I tried to kill Kenneth with the same weapon. Life changed too quickly. Bethoc slipped off her confining shoes and kicked them aside. Taking a deep breath, she set her bow, aimed, and pulled. With a quick snap the arrow flew straight into the center of the scarlet dot.
“I told you.” Bethoc grasped the bow to her chest. “I am good.”
Malcolm’s dark eyebrows arched. “How good?”
She recognized the challenge. “You wish to see the whyfor of my bow skills, do you not?”
Watching him nod gave her an excuse to admire the features of his face, bronzed by win and sun, his lips were firm and sensual, and his dark eyes smoldered with fire. In that moment she knew he realized she perused him.
Bethoc felt the heat on her cheeks from embarrassment. She gulped then tore her gaze away and stared at the target. “Fair enough, Scot, I will show you what a Pict woman can do.”
“I cannot wait to see what a Pict woman can do.” His husky tone sounded as warm and thick as honey and her body buzzed inside.
With a slow, deep breath, she cleared her head of all thoughts of Malcolm, then set her bow and aimed. The second arrow flew fast and smooth, piercing the practice target right above the scarlet center.
“Not bad, but you drifted out of your shooting axis.” Malcolm stepped up behind her and ran his fingers over both her shoulders. With a slow firm motion, he kneaded her shoulders, then her neck. “Bethoc, you must relax your upper body.”
The balls of his calloused fingers rolled across her muscles as if smoothing out a piece of crumpled parchment. The glowing, fiery sensation in her shoulders floated to her brain and flowed to her belly. All hot and shivery she had to fight back a moan of pleasure. She couldn’t let him know the effect his strong fingers had on her.
He eased his hands of her shoulders. “You need not be forceful when you aim. Let your gaze float around the target.” Malcolm fluttered his finger in front of her face to demonstrate.
Those warm, firm fingers needed to brush against her body again, the way they did the air now. To sensually slide down her flesh, stroking, rubbing, squeezing, sending her senses reeling.
She stepped back, having to get her mind back on who and what he was. A Scott. Her enemy. Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eyes, one warrior to another. “Do you think you can do better?”
“Yes.” Malcolm met the challenge head on. He took her bow and arrow, and with all the aplomb of a king's champion, he aimed and shot.
The arrow sliced the air and thrust through the center of the target. He strung the bow with a second arrow and fired. With a snap, he hit the bulls-eye again. Then once more, thrice in a row.
Bethoc pivoted toward him on her bare feet. The expression in his eyes was not quite an I-told-you-so glare, but more of a hardened I-can-do-it-anytime, anywhere-if-I-want.
Bethoc swallowed hard. Malcolm may be more her match than she thought. In truth, he was well skilled for a Scot and more than pleasing to the eye. Every time he glanced at her, his dark eyes drew her to him.
He moved closer until his chest rested against her back. Her flesh tingled as the warmth and strength of his muscular body touched hers. As he embraced her, Bethoc’s pulse quickened. Even under the woolen cloth of her tunic dress, his arms kindled the feeling of red hot fire engulfing her shoulders.
“Less force,” Malcolm said in a throaty tone. “Your aim should be fluid.”
Bethoc's ear tingled from his hot breath. Malcolm gently lifted her arm and bent it over her shoulder. Firmly, yet with tenderness, he stretched her arm down her spine.
Muscles crackled. Bethoc felt so good. Lifting her other arm, Malcolm bent it behind her back. She laced her fingers together and pulled, causing a pleasurable give in her neck. A warm, peaceful feeling flowed through her body as the kinks and knots in her shoulders and upper back unwound.
Malcolm let go
“I told you.” Bethoc grasped the bow to her chest. “I am good.”
Malcolm’s dark eyebrows arched. “How good?”
She recognized the challenge. “You wish to see the whyfor of my bow skills, do you not?”
Watching him nod gave her an excuse to admire the features of his face, bronzed by win and sun, his lips were firm and sensual, and his dark eyes smoldered with fire. In that moment she knew he realized she perused him.
Bethoc felt the heat on her cheeks from embarrassment. She gulped then tore her gaze away and stared at the target. “Fair enough, Scot, I will show you what a Pict woman can do.”
“I cannot wait to see what a Pict woman can do.” His husky tone sounded as warm and thick as honey and her body buzzed inside.
With a slow, deep breath, she cleared her head of all thoughts of Malcolm, then set her bow and aimed. The second arrow flew fast and smooth, piercing the practice target right above the scarlet center.
“Not bad, but you drifted out of your shooting axis.” Malcolm stepped up behind her and ran his fingers over both her shoulders. With a slow firm motion, he kneaded her shoulders, then her neck. “Bethoc, you must relax your upper body.”
The balls of his calloused fingers rolled across her muscles as if smoothing out a piece of crumpled parchment. The glowing, fiery sensation in her shoulders floated to her brain and flowed to her belly. All hot and shivery she had to fight back a moan of pleasure. She couldn’t let him know the effect his strong fingers had on her.
He eased his hands of her shoulders. “You need not be forceful when you aim. Let your gaze float around the target.” Malcolm fluttered his finger in front of her face to demonstrate.
Those warm, firm fingers needed to brush against her body again, the way they did the air now. To sensually slide down her flesh, stroking, rubbing, squeezing, sending her senses reeling.
She stepped back, having to get her mind back on who and what he was. A Scott. Her enemy. Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eyes, one warrior to another. “Do you think you can do better?”
“Yes.” Malcolm met the challenge head on. He took her bow and arrow, and with all the aplomb of a king's champion, he aimed and shot.
The arrow sliced the air and thrust through the center of the target. He strung the bow with a second arrow and fired. With a snap, he hit the bulls-eye again. Then once more, thrice in a row.
Bethoc pivoted toward him on her bare feet. The expression in his eyes was not quite an I-told-you-so glare, but more of a hardened I-can-do-it-anytime, anywhere-if-I-want.
Bethoc swallowed hard. Malcolm may be more her match than she thought. In truth, he was well skilled for a Scot and more than pleasing to the eye. Every time he glanced at her, his dark eyes drew her to him.
He moved closer until his chest rested against her back. Her flesh tingled as the warmth and strength of his muscular body touched hers. As he embraced her, Bethoc’s pulse quickened. Even under the woolen cloth of her tunic dress, his arms kindled the feeling of red hot fire engulfing her shoulders.
“Less force,” Malcolm said in a throaty tone. “Your aim should be fluid.”
Bethoc's ear tingled from his hot breath. Malcolm gently lifted her arm and bent it over her shoulder. Firmly, yet with tenderness, he stretched her arm down her spine.
Muscles crackled. Bethoc felt so good. Lifting her other arm, Malcolm bent it behind her back. She laced her fingers together and pulled, causing a pleasurable give in her neck. A warm, peaceful feeling flowed through her body as the kinks and knots in her shoulders and upper back unwound.
Malcolm let go
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