Blair preferred to be indoors more than Maude, so Hardi often found her sewing or reading before the fire in the Great Hall. They would talk about their day and what they’d done, and sometimes Blair read to Hardi. She’d once heard some lads a few years older than her snickering that she and Hardi looked like an old married couple, and that Hardi was sniffing at her quim. At only thirteen, she hadn’t understood what they meant, but Hardi had heard them. He’d glanced at Blair and calmly walked over to the boys his age and jerked his head toward the doors of the keep. Blair hadn’t been able to see his face, but when they returned, the boy who’d made the comment had a torn leine, and his eye was already bruising. Hardi had resumed his seat and asked Blair to continue reading. She hadn’t thought of that event in years, but it had signaled an end to how much time they spent together, and he and Dougal left a year later. Before that, she realized, Hardi had been her best friend after Maude. She supposed he knew her well.
“Thank ye for listening to me.” Blair whispered.
“Always, Blair,” Hardi kissed her temple. “Ye need never fear sharing yer thoughts or feelings with me, Blair. I willna think less of ye for it.”
“I ken. Since Maude left, I’ve had to keep much to maself. I didna realize it was bothering me so much.” Blair heard the deep tones from the bell tower and pulled away from Hardi. “Bluidy hell, I’m late!”
Blair hadn’t realized at least an hour had slipped by since she’d entered the bailey to bid Lachlan goodbye. The queen had granted her permission to say her farewells, not to while away the morning. She rose from the bench and shook out her skirts.
“I’m sorry, but I must go before the queen notices just how tardy I am. I will find ye later today, and we shall talk. But nae aboot me. I want to hear more from ye.” Blair squeezed Hardi’s hands before dashing out of the garden.
Six
Once Blair left the gardens, there was no reason for Hardi to linger. He made his way to the lists where he found his guardsmen already in the midst of training. He selected a dulled sword from the armorer and found a partner. He didn’t recognize the man, but he could tell from the plaid that he was a representative from the MacLeods of Lewis. Blair and Lachlan mentioned Maude gave birth to a bairn recently, so he inquired about his friend’s health and her new babe. It pleased him to see the smile that spread across the man’s face as he described how besotted Kieran was with his wife and children. Hardi was far too aware of how Maude suffered constant teasing for her weight while he was still at Dunrobin. To know that she had a husband who adored her made him happy. He wouldn’t admit it to the man swinging a sword at his head, but he loved babies, and he was overjoyed that Maude’s family had grown by one more.
Hardi moved from one partner to another as he recognized men from various clans. Four guards accompanied him to court, which made it easy for them to partner with one another, but it left him as the odd man out. He refused to interrupt their rotation just because he was their laird. He didn’t mind training alongside members of other clans. He watched their strategy and maneuvers, attempting to imitate those he thought useful, and tucking away weaknesses in case he should need to remember them on the battlefield.
By the time the nooning approached, he was famished. Rather than winding his way through the castle to his chamber, he opted to follow his men to the barracks. He’d stripped off his leine when he felt himself growing sweaty, so it was still fresh. After borrowing a bar of soap and washing linen, he scrubbed himself over a bucket of water set aside for the men’s hurried ablutions before entering the Great Hall.
The Cameron laird and his men found an unclaimed table. They kept their heads and voices down throughout the meal as they compared what they’d observed in the lists. Hardi shared what he’d noticed from the men he sparred with before suggesting that his men find members of other clans to practice against the next day. They understood the importance of remaining familiar with both their potential allies and their potential enemies. When the meal concluded, Hardi wondered what he should do next. He considered going for a ride, but his men had earned an afternoon off. He parted ways with them as they headed to the barracks, and he made his way to his chamber to retrieve his bow and quiver.
It had been several years since he practiced archery at Stirling Castle, and he hadn’t paid enough attention when Lachlan and Blair took him to the range, so he had to ask more than one person to point him in the range’s direction. By the time he reached his destination, he was hot and irritated. There wasn’t an empty target in sight, and there was no shade to speak of. As the sun beat down on him, twin rivulets of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades and the planes of his chest. Hardi shaded his eyes as he swept them over the archery field, once more hoping someone was readying to leave. After half an hour, he wondered if he should give up and find another way to pass the afternoon. He’d laid his bow and quiver at his feet and prepared to gather them when the target in front of him became available. He hurried to stake his claim before a pair of men just arriving could make their way to it.
Hardi pulled the string of his bow several times, testing its tautness, happy he’d restrung it just before leaving Tor Castle. He retrieved an arrow from his quiver and nocked it against his bow. He inhaled deeply, lifting the bow to shoulder height. He closed one eye as he set his sight on the target. He released the arrow as he exhaled. A sudden gust of wind caught the arrow in its crosshairs and made it tremble midair before pushing it off course. His arrow landed far to the left of the target. Hardi shook his head and grumbled, “Where was that bluidy breeze while I was melting ma cods?”
