everyone but you.”
“Aye, I deem that’s the only reason Kenneth returned him.” James grunted for his friend needed a horse when his perished from sickness, and he’d taken his steed. It didn’t take long for his warhorse’s return for he was an ornery beast and not many could handle him. James continued to shove his items inside his satchel, and gave his horse another parsnip in reward for his good behavior.
“Damn me, James, you’re bringing enough weapons to be a one-man army.”
“I like to be prepared.”
Colm laughed. “Aye? Let me have some of your arrows. You make the best. I vow mine are shit. None of mine ever fly straight and I have to compensate my aim.”
James grinned, for that was true. Colm was the worse when it came to carving the wood. His arrows always ended up misshaped or uneven and flew off kilter. He handed Colm a handful.
“Be careful with those. They’re dipped in Monkshood and are deadly if the poison gets on your skin.”
Colm bellowed a curse and handed them back. “Cosh, never mind, James, my arrows will do.”
“Why you couldn’t hit the backside of a barn or a horse’s arse with yours,” James jested.
Colm raised his brows. “Nay, I cannot, but I can use this,” he said, unsheathing his sword and cut it through the air.
“Don’t be boastful. Arrows are more effective when your enemy is too afar,” James said pointedly, “where your sword can’t reach.”
“Aye? That’s when your feet come in.”
James shook his head at Colm’s conjecture. He’d have to watch his friend’s arse on this journey.
Chapter Four
“Pull it back tight.”
Emlyn gave her friend a look of affront. “What do you deem I’m doing?” She scoffed at her failure, knowing she would never get the hang of archery.
They’d had a row and it had taken weeks for Emlyn to make amends. Thankfully, Branwyn never stayed angry with her for very long and had forgiven her. And she didn’t take her friend’s hurtful words to heart for she’d been upset and meant none of them.
“You’re not pulling the arrow tight enough. That’s why they never travel afar.” Branwyn set an arrow and shot it through the air. It landed in the quintain, but not on the target.
Now angered by Branwyn’s words and ability, she gripped the bow and pulled the arrow back as far as it would go. Emlyn released and the arrow flew a measly ten feet before it fell to the ground. She growled in frustration. “This is harder than it looks. I vow I won’t ever be able to do it.”
Branwyn set her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I don’t know how you can be effective with your sword and daggers, and cannot manage to shoot an arrow. Even I can do it and I’m not as skilled at weaponry as you are.”
“It is a skill I never mastered. I will eventually.” Emlyn scooped up the misspent arrows, and laughed when her friend sneered. Although many of the women in their clan were given instruction on arms should they be set upon when many of the soldiers were off at war, Emlyn was given the privilege to train with her father’s men. Still, she couldn’t effectuate the bow and arrow properly.
“We shall see.” Branwyn leaned against the wooden wall behind her, and had waited a good two hours for her to finish her practice. “I’m bored. Let us return to the hall.”
“I’d rather not.” Emlyn didn’t care for being in her mother’s presence, or her father’s for that matter. Both openly scolded her—each with their own convictions of how she should conduct herself. She tired of their bickering over her, as well as each of their viewpoints on what she should do with her time. “Go then and I shall come soon.”
“I shouldn’t leave you here alone.”
She gave her friend a stern frown. “Think not that I can protect myself?”
“You’re right; don’t know why I said such nonsense. I should go home for I’m sure my mother will be wrath. I’ve been gone all
Learning to Kill: Stories