Finally, she hummed, and asked, “Grandbairns?”
She wasn’t looking at him, so he felt safe enough to smile at Court’s inability to control her curiosity. “Aye, one of my sisters has three of them, the other has four. The sister with four is married to a fisherman—a good man—so all of them live along the loch. My older sister lives—lived—near Mam. She was the one who took care of her, there near the end.”
“I didnae realize…” Court shook her head slightly. “Ye have a large family.”
“Just myself and the two sisters. But I have cousins all up and down Fraser lands, and more even farther west. Mam was a Ross, which is why she named me such. We were a happy bunch, growing up.”
Too late, he remembered she had no family name, no clan. He winced, wondering if he’d gone too far with his memories.
Sure enough, her tone was a little harsher when she asked, still not looking at him, “And ye gave it all up to come to Scone?”
“Nay,” he was quick to correct her, “I gave it up to fight for the Bruce. I was with him up ‘til Bannockburn, and would’ve given my life, if necessary, to free Scotland. More than a few of my friends did, ye ken.” His knuckles tightened around the reins, remembering those bloody days, interspersed amid the long, muddy, boring weeks of waiting. “But when the King saw a new order was needed, his cousin picked me for a new task.”
“Guarding Queen Elizabeth.”
Court had arrived shortly after the Queen had settled at Scone. At first, Ross hadn’t paid her any attention, assuming she was just one out of the dozens of ladies-in-waiting attending to the Queen. It had been more than a month before he’d noticed her differences: the way she never dressed as a lady, and the way she always—always—had her bow nearby. That was when he decided she was likely a servant, albeit a strange one.
More than a year went past, with ladies coming and going, but three—plus Liam’s wife Charlotte—remained constant. And that’s when Ross finally came to understand Court was special.
That’s when he began to watch her, and hadn’t been disappointed.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Guarding the Queen.”
He watched the way her jaw moved, as if she were slowly chewing a particularly tough piece of mutton.
What had her brooding now?
Finally, dark eyes flashed his way, then ahead once more. She shifted in her saddle, arranging her reins just so.
“And although ye swore an oath to the Queen—to the Bruce—ye still returned to Fraser land, when ye’re laird called ye?”
His answer was immediate and certain. “Aye, ‘tis what loyalty means: Being there when ye are needed.”
“The Queen needed ye!”
“Aye, but my laird needed me more. The Queen kenned I’d be back, that my loyalty—”
Suddenly, she drew up sharply, yanking her reins so hard, the horse whinnied and side-stepped in an attempt to comply. Caught between the two animals, Honor whined and shot forward, staying out of the way of the hoofs.
Turning to glare at Ross, Court lifted her left fist, her bow clenched—as always—in her gloved hand, and shook it toward him.
“Yer loyalty? Ye owe the Queen yer loyalty. Ye cannae be loyal to two different people, no’ like that. Ye must choose!”
Taken aback, Ross cocked his head to one side, even as he soothed his horse with a pat on the neck. He considered Court, confused over her words, and her way of thinking.
“Courtney, ye can be loyal to many different people, and to many different causes. As long as they’re no’ in competition, ye can—”
“And if they are?” Sensing her agitation, her horse stepped sideways once again, and she wrenched on the reins, trying to keep her position facing Ross. “If yer laird isnae loyal to the Queen?”
Ah.
So that’s what this was about.
Exhaling softly, he frowned, unsure how to answer so she would understand. “My first loyalty is to my king, then my laird and my clan.”
She stared at him, a challenge in her eyes. “And then yer family?”
“Aye, then my family. What is it ye’re asking, Court?”
“Court!” She spat out her own name, then shook her head and did it again. “Court! Lady Ranged-Weapon!” With a curse, she slapped her horse’s flank with the side of her bow, shooting the animal forward in a gallop.
Almost fast enough, he missed the tears glistening in her eyes.
What the devil?
Pursing his lips, he gave Honor a whistled command to follow, then nudged his horse into motion. Though they were alone on the road, Court was riding hard, so it took a few minutes to catch up with her.
A loch was falling away to their right as the road began to climb, when he finally reached her side. He’d tried calling her name a few times, but since that had been what had set her off before, he hadn’t been surprised when she’d ignored him.
Finally, he lunged for her bridle, catching it and pulling back just enough to slow her down. Both horses eventually pulled to a stop in the center of the road, and when Court whipped her head toward him, Ross reared back.
He couldn’t recall ever seeing such an expression of confusion and pain in anyone’s eyes, and certainly never in hers.
“Court?” he whispered.
With another toss of her head, she slid from the saddle, tugging the reins from him and leading her horse toward the nearby shore. He followed, catching up with her, as she practically stomped toward the water’s edge.
They walked together, though separated by miles, or so it seemed to him. With their horses between them, hiding her from his view, he felt a great longing to be able to see her.
“Courtney?” he prompted again, though using her full name this time.
“Aye,” she ground out, and he could hear the bitterness in just that one word. ”Courtney. ‘Tis an English name, ye ken?”
