— I was fortunate to train with the best instructors in the country, she adds, as if I’d asked. My father always emphasized the importance of traditional arts.
— How fortunate, I reply, trying not to show my growing nerves.
Ewan hands me a smaller bow than Heather’s, but it still feels intimidating.
— Don’t worry, he murmurs. Archery isn’t about strength—it’s about precision and focus.
— Two things I’ve never claimed to have, I whisper back.
— You might surprise yourself, he says, positioning my hands. Sometimes talent shows up when you least expect it.
I notice Callum has moved closer, watching us with an unreadable expression. He stands a few feet away, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between Ewan and me with unusual intensity.
— Now, Ewan says, stepping behind me to adjust my stance, keep your arm straight—but not rigid. Breathe deeply and focus on the target.
I feel his hands on my shoulders, guiding me patiently—and out of the corner of my eye, I see Callum tense. Is my stoic Scottish husband… jealous? The thought distracts me for a split second, but I shake it off. One thing at a time: first, don’t humiliate myself at archery. Then, analyze my husband’s psychology.
— Exhale slowly and release, Ewan continues.
I do, fully expecting the arrow to shoot off in some completely random direction—possibly backward, given my luck today. But to my shock, it flies straight and lands one ring away from the center.
A stunned silence falls, quickly followed by enthusiastic applause. I stand frozen, as shocked as if I’d just seen Hamish recite Shakespeare.
— Not bad at all! Ewan exclaims, clearly impressed. You sure you’ve never done this before?
— Absolutely sure, I say, still stunned. Unless glaring at producers counts.
— Try again, he urges, handing me another arrow.
I do—this time with a little more confidence. The arrow flies and lands even closer to the center. The applause grows louder.
— I think we’ve found your sport, Jane! Keira calls, stepping closer.
Heather watches, her expression tightening despite her attempt to stay composed. Clearly, my unexpected success wasn’t part of her “let’s publicly humiliate Jane” script.
— Beginner’s luck, she comments with a strained laugh. It’s often like that—you get lucky at first, then you realize how difficult it really is.
— Shoot again, Jane, Maggie says suddenly, having approached quietly. Let’s see if it’s really luck.
Something in her tone tells me she’s backing me against Heather. I nod, and with a newfound confidence, I nock a third arrow. This time, I focus completely, letting everything else fade away. I breathe, aim, and release.
The arrow cuts through the air and lands dead center with a sharp, satisfying sound.
A collective murmur ripples through the crowd.
— Bloody hell, she’s got talent! someone exclaims.
I turn to Heather, unable to resist.
— You’re right, Heather, I say sweetly. It’s much harder than it looks. I suppose I still have a lot to learn.
Callum steps forward, pride lighting his face.
— Impressive, Jane, he says, resting a hand on my shoulder. I think the McGregor family may have found its new archery champion.
— I think that’s a bit premature, Heather interjects, trying to downplay it. The family championship requires consistency across multiple distances and bows.
— Then sign Jane up for the championship, Maggie declares, her tone leaving no room for argument. I’d be curious to see how she does.
