Tournament of Hearts by Alyssa Stark Read Free Book Online Page B

the arrow between her
fingers and gripped the bow sternly with her opposite hand.  Her eyebrows were
furrowed together in concentration and her teeth clenched tightly as she drew
back the string expertly and let the arrow fly.
    It whizzed through
the air and struck just left of the target.
    Isobel nodded in
approval and lowered the bow.  She smiled arrogantly and handed the weapon to
Tristan.
    Without speaking,
he drew out another arrow and fitted it to the bow.  He took aim and loosed the
arrow, sending it whistling through the air.  It struck the tree just left of
the target, slightly farther away than Isobel’s first effort.
    His hazel eyes
found hers.  She said nothing and yet he could tell that she was gloating on
the inside.  She was just too well-bred to let her happiness at his poor shot
show noticeably on the outside.
    “Your shot, milady,”
he said as he bowed slightly and offered her the bow and a fresh arrow.
    Isobel strung the
arrow and took her mark, closing one eye to focus in on the distant target. 
She pulled the bow string taut and let the arrow fly.  She held her breath as
the arrow zipped through the air and found its mark, still slightly left of the
target but closer than her first attempt.  Isobel bit her lip in an effort not
to smile.  A Lady did not gloat.
    “Blacksmith,” she
said, stone faced as she handed Tristan his bow.
    He took the weapon
and deftly fit another arrow against the string.  Exhaling slowly, he raised
the bow and with painstaking precision he drew back the string.  Aiming further
to the right, he loosed the arrow.  It struck the tree with a resounding thud
as it embedded into the trunk, just to the right of the target.
    “Last shot, milady. 
It looks as though you may win,” Tristan said as he repressed the urge to
smile.  Isobel was struggling to contain her excitement at the prospect.  Her
blonde curls fell loosely about her shoulders, complimenting the lovely pink
hue of her cheeks.
    She took the bow
and extended her hand expectantly for an arrow.  Tristan obliged and watched in
awe of her feminine grace as she deftly fitted the hilt of the arrow into the
bow string and drew it back.  Isobel released the arrow and failed to hide her
excitement when it struck even closer to the center of the target.
    She hopped up in
the air with enthusiasm and then bit her lip in an effort to quell her
exuberance.
    “One more chance
at redemption, blacksmith,” she said sweetly after composing herself and
handing him the bow.
    Tristan took the
bow and reached behind his shoulder, drawing out the final arrow.  He
skillfully fitted the arrow to the bow and spun on his heel, loosing the arrow
expertly as he turned.  It shot through the air and struck the target dead
center.
    Tristan turned
non-chelauntly to Isobel and winked playfully.  Her mouth hung open slightly
and she made a conscious effort to close it.
    “Have you decided
upon a prize yet?” he teased as he plucked at the string of his bow.  He
suddenly felt guilty for misleading the lass.  He was more than just a casual
hunter.  Tristan Finnegan was known far and wide in the Highlands as an expert
marksman.  The lass hadn’t stood a chance and yet she too was a remarkably good
shot.
    “I have,” Isobel
said, still reeling to recover from the thrill of her defeat.  She had been
sure that she was going to best the blacksmith.  “Close your eyes,” she said
sharply.  “I want it to be a true surprise,” she added.
    Tristan obliged
her and closed his eyes.  The corner of his mouth turned up slightly into the
faintest hint of a smile.
    Isobel watched him
now, enjoying the fact that she could appraise him openly now that his eyes
were closed.  Tristan Finnegan was a handsome man.  A few threads of his sandy
blonde hair had escaped their leather binding, lending him a rugged, wild
look.  His face was angular and his nose straight except for the tell-tale spot
where it had been broken.  There was a