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He placed another ax in front of Suzette, explaining they each had five chances to throw.
Cora braced herself, drew back her hands and tossed her ax. It flew end over end through the air and smacked the wooden target, then fell to the ground.
“Oh, that was so close,” Suzette said in encouragement.
Liam stood back with Magnus as the women practiced aiming and throwing. Every time, their axes smacked the wall and fell to the ground.
“It’s like there’s a secret way you have to spin it,” Suzette said with frustration. “Mine keeps hitting the wall in the wrong spot, and it doesn’t want to stick.”
“Suze, I’m afraid ax throwing isn’t for us,” Cora said, laughing. “If we had to defend ourselves in battle like this, we’d be the first to die.”
“It’s all just a matter of timing,” Magnus said. “I’m sure you’d be great at it with a little more practice.”
“Take it, Liam.” Suzette’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and she handed him her ax. “You defend us. I’ll just embrace my role as the medieval lady and hang in my castle with the minstrels and the mead.”
“And I will be your serving wench at the castle,” Cora said, stepping away from the table. “Serving myself all the mead.”
Liam took the ax and stepped up to the table. He measured the heft of it in his hand, spinning it twice in the air, then catching the handle to test the balance.
“Oh, my God,” Suzette exclaimed. “Cora, you missed it! Liam just spun his ax and caught it allBraveheart-style. Do it again, Liam.”
“No spinning the axes,” the man in chain mail boomed. He pointed to a sign on the booth where the rules were laid out in old English font. “Aim only for the targets, or forfeit your right to battle, milord.”
“Bummer,” Suzette said, shaking her head. “That was impressive.”
Liam faced the target, lifted the ax easily over his head with one arm and lobbed it through the air. It was child’s play. The ax flew end over end and the blade lodged into the center target with a satisfyingthunk.
Suzette and Cora gasped, clapping their hands.
“How did you do that so easily?” Cora beamed at him, her blue eyes sparkling with admiration.
“I had a lot of practice growing up,” Liam said, lifting another ax and sending it flying straight into the target. As a child he’d chopped enough wood for ten lifetimes, and had mastered the use of an ax, as well as hunting weapons to catch small game in the woods. It was amazing how fast one could learn to use a blade when the alternative was starving or freezing to death. For his final throw, Liam tossed the ax underhand from hip level with an expert flick of his wrist, sending it spinning to land in the direct center of the target once again. Cora and Suzette whooped and clapped, thoroughly impressed.
Liam barely had a chance to bask in their praise before Magnus stepped up to the table. He drew an ax over his head and let it fly. To Liam’s annoyance, he hit the wooden target, too.
Both Cora and Suzette began commenting on Magnus’s skill. It irked Liam no end when Magnus hit the target again. And again. By the time they walked away, Liam was downright fuming.
“How were you both so good at that?” Suzette asked a few minutes later. “Did you practice ax throwing when you were a kid, too, Magnus?”
“No, not at all,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve only tried that once before, but it’s fairly simple once you figure it out. Should we go watch the jousting?” He gestured to the crowded bleachers in the distance, then held his arm out to Cora, who—blast it all to hell—linked her arm with his, grinning up at him like he’d just slayed a dragon for her.
Grumbling under his breath, Liam followed them all to watch the knights in shining armor perform. He was so consumed with finding ways to knock Magnus off his pedestal, he barely noticed the show.
For the next couple of hours Liam repeatedly challenged Magnus to participate in activities of skill. He’d wanted Cora to watch Magnus fail, but time and again Magnus surprised Liam with his damned competence. The man was as good at crossbow targets as he’d been at ax throwing. At the strongman tower Liam swung the mallet hard enough to make the puck rise to the top and ring the bell, which was quite satisfying, until Magnus did it, too. It seemed that every time Liam tried to beat Magnus at a game of skill, Magnus proved to be just as competent.
Even worse, Magnus was playing the chivalrous knight to perfection. When Cora said she was thirsty, Magnus marched to the nearest beverage tent and brought back a round of ice-cold drinks for everyone. When the ladies oohed and aahed at the merchant cart selling painted silk fans, Magnus bought each of them one. As the day wore on, Liam’s mood grew stormier. Magnus acted noble and charming through it all, but he wasn’t fooling Liam for one second. The bastard was playing the role he needed to play in order to win Cora over, and it seemed to be working.
Sometime after noon Liam purchased a giant turkey leg and leaned against a tree, brooding as Magnus and Cora rode the wooden carousel. He grimaced, tearing off chunks of smoked turkey leg and chewing forcefully as he watched the smiling couple. If only he had a jousting lance, he’d knock Magnus off that stupid painted horse. He could do it, too. He had good aim. Maybe he could just chuck this turkey leg at him when he circled back around.
“Why are you waving your food around like that?” Suzette asked from a nearby cart full of parasols. He ignored her and bit another chunk off his turkey leg.
“You’re going to choke if you keep taking such huge bites, you know. I once saw a guy at a steak house who—” She gasped. “Oh,hellno.”
Liam looked at Suzette’s thunderstruck face and rigid posture. He followed her gaze to a sparkly tent with a sign that read Witch Hazel’s Potions and Spells. The tent was filled with colorful bottles of perfume and body oils. Tied bundles of lavender spilled from baskets, and trays of scented bath soap were arranged on velvet tablecloths.
Inside the tent a tall, lanky man in breeches and a billowy shirt was locked in a heated embrace with a woman who appeared to be Hazel. She was wearing bohemian skirts, a plethora of gold bracelets and her long, dark hair was spangled with colorful ribbons. The powerful scent of patchouli incense wafted out of the tent. The man said something to Hazel, and she let out a throaty chuckle.
“Jimmy,”Suzette spat under her breath. “He is so dead.”
