Jane inhales deeply. This shot will decide everything.
A few steps away, Ewan throws me a knowing look. He hasn’t stopped ribbing me since our little conversation about the slightly too hands-on archery lessons he’d been giving my wife.
—She’s going to make it, Keira murmurs beside me. I can feel it.
—You also bet twenty pounds on her winning with the cousins, I remind her without taking my eyes off Jane.
—Financial incentives in no way diminish my sincere belief in her abilities, my sister replies with mock dignity.
Jane releases the string in one smooth motion that seems to suspend time itself. The arrow slices through the air and lands—almost impossibly—dead center.
A stunned silence follows, quickly shattered by cheers. Jane’s face lights up with disbelief and joy as Maggie steps forward to officially declare her victory.
—This is unprecedented in recent McGregor history! my grandmother announces, clearly delighted. A newcomer winning the championship on her very first try!
My mother’s expression is a masterpiece of contradiction—family pride in tradition upheld, shock at her own defeat, and a reluctant but undeniable respect for Jane. A few steps away, Heather looks like she’s just bitten into the sourest lemon imaginable, her frozen smile barely masking her irritation.
Jane is quickly surrounded by family members congratulating her. Ewan is the first to pull her into an enthusiastic hug, and that unfamiliar feeling from earlier creeps back in—jealousy, I finally admit to myself. I step forward to offer my own congratulations.
—Impressive, Jane McGregor, I say when she turns to me. It seems I married a female Robin Hood without even realizing it.
—Robin Hood in a skirt, she corrects with that smile that always derails my thoughts. I’m just as surprised as you are, believe me.
—I don’t doubt it. As for me, I’m not surprised. You’re always full of surprises.
A faint blush colors her cheeks, and before she can respond, my mother approaches, holding a small antique silver brooch.
—This brooch is traditionally awarded to the tournament winner, she explains, her solemn tone failing to fully conceal her emotion. It represents an arrow entwined with a thistle—a symbol of precision and strength.
A tradition I’ve known since childhood suddenly takes on new meaning as my mother pins the brooch onto Jane’s shawl herself.
—Welcome to the family, Jane, she adds, leaving me speechless.
Those words, spoken by a woman who’s treated Jane with all the warmth of an iceberg since her arrival, mark a turning point. Jane looks as stunned as I feel, but her smile is radiant.
—Thank you, Isobel, she replies sincerely. It’s a great honor.
Behind them, my grandmother watches the scene with undisguised satisfaction, as though everything has unfolded exactly according to a plan only she knew.
The Highland Gameswind down under the soft glow of a rare Scottish summer evening—clear skies, perfectly tempered air. Guests begin to disperse, some heading back to the village, others drifting toward the large tent where an informal dinner is being served.
—Do you want to go eat? I ask Jane, who’s still staring at the silver brooch in her hand, looking slightly dazed.
—Honestly? I need a quiet moment after all that, she admits. Some fresh air would help.
—A walk, then? I suggest. I know a path with a beautiful view of the estate.
—That sounds perfect.
We slip away unnoticed amid the general bustle. I lead her along a winding trail that cuts through the hills, away from the castle and the festivities. The silence between us is easy, comfortable.
—How does it feel, being an archery champion now? I ask after a while.
She laughs, and the sound sparks something warm and unfamiliar inside me.
—Like an imposter who got incredibly lucky, she says. But also… strangely proud. I’ve never been good at sports. In high school, I was always the last one picked for gym.
—Hard to believe after today’s performance.
