“Men have a penis to pish from and two bollocks. One on either side to carry their seed. And it’s also the place that can cause the most pain for a man. So hitting him with an arrow there would paralyze a man. He’d not be able to move at all.”
“You saw her do it?”
“Nay, but I heard much about it. She’s renowned for it. Makes men cringe whenever they hear her name. Gwyneth Ramsay. I heard she passed recently, a sad event for the Scots if it be true.”
“That is sad. I would love to train with someone so skilled.”
“Gwyneth trained many female archers. Granddaughters and great-granddaughters. Sons. So many. Probably whomever they bring will have learned from her.”
“How do you know all this, Simmy?” Merryn had met Simmy in the forest once when she’d put an arrow in the flank of a deer. Merryn had been picking berries when she heard the sound and jumped as the deer fell not far from her. She hadn’t screamed, though the constant fear of running into Kelvan never left her.
Simmy had run over, afraid she’d hit Merryn with a previous arrow, but she’d been gracious enough to bring the deer over to MacLean land, and once they’d skinned it, she’d offered the fur to them and generously left them with a slab of meat. Tristan had been delighted.
Simmy had brought her husband, Tanner, with her, or they never would have been able to carry the big stag to MacLean land. They spent the evening visiting, and upon learning of the issues the brother and sister faced, Simmy had offered to teach Merryn how to use a bow.
“I traveled on the mainland years ago. I know of the Ramsays, the Grants, the Camerons. They are all fine clans. The Grants are returning?”
“Aye, later this eve, I believe. They promised to help us build a stable and finish the roof of the tower. They are bringing two score of men to help cut trees down. Tristan is excited.”
The steady drum of horse hooves through the forest caught them, but it wasn’t from the path the Grants would be on. Merryn stopped and set her bow and quiver down, hiding them in the bushes.
Simmy sat up, grabbed her bow, and whispered, “Run. I’ll take care of whomever it is. Go find Shealee.”
Merryn didn’t wait. She raced toward the cottage, ignoring the fast beating of her heart and the bushes slapping against the tender skin of her arms. With every step, she prayed this was not Kelvan. As the horses drew near, the one sound she’d dreaded for so long sent her entire being into a fear she hadn’t experienced since she’d witnessed her sister’s brutal massacre.
“I know you’re here, Merryn. I want my daughter!”
Kelvan.
Tears raced down her cheeks as she approached the cottage, yelling as she moved along. “Tristan, he’s coming! He’s behind me.” She had no idea where Shealee was, but she would protect the lass with her life. Under no circumstances would she allow Kelvan to take the bairn, no matter his intentions.
Someday, he’d sell her, but only over Merryn’s dead body.
She let out as loud a scream as she could, the hut appearing ahead, while the volume of Kelvan’s voice told her he was drawing closer. “Merryn, I want my daughter back. She belongs with her father!”
The chill traveled up her spine and her breath hitched, but Merryn didn’t pause. She would not allow him to change her course of action.
And then the Lord brought her exactly what she needed. Down the main path from the opposite direction came an army of horses, their riders wearing the red plaids she recognized as belonging to Clan Grant.
“Help me, please!” Her voice carried to one rider who headed toward her as she broke through the bushes onto the path. He bellowed instructions, sending the other horses in different directions.
“Put your arms up over your head, Merryn. I’ll get you!”
Trembling with fear, she did as he asked, immediately recognizing Broc’s voice. She needed to get to the cottage before Kelvan reached her. This was the only way, so she closed her eyes and did what he requested.
Broc leaned over and scooped her up easily, lifting her and tossing her with an unladylike plop in front of him, but she did the oddest thing ever. She whirled around and hugged him, grabbing him so tight, never wishing to let go.
This man would protect her.
Broc wrapped an arm around her and said, “I’m taking you to the hut. Do you know who is attacking?”
“Kelvan. I heard his voice.”
Broc called over to a lass with a bow, “Shoot to kill, Eli.”
One man dared to come closer, and Broc adjusted Merryn to his left side. “Don’t move. I have to fight!”
She stayed still, peeking out as he controlled the majestic stallion with his knees, drawing his sword out of its sheath and waiting for the one man who dared to attack him directly. The attacker had a paltry weapon against Broc’s giant sword that he held and swung deftly at the last minute, driving it into the man’s belly with a grunt, shoving him off his horse.
