Page 10 of A Rogue and a Noble Lass

“I fear naething.”

“Only a fool fears naething,” Beitris retorted. “If ye are nae willing tae be a target, then how about ye prove yer superiority? If archery is sae easy then I’m sure ye will hae nae difficulty in beating me in a contest. Three arrows. And I’ll make it interesting. Whoever wins gets a favor, and ye get the better of that deal. After all, a favor from Beitris Knox is worth more than one from… Grimhand.”

Logan bristled at the name. He hated how Brody always tried to give him a nickname.

He pressed his lips together. A favor was a powerful thing. Perhaps she could grant him an audience with her father. He would finally be face-to-face with the man who led Abigail to her death.

He grabbed a bow.

“Fine. Ye will soon realize that ye are nae as good as ye think. But I would add one thing… combat. Hand tae hand. This time we fight until first blood.”

“Done,” Beitris agreed without hesitation, which surprised him. Now it was she who acted without fear.

Beitris stepped back and offered him the first shot. Logan picked up the bow and held it aloft. He took a moment to get used to the weight of it in his hands. Although he preferred melee combat, Logan was no stranger to a bow. He felt the wind and adjusted his aim before releasing his arrow. It surged through the air and thudded into the target, hitting the outer edge of the inner circle.

“That was better than I expected,” Beitris said.

She drew her bow up and took a breath. Logan watched intently, looking at the way the bow string was pulled to caress her cheek, how her chest was pushed out, accentuating her feminine curves. A hazy feeling came into his mind and his throat tightened.

He tried to dismiss these feelings like unruly soldiers.

Beitris fired her arrow and it hit the gold center—a perfect strike. Her form was flawless, and then she gave him a cocky look. Logan furrowed his brow and this time took a little longer to aim. This arrow landed near his previous one. Beitris’ second arrow nestled close to her first one as well.

“If ye like, I can give ye some lessons,” she said.

Logan grunted, intending to silence her with a perfect shot. He hoped to splinter her previous arrows, but it was not to be. Because he was so tense, this arrow went even wider than the first two. He still hit the target, but the arrow landed harmlessly in the outer ring.

“Ye should nae feel bad,” Beitris said airily as she lifted her bow. “The bow is a weapon of precision and grace. Ye cannae just swing it about wildly and hope for the best. There’s a reason why the sword is the most common weapon.”

As she finished speaking she fired her third arrow, and it formed a cluster with the other two. Her aim was unerring and the arrows looked as though they became one. It was impossible to deny her skill, although Logan certainly wasn’t going to voice that.

“The wind was with ye taeday,” he muttered.

Beitris laughed dryly and shook her head. “Will ye yield now, or dae ye still want tae bleed for me?”

“I never yield,” Logan replied.

They faced each other with swords.

This time, Beitris was more measured in her approach. She arched her eyebrow and took a defensive posture, blocking his strikes. She wasn’t as useless as he previously thought. She had a mind for strategy, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

He wasn’t going to give her one, though. But he could use this knowledge to lull her into a false sense of security. He just needed to pick the right moment to feint then he would strike. The only question was, where did he want to draw blood?

He thought about her face. It might send a message to Knox. His children weren’t safe, not even in his own Keep.

As they fought their bodies came close together. He watched her shift left and right, the curves of her body captivating him, the wild locks of hair falling across her face tempting him, and her eyes looking as big and as mysterious as the heavens above.

How could a Knox be so beautiful?

A knot of irritation grew taut within him because he was annoyed that he did not find her repulsive—like he should in his sister’s memory.

Just as this thought ran through his mind, a loud cry interrupted them.

“Stop, what is this madness?” one man cried out.

Two of them approached. Logan turned around, knowing them to be her older brothers, Allan and Elliot. His hand tightened on his sword. It took everything he had to restrain his aggression.

“What dae ye think ye are daeing fighting our sister?” Allan asked.