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She was happy for him to accompany her as well. After asking a servant to have the maid fetch her bow and arrow, they spoke of the hunt, of the inquiries the chieftain was making, but one thing they did not speak of as they made their way around the keep to the inner bailey was last eve’s discussion.

Avelina could not raise the topic. What did one say? Last eve, when we broached the subject of marriage, ’twas in jest, aye?

Except, she had not been jesting. At least she had not last eve. So strong was her desire to be with him, Avelina would likely have agreed to their union. Which was as ridiculous a notion when she woke as it had been before. Her brother would never allow it. Her clansmen would not accept it. Nor would his, Avelina assumed. The chief’s son and second-in-command simply did not marry a MacKinlay.

She knew it well.

And yet, as Niall spoke, she could not force thoughts of kissing him from her mind. Giving her virginity to a man she did not intend to marry might be, in this particular situation, less scandalous than the marriage alternative. But Avelina did not wish for that either.

“You are lost in thought,” he said as they approached the training yard. The sounds of shouts and swords clashing reached their ears now, and Avelina was glad for Niall’s presence. She’d never before trained anywhere but home.

“I am,” she admitted, though could not admit the subject of those thoughts.

But perhaps he knew already, for as Niall gazed down at her, ’twas not difficult for her to think he might be having similar notions. In fact, she was sure of it.

Her heart raced.

Avelina’s feet felt as if they were no longer on the ground. How dearly she wished for him to kiss her again.

With a low groan, a sound quite pleasing to her ears, he shook his head.

Somehow, she understood.

A longing. A frustration. A confusion she felt deeply as well.

Neither of them spoke again until they were in the training yard. Niall had spoken to one of the men and freed the target they would use. As if on cue, a young boy ran to them holding Avelina’s bow and quiver up to her.

“I was asked to bring these to you, m’lady.”

She thanked him, accepting the single carved bough bound in leather. Its string made from twisted sinews, the bow fit comfortably on her shoulder as Avelina removed an arrow. She wasted no time binding the arrowhead into a notch in the shaft, its barbs preventing premature withdrawal.

“Does it worry you that you’re being watched?” he asked.

As she expected, it did not seem customary for a woman to be here in this yard. And indeed, Avelina was being watched. But with little else to occupy her—the standard pursuits of needlework and embroidery not of interest to her, and their household run smoothly by their steward who cared little for Avelina’s interference—she’d taken to learning how to wield a bow and arrow.

Typically, in an actual training, Avelina would utilize a series of targets at varying distances set up on a range specifically designed for archery training. Today, however, she was not quite training but showing her skills. To a man she wanted to impress, even if she should not. That very man now backed away even as the crowd grew.

He’d given her three shots, but Avelina wanted to use just one.

At this distance, she could easily hit the center of the target. However, her pulse was not quite as steady as it should be. Closing her eyes, she forced herself not to think of him. His nearness or his visage. The look he’d given her back in the garden, as if he wanted to kiss her as much as Avelina wished it. She’d think of none of that.

Consider only the target.

She opened her eyes.

She ignored the spectators and focused solely on where she must hit. Naught else mattered. Her brother had told Avelina often that whatever she focused on would have her notice, and so she looked at just one spot.

Pulled back.

And released.

The moment Avelina’s finger opened, she already knew the mark would be a hit. When it did, right in the center, she was little surprised. But apparently, most of her onlookers were, as they began to cheer and congratulate her.

“I suppose,” a deep voice at her back said, “I owe you a story, lass?”

When she looked at him, Niall was actually smiling.

“I believe you do,” she said, lowering her bow.