He drew another arrow and repeated the steps to prepare to fire. He was releasing his fingers when the range master called a halt to firing. Hardi jerked his bow away from the target, but it was too late. His fingers had let go, but rather than fly toward the target, his sudden movement caused the arrow to launch upward a few feet before falling to the ground between his position and the target. Several snickers reached his ear as he pursed his lips. He stepped away from the shooting line and reclaimed his two arrows just as the other archers retrieved theirs. He stepped back in line as the range master gave the signal that they could recommence shooting.
Hardi attempted a third shot, but with no forewarning a pigeon flew between him and his target, his arrow nipping its wing. Startled, the bird christened his arrow before flapping away. The laughter from the targets on either side seemed deafening.
“Sard!” Hardi hissed. “Ye canna be fucking serious? Fucking bird.”
A feminine gasp behind him made him spin around. Staring at him with appalled expressions, Arabella and Laurel stood behind him. Between the two shocked ladies was Blair, clutching her sides and laughing.
“I dinna find it funny,” Hardi growled.
“Tis a shame because I find it hilarious,” Blair gasped. “Ruddy bird shat on yer arrow.” Blair forced the words out between gales of laughter. Her burr once more returned as she eyed the seething Highlander. “Its aim is better than yers.”
With her last comment, Blair could no longer speak as the hilarity of the situation and her assessment made her snort more than once. Arabella and Laurel turned stunned faces toward Blair, but their fearful eyes darted to Hardi.
“He willna hurt me,” Blair whispered, quietening her laughter until she once more looked at Hardi’s infuriated visage. She failed to smother her chortle. “He’d have to hit his target to do that.”
“Blair,” Arabella warned. “I don’t think Laird Cameron finds the humor like you do. And you’re drawing attention. Stop.”
Blair turned her attention to the men watching her mock Hardi, and she sobered immediately. She stepped before him and turned her face up to his. “I’m sorry,” she spoke clearly, ensuring her voice carried. “I shouldn’t have been so rude, Laird Cameron. I beg your forgiveness for my atrocious manners.”
“I accept yer apology, Lady Blair,” Hardi’s graciousness didn’t fool Blair. Her heart sank, knowing wh
at would come next. “On the condition that ye agree to take yer turn at the target.”
Blair nodded before looking for the artillator. Spotting the man, she made her way toward him, but before she was within speaking distance, she could already see that the only bows available were far too large for her to maneuver. The man hadn’t planned for any ladies to be present, so none of the smaller bows were there. Compared to her size, the weapons all looked more like Welsh longbows than the notably smaller Scottish ones. She knew Hardi was behind her when she spoke over her shoulder, “Ye knew.”
“Aye.” It was Hardi’s turn to laugh. He reached out to accept the bow and quiver. He could have offered his own, but having restrung it recently, it would have been virtually impossible for Blair to draw the string even an inch. He checked the elasticity of the bow the artillator handed him. Satisfied that she had a passable chance, he turned toward his target. Blair marched beside him, knowing she had earned her comeuppance.
Blair took her place and accepted the bow from Hardi. The weight of the weapon pulled on her arm before she even attempted to position it. She tested the string herself, relieved to feel some give in the tension. However, while she could pull back the string and nock an arrow, she feared the bow wouldn’t fire straight.
“Crétin,” Blair muttered the French insult.
“Nae need to call names, Blair. I amnae an oaf.” Hardi recognized the insult even though he didn’t speak French. “I will enjoy this though. Shall we make it interesting? I wager ye a meat pie if ye win. And if I win,” Hardi paused for effect. “Four meat pies.”
“Four!” Blair lowered the bow as she spun around.
“Aye, four. One is reasonable for ye, but I willna be full with aught less than four.”
Blair rattled off several other oaths under her breath, which elicited a deep rumble of laughter from Hardi. Her cheeks pinked as Hardi gave fair turnaround. She’d already noticed quite a few of the nearby archers had ceased their practice as Hardi and Blair returned to their target. Now it seemed as if every eye was on her. Blair lifted the bow, struggling to keep her arm from shaking from its weight and cumbersome size. She felt the arrow wobble, but she clenched her core and backside before drawing in a deep breath. It wasn’t the first time she’d fired a bow that was too large for her; it wasn’t the first time Hardi had posed such a challenge. She loosed the arrow and sighed when it hit the target just right of the center of bullseye but still within it. She turned her head and smirked, but it dropped when Hardi nudged her out of the way. In a flash, he’d drawn another arrow and set it whizzing toward the target. It hit the bullseye only seconds before another arrow split hers.
