Page 59 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

One of the older boys, clearly Isobel’s brother, given the color of his hair, grinned. “They were in the attic.”

“In the attic?” Isobel glowered at them, one after the other. “And what did I tell you about bows and arrows?”

Christ. Had they had this conversation before? If any one of them had been a better shot, someone could have been killed. But to his surprise and consternation, the little girl offered a penitent smile and said, “We were going to tell you.”

“Right,” another of the older boys said. Nick could hardly keep them apart. “But you were in that stupid tea thing. We decided to play without you.”

Play without her? With arrows? What kind of children were they?

“That stupid tea thing was morning calls. I dinna have a choice. Just wait until you’re my age and see. And doona try to cozen me, Alexander Lochlannach. We all know you wanted to play with the bows before the mothers discovered you found them.”

Another dark-haired lad snorted. “Canna hardly play with them after they find out, can we?”

The little girl nodded. “Doona be daft, Isobel.”

“Wait a moment, here,” Tully said. Apparently he’d found the courage to return from his refuge behind the bush. “Are you meaning to tell me that you often play with bows and arrows?”

The oldest boy—was it Alexander?—stared at him and snorted. “We’re Scots.”

Tully’s mouth worked. “You’re children.”

Andrew puffed out his chest. “I can shoot a damn sight better than you, ye wee popinjay.”

Despite himself, Nick snorted a laugh, which caused Tully to glower at him. Nick affected an innocent look. Tully growled a little. “Nonsense. Your arrows were way off the mark.”

“Were they?” the little girl said with a flutter of lethal lashes. “We dinna hit one of you.”

“Even though you tried to be hit,” a small one said belligerently.

Tully went red to his ears. “I didn’t try to be hit.”

“You ran right into an arrow,” Isobel reminded him.

He was not amused at that.

“I say,” Penny said, showing his great bravery by stepping forward. “It is not proper for children to have weapons.”

“We’re Scots,” the one boy repeated.

“Besides, Isobel had her own bow when she was little. Why should we no’?”

“She had her own sword, too.”

“It’s not fair.”

As this grumbling continued, Nick stared at Isobel. He’d heard stories about her from various gossips, but he hadn’t believed them. Not really. Could they have been true?

Then again, did it make any difference?

He respected the fact that she was bold and brave and her own woman.

“Is that true?” he asked. “Did you have weapons as a child?”

Her response was a sniff, but one of her blond brothers crowed, “She used them, too.”

“She’s a right better shot than any of you wee popinjays,” said the one who disliked popinjays.

“Perhaps we should have a contest,” the little girl said with a bloodthirsty light in her eyes.