Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) by Jackie Ivie Page B

band had grown by six lasses and nine lads, and Morgan had to use more arrows and consequently, more time to pull down enough meat to feed them and have leftover to barter with. She took four arrows this time, nodded to the grouping of young, sullen-looking men and started out. It gave her pause when one gestured toward her and turned to the others.
    “You’re going to have trouble with that one,” she told Zander since he’d accompanied her, striding loudly enough to alert any game.
    “You see into the future, too?” he asked.
    Morgan slid an eye sideways at him. He was wearing a kilt today, no shawl, and no feile-breacan. His upper body was clothed in thin, woven flax, and with the mounting rain, it was plastered to every bit of his physique. She looked up and caught his eye.
    “ He angers at my expertise and the fact that Sheila turned him down last eve.” she replied.
    “She turns everyone down, Morgan. She only has eyes for you. When are you going to do something about it?”
    Morgan stopped and held up her hand. “You gaming or talking? We can’t do both.”
    Zander dropped to a whisper. “Sheila offered herself to me not two nights hence, you ken?”
    Morgan’s eyes flared before she could hide them, and she felt, rather than saw, his amusement. “You dinna’ take her?” she asked.
    “I told her I’d been warned away by you.”
    Morgan frowned. “That explains my sweet cakes,” she said finally.
    “She’s trying an age-old recipe, lad.”
    “Sweet cakes?”
    “Nay, food. No lad your age can resist good cooking. I’m not the only one to notice. You’ve put on a stone of size since we met. It’s improved you, although you fill out in the face much farther, and I’ll not be able to keep the wench, Bonnie, away from you.”
    He was referring to his latest maiden, who had been named in a fit of optimism. Her face resembled a flat pancake with a berry for a nose. Morgan smirked . “Bonnie?” she asked.
    “Aye, Bonnie. All the lasses would welcome you to their beds, and how do you repay their yearnings? Ignore them. Nothing whets the appetite more, lad. Should you unbend your morals enough to take one to your bed, you’ll have a right wild romp, if I doona’ miss my guess.”
    Morgan decided to ignore him. It was easier than bantering about what he called love play. She also perked her ears. There was a sow and two of her yearlings within sighting distance, although if Zander continued his teasing, they’d not root about so calmly, awaiting death.
    She held up her hand.
    “You wish boar or elk today?” she asked quietly.
    He looked at her. “Serious?” he whispered .
    “ Pick,” Morgan returned.
    “Both.” He grinned.
    Morgan had four arrows. There was a huge elk behind them and atop the ridge. She’d sensed it more than seen it, by the reaction of the sow. She fitted an arrow, and pointed to the pigs. Zander followed her line of sight, squinting his eyes at it.
    Morgan spun and had the elk before another breath. She had another arrow in place and pulled it on the bigger sow with her return spin. The reaction was immediate, as the pig went down, grunting and squealing, while her yearlings took off in opposite directions. Morgan drew bead and had the farthest first. Beside her Zander was stiffening, and she’d meant him to. She’d left the boar that was intent on charging them for last. And, she didn’t use her arrow. She had the six dirks he’d given back to her in her hands. Methodically, she put them into his snout and eyes, until he came to an abrasively loud, squealing stop less than a body length from Zander.
    Morgan was astride the pig, pulling her dirks and slitting its throat before his hooves finished thrashing. Then, she was after the sow. Death throes had already finished in this one, and Morgan slit its throat, too, to bleed it. Then, she was on the farthest one.
    Her tongue clicked as she saw the broken arrow shaft . She wasn’t that careless, usually. She generally