“It is. If you’re up for it, Scot.”
Tatiana leaned in and listened to the exchange.
The Scot wore a kilt, while the blond English lad did not. “I’m more than ready for the likes of ye.”
The blond laughed alongside his friends, and moved in the wake of his peers into a position to make the match. Unable to stop herself, Tatiana followed the crowd. The kilted one glanced around, his gaze landing on hers for only a second. The smile she didn’t realize she wore fell quickly as she snatched her gaze away. When she glanced back up, the boy still looked her way. Their eyes locked, and his lips turned up into a slight smile.
Without thinking, Tatiana turned around, ready to flee but found a crush of young people behind her, all pushing in the direction of the contest.
By the time she peered in his direction again, the lad held a crossbow in his hand and stood facing an open field.
Ahead of him, a younger boy ran to place two pieces of fruit upon a nearby stump of a fallen tree.
“Is this good?” the boy yelled.
The Scot nodded to his challenger. “Would ye like to go first?”
Instead of answering, the blond lifted his bow, took aim, and fired.
The arrow found the heart of the fruit, and his friends hollered in triumph.
Unaffected, the Scot quickly lifted his bow and split his fruit in two.
A round of boasting commenced, along with a rash of quiet betting behind her.
Both boys stepped several yards back while the younger boy set up two more pieces of fruit.
With each pass, and each arrow aiming true, Tatiana found herself cheering secretly for the darker haired boy, with an accent matching her own, to win.
Two more rounds and the crowd hushed while the boys laid aim.
She held her breath when the English boy wiped the sweat from his brow. His hand flinched just before he let his arrow fly. Before the arrow reached its destination, Tatiana knew he’d missed his mark.
His friends went silent.
The kilted lad raised a brow and nodded his head. “’Tis a long distance,” he said. “One very difficult to make.”
Warmth swept over her and a smile fixed to her lips. The Scot narrowed one eye and peered over his bow. When the arrow whipped through the air, Tatiana saw it reaching toward the heart of the fruit.
The arrow severed the apple and the crowd cheered. The winner quickly found himself surrounded by others.
“Cian. You did it!”
In that second, her smile fell and her heart split in two.
The younger boy who’d placed the fruit rushed to his friend and patted him on his back.
“Did you ever doubt me?”
Tatiana stood frozen in place. The victor had to be Cian MacCoinnich. He used words much like the English, yet he was clearly a Scot. The boy to his side, his friend, held an accent all to his own.
Simon.
She felt suddenly sick. Turning, Tatiana pushed through the crowd until she found a clearing and felt well enough to breathe. The sun overhead heated her skin, adding to her discomfort. This wasn’t right.
She ran her fingers over the back of her neck and willed her heart to stop racing. The urge to run closed in on her, fast.
“Are ye well, miss?”
A voice startled her into a spin and straight into the face of Cian, the youngest MacCoinnich male.
“Aye, I am,” she managed. Yet she wasn’t. She was anything but well.
“I noticed ye ran from the crowd. Did my winning the match bring ye such grief?” Cian leaned closer.
If he meant his smile to put her at ease, it worked.
“Nay. Ye are a marvelous marksman. I felt in need of water is all.”
Cian reached to his side, pulled up a flask, and offered it to her. “Here.”
Hesitant, Tatiana reached for his offering and brought the drink to her lips. It cooled her dry throat. “Much thanks.”
Cian plugged the flask. “My name is Cian.”
“I’m Tatiana.”
Cian reached for her hand and slowly brought the back to his lips.
She had to stop the sob from reaching her throat. No one had ever touched her with such tenderness. She knew her cheeks warmed, but couldn’t stop it from showing any more than she could erase the reason she was by his side.
“I’ve not seen ye in these parts before.”
“I’ve just arrived.”
Cian stood taller, and let her hand go. “Mayhap ye’ll let me show ye around?”
Her lips fell. She hadn’t expected Cian to be so kind. So handsome. Equal parts of her wanted to run away and follow. Instead, she stood, too petrified to move.
Luckily, a girl ran in his direction, her skirt nearly at her knees.
Cain swiveled and caught her in his arms.
Concern marred his face.
“Cian, come!”
“What is it, Amber?”
The girl stared up at the sky, not seeing what stood before her, and said, “She’s here.”
The air rushed from Tatiana’s lungs. Her head pivoted toward the trees, searching.
Cian grasped the girl’s hand, his smile sunk to the lower depths of the earth.
“Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
He glanced toward Tatiana. Sadness filled his eyes. “I need to go.”
Tatiana nodded and watched as Cian ran with his sister’s hand in his.
Above, a seagull cried.
Tatiana turned toward the sound and walked quietly into the cover of trees.
Chapter Thirteen
Cian and Amber fell into the tent on a full run.
Liz shot to her feet. “What is it?”
“Grainna.”
“Where?” Myra stood beside Tara and Lora.
Liz franticly searched behind Amber. “Where’s Simon?” Her heart leapt in her throat. The three of them were always together. Where was her son?
Why wasn’t he with them?
“He ran off with Fin and Todd.”
Lora placed a calming hand on her shoulder, focusing her. “Where is Grainna?”
Amber shook her head. “I don’t know. I felt her.”
“Where did you feel her?”
“Everywhere. ’Twas like she hovered over the camp.”
Myra slid her arm over her sister’s shoulder. “Ye didn’t see her?”
“Nay. But she was here.”
“Was? She’s gone now?” Liz realized she held her shoulders tight, her hands clenched at her side.
Get a grip, she told herself.
Liz tuned the talking in the room out and attempted to find her son. Simon? Can you hear me?
Nothing.
He’d been out of her head since she’d scolded him for peeking into her thoughts. She started to panic all over again.