My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5) by Vonda Sinclair

effort, she pulled the waxed linen string back, but not as far as he had. Her arms were shorter than his, and she didn't possess his strength.
    "Sight down the arrow," he murmured in an intimate tone that scattered her thoughts for a moment.
    Forcing herself to focus on aiming at the target, she let loose the string. The arrow sailed through the air but plowed into the sand a foot in front of the target.
    " Och ! You see. I'm terrible at this."
    " 'Tis your first try. We all miss on our first shot. Besides, the bow is a bit too long for you. 'Twas custom built for me with a long draw. Let's move forward a couple of feet."
    " 'Tis embarrassing," she muttered.
    "Nonsense."
    Of course, he was more muscular than she was; naturally his shots would be more powerful and the arrow would go farther. She'd always considered herself physically strong, for a woman, but she could never be as strong as he was, with his hard, defined muscles. She had never seen them nor run her hands over them, but she could see a bit of their bulk beneath the sleeves of his shirt, and when he'd had her pinned to the ground earlier, she'd felt them with her body.
    "Try again." He handed her another arrow.
    Once she had the string pulled back, he stepped in behind her and placed his hands over hers, helping her pull back the string a bit farther. "Now, we're hoping to put the arrow into that green square beside my arrow. This is where I would aim." His warm breath tickled her ear and she suppressed a shiver. "Now, hold it just there, and I'm going to remove my hand from the string."
    When he did, her muscles started quivering. She released the arrow. It flew toward the target and thunked beside his in the green square.
    "You see! You did it perfectly," he said with pride.
    "With your help," she conceded.
    "I'm glad to help." He observed her with a pleasant, amused expression just shy of a grin.
    Her face heated and it had naught to do with the sun. She hated blushing. With her red hair and fair skin, 'twas not becoming.
    "Try again," he suggested, handing her another arrow.
    She took it and nocked it, determined to prove she could do this. Did she want him to be proud of her? Perhaps so. But mostly she didn't want to look the fool in front of him. She aimed as he had, pulled the string back tight until her muscles ached, then she released it.
    The arrow flew faster than her first one and stabbed into the target two inches below the other two arrows.
    "Excellent," Torrin said in an astonished tone. "You've made quick progress."
    "I thank you." She gave a playful curtsy.
    When the sunlight dimmed, Jessie glanced up and noticed thick black clouds approaching from behind the cliffs. "We'd best go back," she said over the rising wind and handed him the bow. She had been so focused on learning to shoot the bow—and on Torrin—that she hadn't paid attention to the sky.
    He surveyed the clouds above. "Aye."
    After he quickly gathered the arrows and plaid target, they took off at a brisk walk. Moments later, great rain drops splattered Jessie's hair and clothing. Blowing sand stung her face and hands. She sped up to a trot, and he was on her heels, but it was obvious they were not going to make it back to the castle before the downpour.
    "The church," she called out over the fierce wind and thunder. It would be a good shelter. It was just off the beach and closer than the castle.
    "Aye," he agreed, running alongside her.
    Approaching the church, she pushed through the small wooden gate first, ran along the flagstone walkway and shoved open the heavy oak door.
    Once inside the small stone building, he closed the door behind them. "The weather here is vicious."
    "Indeed. Sometimes the only warnings are those dark clouds," she said, breathing hard.
    "I've been out in some bad gales, but this appears to be one of the worst." He lay the bow and arrows on the floor.
    Their loud breaths echoed through the church while rain pounded the slate roof.
    " 'Tis a new kirk, aye?"