Page 50 of Highland Spy

Bridget didn’t answer, just clenched her jaw, glad the man was leaving.

“Da, dinna let anyone touch the Highland Chronicles except us,” she said in a low voice. She sat down next to him and whispered, “I found out there is a saboteur in the competition.”

“Nay, that canna be true,” said the man.

“And to make matters worse, I saw Valan here.”

“Valan?” he asked, seeming as if his memory was lapsing again.

“The man who used to be my husband?” She looked into her father’s eyes. Finally, he understood.

“Valan,” he grunted. “If he comes near ye, I’ll box his ears. What is he doin’ here?”

“Causin’ trouble, I’m sure,” she answered with a sigh, looking out to the field where Caleb was getting ready to shoot an arrow. “I hope he can pull this off,” she muttered.

“What was that, Daughter?” asked her father, holding a hand up to his ear. “Speak louder, I canna hear ye.”

“I said, Caleb is up next, Da. Let’s watch him.”

Caleb walked by the rest of the competitors, eyeing them up, trying to decipher which of them, if any, was the saboteur. When he walked past Ollie Fraser, the oldest man in the competition, and also the one who had the most experience with weapons, he stopped. Ollie would shoot after Caleb, being last in this event. So far, everyone did pretty well, but no one had made a bullseye.

“So. Will ye be the one to make a bullseye, or will I?” asked Caleb.

The man clutched his bow, shifting from foot to foot, seeming nervous.

“I – I dinna ken,” he answered.

“What’s the matter?” asked Caleb with a chuckle. “Nervous because ye think I’m goin’ to best ye?”

“I was feelin’ nervous because my bow disappeared, but I’ve got it back now, so everythin’ is all right.”

“Ye lost yer bow?” This didn’t sound like Ollie. “So where did ye find it?”

“It was half-hidden under the hay. Clement MacLean found it and brought it to me, thankfully. Without my lucky bow, I might no’ make a bullseye like I usually do on the very first shot.”

“Well, we get two shots, so guid luck.”

Caleb didn’t even have time for a practice shot since he was up in his chamber. It really bothered him that Valan, Bridget’s ex-husband, was here. He didn’t want to think of anyone having made love to Bridget. Neither did he want to think that someone had mistreated her. With his bow in hand and the quiver of arrows on his back, he walked up and took his place.

“Ye can do it, Caleb,” called out Bridget from behind him. He turned and smiled, noticing the way her eyes lit up as she watched him. She always supported him and had faith in him, even when he didn’t have faith in himself.

“Caleb MacKeefe will now shoot his first arrow,” called out the announcer.

He put the quiver in place and pulled back the bowstring, eyeing the target across the field. He would have to hit the target twice, once near the middle to have enough points to tie most of the finalists. He still had a chance to win this competition, even with Storm’s mishap. If a finalist came in first place in more than one of the events, there was a good chance they would walk away with the prize. Caleb’s mind was already swarming with daydreams of using the money to build at least a manor house on the land he won, asking Bridget to marry him and live there with him as his wife.

If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, he might have noticed a man moving through the crowd, coming up behind him. The bow creaked, the taut string stretched, and he aimed the tip of his arrow directly at the center of the target. Then, just as he let the arrow fly, someone bumped into him from behind.

His body jerked, the arrow went off course, and missed the target altogether.

“That’s a total miss, and no points will be awarded,” called out the herald.

“Who the hell bumped me?” Caleb ground out, turning to see a red-haired man standing there with an open book and a quill in his hand.

“Who are ye?” asked Caleb.

“I’m Sorley. Of Clan Douglas,” said the man. “I’m sorry to have bumped ye. I was movin’ closer to record the events when someone nudged me from behind.”

“The king already has a chronicler who is recordin’ the events for the Leader of the Lairds Competition,” Caleb informed him. “Ye are no’ needed to do that.”