The Striker by Monica Mccarty Page A

inferior.”
    She crossed her arms. “According to whom?”
    â€œGod. The church. The weaker vessel, you know.”
    This time she couldn’t prevent her eyes from rolling. Not the “weaker vessel” and “the fall of man was Eve’s fault” argument again? It was listening to things like this that was the reason she avoided church as much as she could, which admittedly was far harder to do here than at Garthland. It seemed that all women did at Stirling was go back and forth from the chapel.
    â€œIt seems to me that the weaker one wasn’t the one who was deceived by Satan but the one who could be led into eating the apple.” She grinned in the face of their shock. This time at least she didn’t have to wonder at why. Irreverence was irreverence, even at Garthland. “But in the case of riding—and maybe sailing—I can say with certainty that they are wrong.”
    King Edward was reported to have a menagerie of animals at his tower castle in London, where his guests could stare and gape at the strange, exotic creatures from faraway lands. Margaret suspected she knew exactly how those animals felt right now. She wasn’t sure whether it was her pronouncement itself or the heresy of questioning church doctrine, but the men in the earl’s party, including Eoin, were undeniably gaping.
    She shrugged unapologetically. It was the truth. “I’ve bested many men in a race.”
    Eoin’s foster brother spoke without thinking. “Perhaps you’ve never faced adequate competition.”
    As Margaret could only pick one brother to step in front of she chose the more hotheaded one, Dougal. But both he and Duncan had made a low, threatening sound in their throats and instinctively gripped their swords.
    Knowing she had to act quickly to prevent bloodshed, she said, “What a wonderful idea! I accept your challenge.”
    Finlaeie, who didn’t seem to recognize the danger he was in from her brothers, whom he’d so casually slurred, looked at her as if she were mad. “ Me race you ?”
    He sounded so appalled she had to smile. “Why not? It will be fun.” She shot a pointed look at the brother she hadn’t been able to block, who had taken a step toward him and was leaning forward ever so slightly as if ready to attack. “Don’t you agree, Duncan?”
    They exchanged a long look. Eventually she got through to him, and her brother eased back, releasing his sword. She could feel the threat behind her dissipating from Dougal as well. What she planned would more than adequately avenge the blow to the MacDowell pride, without disrupting the peace of the talks.
    â€œAye, I think that is a brilliant idea,” Duncan agreed. “We could all use a little excitement around here.”
    Eoin seemed to be aware of the potential conflict she’d just avoided. He glanced at her brothers, as if making sure the threat was gone, before he returned his gaze to hers. “Fin meant no offense. He was only jesting. But I’m afraid he wasn’t completely forthright with you—he’s probably the best rider here.”
    She lifted a brow, eyeing the auburn-haired warrior speculatively. “Is he? Then this shall be even more fun than I thought. I like a challenge.”
    Finlaeie had obviously warmed to the idea. He smiled, a slow, smug smile that made her eager to see it wiped away. “When?”
    â€œNow if you’d like. Unless you are too tired and would prefer to wait.”
    â€œNow is fine.” His gaze grew calculating. “What should we wager?”
    She shrugged indifferently. The win would be enough. “Whatever you’d like.”
    The lewd glint in his eye made her want to call back her words. It was clear what he wanted. He must have read her distaste because his gaze hardened. “The spirited black stallion your brother Duncan was just riding.”
    There were a few gasps of