"I would like to learn to shoot a bow," she said, surprising him.

"Good." Now he simply had to figure out how to convince her to kiss him.

Chapter Six

After a trip to the castle to retrieve his longbow and half a dozen arrows, Torrin and Jessie headed along the beach again. Even though the sun was warm, the cool breeze off the sea kept the day from being hot.

Jessie glanced at him briefly, thinking about their earlier wrestling match on the sand. She had never imagined he would be as playful as a lad. He was a formidable chief, for heaven's sake.

She hadn't realized she was playful either. He must have brought it out in her.

Earlier, when he'd told her about how he'd also lost his beloved dog, she'd suddenly realized, deep down, that he was not that different from her. Of course, he was a man, a chief, and a fierce warrior, but he still had a heart. He was human, just like everyone else. Not the monster she'd always imagined him to be.

Still, just because she'd enjoyed talking to him and rolling about on the sand like a couple of bairns didn't mean she wanted to marry him. She didn't yet know him well, and she didn't wish to fall for another man who would desert her.

But she had to admit, when he'd had her pinned to the ground with his strong, lean body, the heat of arousal had singed her. It had been a long while since a man had touched her. And Torrin was more attractive than most. The wicked thought of what he might look like naked seared through her mind.

Jessie, you wanton wench. Though mortified at her own thoughts, she couldn't help wondering if the muscles of his arms, chest, stomach, and thighs were as sculpted as they'd felt pressed against her. Every part of him had been hard. She had even thought at one point, when his sporran had slid aside, that she'd felt that completely male part of him pressing against her.

The fact that he'd been aroused and hadn't kissed her or tried to seduce her told her much about his character. Aside from that, 'twas clear he'd almost kissed her that morn outside the kitchen, but he hadn't. Why? Had he known she wasn't ready?

Maybe he could be trusted. She glanced up at him again, taking in his steady green gaze, high forehead, solid, angular jaw and chiseled lips. Of a certainty, he was a charmer and a lady's man. He had no doubt seduced dozens of women. He could be the type who indulged in a tryst for a night or a week, then fled. She had no interest in men who changed their minds as often as they changed their shirts.

"Have you shot a bow before?" he asked when they neared the end of the beach close to the cliffs.

"I tried once but was so bad I gave up."

"Och. Never give up."

She smiled at his fierce gaze. "What will we shoot at?"

"This." He held up the short length of near worn out plaid, then pinned it to the high, vertical sandbank with two sharp sticks.

He moved back about fifty feet and she followed to stand beside him. She couldn't help but admire his strong, dexterous hands, long fingers, and muscular forearms as he strung the six-and-a-half-foot bow. Given the warmth of the day, he'd left his doublet at the castle and rolled up his sleeves. Though she tried not to stare at him and his physique, 'twas impossible to ignore his impressive arm and shoulder muscles that shifted beneath the ivory linen shirt.

"Here." He handed her a glove made of thin leather. "You'll need this to protect your fingers."

"Won't you need it?"

"Sometimes I shoot with it; sometimes without. 'Tis likely my fingers are tougher than yours."

She nodded and held the glove while watching him, trying to ignore how warm the leather was from his body heat.

He withdrew a thirty-inch arrow from the quiver. "You nock the arrow like this," he said, placing the feathered end of the arrow against the string while also pulling it back. The front of the bow curved gently. "Most men who have been shooting their whole lives don't take aim. They simply look at the target, and when they release the arrow, it goes where they intended. But since you're just starting, you may want to sight down the arrow and take aim. Line everything up. If there is a fiercely strong wind, you need to take that into account."

"Wind? There is never any wind in Scotland," she said wryly.

Sending her a richly sensual glance, he chuckled. Did he like it when she teased? After drawing his hand back even with his jaw, he released the string and let the arrow fly. It plunked into the plaid in the middle of a green square where two red lines crossed. The sandbank behind the cloth stopped the arrow.

"Now, you're going to tell me 'twas the middle of that square you were aiming at."

"'Tis exactly the one." He grinned and handed her the longbow. "Now you try."

After pulling on the glove, she took an arrow from the quiver and felt very awkward nocking it into the bow. Standing behind her right shoulder, he helped her position it. With great 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."