He frowned. He’d never really considered it. “I suppose.” He was not as close-minded as some of the men he’d fought beside, and Queen Elizabeth had been English by birth. Still, the thought of Courtney being English was just, well, wrong somehow. “Are ye…are ye English then?”
“I don’ ken!” In frustration, she spat out a curse. “I don’ ken, and ‘tis why I—” She blew out a breath. “Courtney. ‘Tis all I ken.”
“Ye have nae family?”
He heard as she took a breath, and they walked in silence for a moment, the loch growing nearer.
“Once I thought I did, but they proved me wrong. I don’ ken who I am, Ross Fraser of Duras. I have nae clan, nae family, to muck up my loyalties. I am loyal to the Queen and my Angels, nae one else.”
“Ye have nae space in yer heart for another?”
Was that what she was trying to tell him?
They reached the loch, and all three animals surged forward for a drink. Her blank face became visible over the horse’s back, briefly, then as the animal passed between them, all of her came into his sight. She was strong, aye, but her eyes…
“ ’Tis impossible, Ross,” she said softly. “I learned long ago, ye cannae divide yer heart, yer loyalty, like that.”
That was the moment Honor, his thirst quenched, returned to nudge Court’s leg. When she glanced down at him, the dog shook his shaggy head, spraying the water from his chin across her boots, then pressed against her knee.
Court dropped her hand to the dog’s head, and Honor turned slightly, so she could reach the spot under his ear.
And Ross chuckled.
When she looked at him, one brow raised in confusion over his amusement in that particular moment, he nodded to his dog.
“I think Honor is proving ye wrong. I fed him milk as a wee pup. I trained him. He’s been with me every day for two years, and look who he’s going to for love now.”
Love.
Aye, that was what the dog was asking for.
She was frowning when she glanced back to the dog, and Ross decided not to push the matter. Instead, he changed the subject en
tirely.
“How close would ye say we are?” he called over his shoulder, as he picked his way along the shore to a spot where he could kneel to drink.
She eventually moved up close—but not too close—to where he knelt, and cleared her throat. “Um…we should be there tomorrow morning, I’d wager.”
He cupped his hands, lifting the water with them. “Do we have need to be there in the morning?” he asked, before he took a drink.
“N—nay. It might be better to catch them later in the afternoon.”
Still on one knee, he turned his head to the side to find her staring at his thigh. “Why?”
She jerked her attention to the loch. “I don’ ken their schedule, but most of their men would disperse by midday, as I recall.”
Ah. Off doing thief-type things, no doubt.
“So ye’ll no’ object to us resting here?”
She kept her gaze firmly on the water, but he saw her bounce her fist against her thigh, as if nervous. “Why?”
Smoothly, he rose to his feet, even as he scrubbed his hand across his chin to wipe at the water lingering there. “Do I need a reason to linger with a beautiful woman?”
She made a noise very much like a snort.
“What?” He stepped closer, then dared to touch her arm. “Ye don’ think yerself beautiful?”
She swung to face him, the anger clearly evident in her expression. “I have eyes, Fraser. I’m no beauty.”
“Aye, ye are,” he corrected, matter-of-factly.
“Only if ye think it beautiful if a lady can kick yer arse.”
He couldn’t help it; the chuckle burst from him the same time his grin appeared. “Aye, Courtney, I might.”
To his surprise, she stepped back, her eyes on his shoulders.
Was she considering how to throw him?
Or simply worried about his brawn?
But he’d had an idea, a way to distract her, and mayhap, get what he wanted too.
When he stepped toward her, she didn’t back up again, although she looked as if she wanted to. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his eyes.
He saw hesitation there, and his grin grew even more.
“A contest,” he said, in a low voice. “And we’ll see whose arse is kicked.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.
“A contest?” she repeated. “What kind?”
Ah.
He had her now.
He tried not to let too much satisfaction seep into his voice, when he said, “A contest of skills. The bow.”
Her lips formed the words, the bow, although she made no sound, and her eyes widened.
He could see her thinking, considering. She was good, aye, but so was he. They’d be well-matched.
When she lifted her chin and said, formally, “Aye, I accept,” he knew he had her.
Chapter 6
The bow!
Why would he have chosen archery, knowing it was her talent?
She had other skills, aye, and even more she’s learned since becoming an Angel five years ago. But she’s always been skilled with a bow, and had perfected the art in her service to the Queen.
He must know that.
Mayhap he wanted to let her win?
Was he just doing this to bolster her spirits after her explosion of temper earlier?
As she readied her weapon and checked her arrows—redundant, since she did it each morn—she winced at her own foolishness. Aye, her words to him had been true; she didn’t understand how he could claim to be loyal to two different people, different causes. But she’d handled herself poorly.
“Are ye ready?”
She stood, answering his challenge with her chin out. “Aye. Choose the target.”
God’s Blood, but he was handsome when that one brow quirked like that.
“Target? Nay, ‘twould be too simple.”
What was he speaking of?
As if to answer her unspoken question, he crooked his finger at her, leading the way toward a copse of hazel along the shoreline. She could tell from his smirk he enjoyed being in charge.
