time—”
A barrage of arrows suddenly flew over the outer wall, cutting short his directive. The astonished MacKendricks turned and ran, yelping as the shafts rained down on them. Unfortunately, Gordon did not move fast enough and was hit in the backside. Another arrow skewered the earth scant inches from the front hoof of Malcolm’s horse, causing the animal to toss his head and dance backward.
“What the hell is going on?” roared Malcolm, laying a calming hand upon Cain’s neck.
The shower of arrows stopped.
After a moment a sheepish-looking Gavin appeared through the gate.
“Sorry about that. The women kept shooting too low and missing the targets. I told them to aim higher than they thought they needed to.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And they did.”
“Well, now, you can’t blame them for that, lad,” said Angus.
Dugald nodded in agreement. “After all, they were only doing as they were told.”
“It seems they take instruction very well,” remarked Alpin brightly.
“You’re right,” said Angus, suddenly elated. “Who would have thought the lassies would shoot so high on their very first lesson?”
His jaw clenched, Malcolm watched as Gordon was slowly helped off the field. There were now four men gone, and they had been training for only ten minutes.
At this rate the entire clan would be incapacitated by the end of the day.
“I say we don’t need him,” announced Niall flatly. “What did we learn today, except that endlessly lifting and thrusting a weapon makes your arm throb?”
“I learned that women are better suited to a needle than to a bow,” grumbled Gordon, shifting painfully on his cushion.
“We were doing much better by the end of our session, Father,” pointed out Elizabeth defensively. “Once the targets were moved away from the castle wall.”
“He is trying to make archers of women, while he has us hacking and thrusting at empty air,” continued Niall, his tone thick with scorn. “Now every one of you is aching and weary, and what do we have to show for it? Does any man here feel better prepared to face an attacker?”
“I’m too tired to face anything but my bed,” grumbled Ramsay.
“My arms are as weak as a babe’s. If someone came through that door right now, I doubt I’d be able to lift my sword,” said Graham.
“A sore arm?” scoffed Hugh. “That’s nothing. You should see the scrape on my thigh.” He began to raise his plaid. “I’d wager it’s longer than—”
“You call that wee scratch a scrape? I’ve a cut on my shoulder as wide as a loch,” declared Bryce, loosening his shirt.
“A cut? Why I’ve a broken rib, I’m sure of it, and you don’t hear me crying about it,” boasted Ramsay.
“You were crying hard enough when I ran into you,” pointed out Graham. “I thought I was going to have to fetch your mother.”
“This training is a waste of time,” continued Niall, trying to recapture their attention. “We are deluding ourselves if we think MacFane can turn us into warriors.”
“It’s not our business to fight,” agreed Gordon irritably. “We should leave it to others.”
“Exactly,” agreed Niall. “So what is MacFane doing here? One only has to look at him to know he is not the next laird—”
“He’s not, is he, Alpin?” demanded Bryce, sounding horrified by the possibility.
All eyes turned to Alpin, who was seated at the laird’s table. A hush descended over the hall as they anxiously awaited his response.
Alpin rose from his chair and calmly regarded the clan, his black eyes sharp and knowing. “If I showed you a single, tiny seed, and told you that within its fragile walls lay endless shade in the summer, bushels of fruit in the autumn, and ample wood to furnish your homes and warm you in the winter, would you believe me?”
The silent clan stared at him, awestruck, contemplating the wisdom of his words.
Alpin nodded with satisfaction and slowly
A barrage of arrows suddenly flew over the outer wall, cutting short his directive. The astonished MacKendricks turned and ran, yelping as the shafts rained down on them. Unfortunately, Gordon did not move fast enough and was hit in the backside. Another arrow skewered the earth scant inches from the front hoof of Malcolm’s horse, causing the animal to toss his head and dance backward.
“What the hell is going on?” roared Malcolm, laying a calming hand upon Cain’s neck.
The shower of arrows stopped.
After a moment a sheepish-looking Gavin appeared through the gate.
“Sorry about that. The women kept shooting too low and missing the targets. I told them to aim higher than they thought they needed to.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And they did.”
“Well, now, you can’t blame them for that, lad,” said Angus.
Dugald nodded in agreement. “After all, they were only doing as they were told.”
“It seems they take instruction very well,” remarked Alpin brightly.
“You’re right,” said Angus, suddenly elated. “Who would have thought the lassies would shoot so high on their very first lesson?”
His jaw clenched, Malcolm watched as Gordon was slowly helped off the field. There were now four men gone, and they had been training for only ten minutes.
At this rate the entire clan would be incapacitated by the end of the day.
“I say we don’t need him,” announced Niall flatly. “What did we learn today, except that endlessly lifting and thrusting a weapon makes your arm throb?”
“I learned that women are better suited to a needle than to a bow,” grumbled Gordon, shifting painfully on his cushion.
“We were doing much better by the end of our session, Father,” pointed out Elizabeth defensively. “Once the targets were moved away from the castle wall.”
“He is trying to make archers of women, while he has us hacking and thrusting at empty air,” continued Niall, his tone thick with scorn. “Now every one of you is aching and weary, and what do we have to show for it? Does any man here feel better prepared to face an attacker?”
“I’m too tired to face anything but my bed,” grumbled Ramsay.
“My arms are as weak as a babe’s. If someone came through that door right now, I doubt I’d be able to lift my sword,” said Graham.
“A sore arm?” scoffed Hugh. “That’s nothing. You should see the scrape on my thigh.” He began to raise his plaid. “I’d wager it’s longer than—”
“You call that wee scratch a scrape? I’ve a cut on my shoulder as wide as a loch,” declared Bryce, loosening his shirt.
“A cut? Why I’ve a broken rib, I’m sure of it, and you don’t hear me crying about it,” boasted Ramsay.
“You were crying hard enough when I ran into you,” pointed out Graham. “I thought I was going to have to fetch your mother.”
“This training is a waste of time,” continued Niall, trying to recapture their attention. “We are deluding ourselves if we think MacFane can turn us into warriors.”
“It’s not our business to fight,” agreed Gordon irritably. “We should leave it to others.”
“Exactly,” agreed Niall. “So what is MacFane doing here? One only has to look at him to know he is not the next laird—”
“He’s not, is he, Alpin?” demanded Bryce, sounding horrified by the possibility.
All eyes turned to Alpin, who was seated at the laird’s table. A hush descended over the hall as they anxiously awaited his response.
Alpin rose from his chair and calmly regarded the clan, his black eyes sharp and knowing. “If I showed you a single, tiny seed, and told you that within its fragile walls lay endless shade in the summer, bushels of fruit in the autumn, and ample wood to furnish your homes and warm you in the winter, would you believe me?”
The silent clan stared at him, awestruck, contemplating the wisdom of his words.
Alpin nodded with satisfaction and slowly
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