey gave her sister a long-suffering look, which Clara met with a patient tilt of her head. How was it she never got riled?
“Then mayhap ye can help me,” the man said.
But Kinsey was already turning away, pulling Clara toward the cloth merchant who would undoubtedly take far too much of their time.
“Can we get the wool next week?” Kinsey asked under her breath.
“I’m almost finished with the new dress I’m making for Mum.” Clara navigated the crowd of people as they walked. “I need only this last bit for it to be complete.”
Her older sister slowed just before they reached the cart laden with bolts of colorful fabrics, the scent of dye sharp from the fabric, which had been warming in the sun. “I know ye don’t like market days, and aye, the people can be…coarse, but Kinsey, I worry about ye. The constable said—”
“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 from where she stood.
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 Sir 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 talk to ye.”
And here it went…
Kinsey sighed.
“Ye’re an exceptional archer.”
His compliment took her aback.
“I beg yer pardon?” A glance confirmed Clara was at the cloth merchant and being left alone.
“I saw how confidently ye 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 Kinsey’s 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