Well, she didn’t mind relinquishing command, especially to a man like Ross Fraser, at least once in awhile. Let him take the lead if it pleased him.
They stopped some distance from the trees, and he waited for her to draw even with him. In his left hand, he held his massive bow, and a quiver dangled from his right. While she watched, he propped his bow against his leg and tied the quiver to his belt, the way she preferred.
“See the large limb on that tree?” He nodded toward one in the center. “Below there are three knots.”
It wasn’t so far she had to squint, but she stepped forward just to be certain. Aye, there were knots, as if limbs had been broken off in the past. Mayhap a traveler had used them for firewood long before she and Ross had even been born.
“I see them,” she agreed, beginning to understand the challenge.
Before she could turn, an arrow whizzed past her. She was in no danger, not from Ross, but she ducked instinctively. Crouched in the dirt, she pressed the fingertips of her right hand into the ground, and watched his second and third arrow also find their mark.
Grinning, she knew he was through, so without looking, she thrust herself to her feet and reached for her quiver with one hand, even as she swung her bow in front of her with the other.
It was the same technique she’d used in the alleyway against the Grant warriors a sennight before; one she’d learned from Cam. The nocks of the arrows clenched between the knuckles of her right hand, she was able to pull all three from the quiver and draw the string, before the first arrow was even settled onto the rest.
And as quickly as she let loose against the Grants, all three of her arrows found homes—one, two, three—in the knots of the tree.
She was already upright and striding toward their targets, when she heard his whistle of appreciation, and a rare grin curved her lips upward.
Of course, moments later, Honor bounded by her, and it faded.
Had he just been whistling to his dog?
But nay, when they reached the tree—his longer legs eating up the distance, so he caught up with her easily—he was grinning at her.
“ ’Tis a remarkable technique,” he complimented, as he pulled out the shafts, using his height to his advantage. “Will ye show me?”
The request caught her off-guard. “Show ye?”
His lips were still pulled up on one side in that smirk she couldn’t decide if she loved or hated.
“Show me how ye draw so fast,” he clarified, handing her the three smaller arrows. “ ’Twas all a blur.”
Pressing her lips together to keep from showing how proud she was of her accomplishment, she nodded briskly as she dropped the arrows into her quiver.
“It only works if ye don’ overstock yer quiver, like so. I keep the rest of my arrows behind my saddle so there’s space between.” She showed him how she slid the nocks between her knuckles and pulled. “As long as naught stands to yer right, ye can swing all three arrows up and around to hold thusly.”
He loomed over her right shoulder, and while it should’ve made her feel uncomfortable, it didn’t. Instead, his intensity, and the way he occasionally grunted in agreement as he began to understood her technique, made her feel…good.
Accepted.
As if she was right where she belonged.
Pulling back only slightly, to ensure her arrows didn’t travel any great distance, she demonstrated how to nock and draw three arrows quickly, one after the other.
“I have heard tell the Saracen archers could send three arrows at their enemies in less than a second, but it takes me longer.”
He chuckled, even as he rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. “Two seconds to launch three arrows is naught to scoff at, Lady Ranged-Weapon.”
The name had started as a tease from Rosalind, who was a lady. To Court, it was a taunt, to remind her she had no clan name, and no claim
to a position at the Queen’s side.
But when Ross said it, there was admiration in his voice, as if it was a role she should be proud to claim.
“But…”
When he pointed to the spot where all three of her arrows had dug into the ground, his muscled arm was uncomfortably close to her cheek. She could smell him—sweat and leather and fresh air, and a vague hint of his beast.
Uncomfortably close?
Nay, the only thing which made her uncomfortable about his nearness was the way the heat pooling in her core made it hard to concentrate on what he was saying.
“But?” she croaked.
“But ye cannae get much distance on yer shots, can ye?”
Archery archery archery.
Because apparently, the part of her which remembered the way he tasted needed reminding of their current endeavor.
Archery, right.
She cleared her throat. “I cannae, nay. No’ if I’m in a hurry. I can only pull so far in between shots, ye see.”
He nodded and stepped up beside her, instead of standing over her so deliciously.
Nay, no’ deliciously.
Intimidatingly.
Aye. That.
Settling into his stance, Ross reached for his quiver. His movements were slow as he focused on each step, but he was able to mimic her technique. It took him much longer, of course, but he placed all three arrows in the same knot of a tree further into the copse.
His second try was faster, and by his third, he was closer to her speed.
And when he dropped his bow, he was smiling at her. “ ’Tis a unique skill.”
Flustered at the compliment, she shrugged. “And helpful, when yer enemies do no’ expect it.”
He stepped closer to her, and she swallowed, not allowing herself to back up. His wide chest was only inches from hers when she met his eyes.
“Thank ye,” he said in a low voice, “for teaching me.”
And, Heaven help her, but she swayed forward, as if drawn by his scent.
Reason intervened at the last moment, and she jerked backward, almost stumbling in her haste to put distance between them. She ended with her shoulder pressed into the center of his chest, her gaze on the tree which held nine of his arrows.
The Highlander’s Angel Page 7
