Page 21 of Wicked Passions

But now came the third target, one that would take their full measure as archers. Although it sat at a distance of just forty yards, it was the size and shape of a goose, atop a wooden pole lodged in the ground. The other entrants grumbled among themselves as they formed a line, and even Callum gulped. Each time he blinked, the target seemed to grow smaller and move farther away. But he wasn’t alone in these thoughts, for in the first fifteen archers, several required two arrows to succeed, and five more were forced to leave the field after all of their arrows missed the goose entirely.

“Next…the MacDonald of Carnoch!”

To the sound of loud cheers, Red unleashed his first arrow.

And missed.

Elation surged through Callum, but he forced himself to remain still and quiet. When his turn came, he could easily do the same. Besides, his cousin had not missed the target by much, perhaps a few inches at most.

Red’s second arrow hit the outside of the goose, but rather than lodging in the taut stuffed fabric, it fell to the ground.

“Fail!” called Sir Lachlan.

Clearly shocked at the judgment, Red jerked around to glare at the king’s champion. “How can you say that? My arrow was true.”

“Nay. The rule is…an arrow must pierce and remain. You have one last chance, MacDonald. If you miss…you retire.”

Callum’s heart near pounded out of his chest as Red set his stance and took aim with his third and final arrow.

Miss. Miss. Miss.

The arrow flew through the air, the short feathers rippling in the slight breeze. Everyone understood the gravity of the moment; not a soul on the field moved or made a sound, not even the young children or those selling refreshments.

Miss. Miss. Miss.

The arrow thudded into the false goose.

Wild applause erupted, and the people chanted Red’s name as they threw sprigs of purple heather onto the edge of the field. Red waved and bowed before turning and walking to Callum.

“Did you see that, cousin?” he said in a low voice, his eyes gleaming. “My arrow pierced that goose the way my cock will take Lady Isla’s virginity. Hard and deep.”

Callum’s fingers clenched around his bow. “Do not speak of her so.”

Red laughed and leaned down to speak directly into Callum’s ear. “Oh-ho! Has the lady a protector in the little laird? Do not delude yourself, there is no chance you will take her to wife. Lady Isla and her coin shall be mine. She’ll soon know who her master is, and if she is slow to learn…I’ve a whip to assist. That proud, defiant bitch will learn her place.”

A startlingly feral snarl tore from Callum’s throat; he jerked away from his cousin and threw his bow to the ground, wanting nothing more than to tear the man limb from limb.

Until a heavy hand clamped on his shoulder.

“Something the matter, Glennoe?” growled Sir Lachlan.

Callum gulped. Only a damned fool would succumb to Red’s deliberate baiting. If he hit his cousin as his fists itched to do, he would be thrown out of the tourney and Alastair and Isla would rightly think the worst of him. The king’s champion had just done him a great service, even if it did not feel like one.

Closing his eyes briefly to regain composure, he then turned and faced the judge. “Nay, Sir Lachlan. My bow…slipped from my hand, but all is well.”

“Good. Rory MacDonald, you have progressed…to the stone put. No need to remain. Return to your tent. Now.”

Red’s lip curled, but he inclined his head the barest distance and walked away.

Abruptly Sir Lachlan turned to the royal pavilion and beckoned one of the men at arms. “Bring a new goose! This one has…too many holes.”

Startled at the unexpected boon of time, Callum leaned down to retrieve his bow. First, he tested the tautness of the draw, before adjusting the leather guard protecting his left forearm. Slowly, his rage dwindled and his thundering heart calmed. In truth, Sir Lachlan had done him two services this day, far more favor than he deserved. But why? The Lord of Glennoe was certainly the least important title remaining, and it wasn’t like he’d led an army for the king, built a splendid palace, or discovered some wondrous elixir to cure all ills.

“Our last entrant, Callum MacIntyre, Lord of Glennoe!”

Callum stepped up.

Now or never.