Page 27 of The Archer’s Wish

Ailith’s stall would be set near the far end, her embroidered linens fluttering like bright flags in the wind. She and Beitris had bonded over poultices and wounded warriors not so long ago. A bond of friendship brought about through shared exhaustion and too much spilled blood.

As Beitris entered the main square, she had to slow her steps. The crowd was thick, men and women spinning in lively circles. Others dancing alone with carefree abandon, skirts and kilts swirling in streaks of color. Children raced through the clusters of dancers, shrieking and laughing, their joy adding to the festive feel.

The merriment was contagious. Without meaning to, she bobbed her head to the beat, her feet tapping softly along the packed earth. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the lightness.

The great bonfire crackled ahead, sparks racing upward like tiny fireflies flying toward the darkening sky. Beitris stepped closer, drawn to its warmth.

Suddenly, a rough hand clamped around her arm.

Before she could protest, she was swung around and collided hard against a man’s chest.

“Dance with me, lassie!” Cormac, the town bully, slurred. His words thick with drink.

Beitris staggered, catching herself with both palms against his reeking tunic. “Release me at once.”

“Nae,” he growled, hauling her closer. “Ye want a dance, and there’s nae man brave enough to ask.”

The smell of his sour breath made Beitris turn her face away. Panic bloomed in her chest, cold and sharp. Where was Keir? He was meant to be here. Most of the guardsmen had been given liberty tonight; her brother should not have been far.

Cormac tightened his hold and attempted some clumsy, swaying imitation of a dance, one arm crushing her waist as he spun her in an uneven circle.

Beitris’s fear turned to anger. She jerked her leg back and kicked as hard as she could.

Cormac let out a strangled grunt. She kicked again, not caring where her foot landed, fury and fear making her relentless.

He loosened his grip with a hiss of pain.

She tore free.

But she barely took three steps before a vise-like grip seized her shoulders from behind, yanking her back so suddenly she lost her breath.

“Let me go!” she screamed, the music swallowing her voice, the drums and fiddles and laughter drowning her out completely.

“Cormac, I dinnae wish to dance. Release me!” She struggled, clawing, shoving, twisting, but his hands only tightened until pain shot down her arms.

His face loomed close, twisted with a cruel anger. Cormac’s temper was infamous in the village; most avoided him outright.

“I can do what I wish with ye,” he snarled. “And no one would stop me. Ye are nae but a…”

Whatever insult he meant to spit never left his mouth as her knee connected between his legs.

Cormac suddenly folded forward with a choked gasp, hands flying to his stomach. Beitris didn’t wait. She ran.

Heart in her throat, shawl trailing behind her like a banner, she bolted across the square, dodging dancers and carts and startled villagers. She flew through the bakery door, slammed the bolt into place, then raced up the stairs two at a time. Only once the latch clicked on her chamber door did she press her back to the wood and try to breathe.

Her heart thundered like a war drum. Her hands shook uncontrollably. She whispered a prayer that Cormac was too drunk to remember any of it come morning.

When dawn crept through her window the following morning, Beitris forced herself to look outside. The street was still quiet, washed in pale light.

And there he was.

Cormac stood across the road, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against a cart. His expression was unreadable, but the stare he fixed on her building chilled her to the bone.

A shiver rolled through her. She dressed quickly and hurried downstairs, needing the comfort of her parents’ presence and the solid walls of the bakery.

Her mother was already serving bread to early customers, while her father pulled loaves from the warm ovens. They greeted her, but her mother paused, concern furrowing her brow.

“Ye look tired, lass. Did the festival noise keep ye awake?”