Blair huffed and elbowed Hardi before squinting at the target. Once more she tightened every muscle between her ribs and her knees and fired again. This one hit the bullseye and made Hardi’s arrow wobble.
“Best out of three,” Hardi announced. He set his sights before releasing his arrow. He exaggerated his movements as he lowered his bow, smug satisfaction from not only hitting the bullseye but doing it with such force that Blair’s shallowly embedded arrow fell from the target. Blair’s face went from pink to red as Hardi gloated. “Ye have a face like a skelped erse.”
Blair didn’t appreciate Hardi pointing out what she felt. Her flushed cheeks felt on fire, and she knew she was scowling. “I laughed,” she hissed.
“At ma expense.” Hardi reminded her.
“This is far worse, and ye ken it.”
“How? I dinna ken another woman who shoots with the precision ye do. Ye’ve hit the target nigh on perfectly both times with a bow far too large for ye. Ye may nae appreciate the challenge in front of everyone, but it’ll be me who willna hear the end of how a wee lass nearly bested me.” Hardi pointed out. He lowered his voice, so it wouldn’t carry. “I would never challenge ye if I didna already ken ye might beat me. I amnae trying to humiliate ye. Just make ye sweat a wee bit.”
Blair’s shoulders slumped, knowing Hardi spoke the truth. This competition wasn’t really retribution. She had embarrassed him in front of the other men and likely still was. He’d taken advantage of her competitive nature to rile her temper, but she knew her prowess surprised everyone watching. She raised the bow again.
“Dinna do it, Blair,” Hardi warned. She glanced at him and nodded. He knew she intended to throw the competition and miss the center of the target on purpose. “Dinna ever pretend to be less than ye are to make me look better.”
Blair focused her attention on the target, blocking out the surrounding sounds, even Hardi, who stood close enough for her to smell the fresh air and pine scent that clung to him. She briefly wondered how he still smelled so clean when she was certain she smelled like she’d been rolling around inside a stable. She launched her third arrow toward the center and struck the target perfectly. She lowered the bow without a word. They’d both shot a perfect round.
“I owe ye a meat pie, and ye owe me four,” Hardi gloated.
“What? Nay!” Blair shook her head.
“It was a tie. We both won.”
“Or we both lost, and I dinna need to feed a behemoth,” Blair retorted.
“I’d rather look at the positive.” Hardi’s expression mirrored the merriment in his voice.
“I dinna ken if I can lift ma arms to eat the bluidy thing,” Blair bemoaned.
“And if I added penydes to sweeten the deal?” Hardi goaded.
“Penydes? Ye remembered that I like them?” Hardi’s memory of her favorite sugary treat stunned her. They were a rarity at Dunrobin, her mother not believing in sweets. She had learned her lesson after watching her three children run wild when the king and queen brought the penydes as gifts when Lachlan, Maude, and Blair were very young.
“Aye. The few times we had them while I fostered, ye hoarded them. I thought ye’d take ma fingers off with yer teeth or a blade when I tried to filch a few,” Hardi laughed.
“If you’ll forgive us,” Arabella interrupted. “The sun is a tad much for us. We shall return to the castle.”
Blair turned to Arabella and Laurel, having forgotten they were observing the challenge between childhood friends. She felt guilty for ignoring them and causing them to stand for so long in the sun.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Blair's voice signaled her contrition, her courtly speech returned. She handed the bow back to Hardi and stepped toward the women.
“Stay,” Laurel assured her. “You still haven’t beaten him.”
“Besides,” Arabella pointed to one of her Sutherland guards approaching. “Your guard has just fetched a bow that’s the proper size.”
The ladies grinned at Hardi before Arabella winked at Blair, who knew her friend had arranged for the bow. The ladies turned away, but Blair and Hardi watched them put their heads together as their shoulders shook with mirth on their way to the castle.
With both her guards as chaperones, Blair and Hardi spent the afternoon at the archery range, but they were no longer competing. As the sun slipped lower into the sky and dusk approached, the Sutherland guards accompanied the pair into town where Blair and Hardi enjoyed their spoils.
Seven
Five days after their standoff at the archery range, Hardi and Blair ambled through the gardens as the queen and the other ladies-in-waiting walked ahead. There had been ceaseless chatter about the challenge, and Blair had grown tired of the false praise and the constant inquiries about the handsome Highlander. She understood the women’s interest in the unattached warrior, but she was tired of repeating herself. No, he wasn’t married. No, he wasn’t betrothed. No, he wasn’t looking for a wife. And no, she didn’t have her sights set on him. She reassured each woman that theirs was an almost sibling-like relationship, but something rankled as she watched the women fawn over him. They attempted to lure him into conversation, tittering over his brogue. They tried to seduce him into dancing each night, but more often than not, Hardi partnered with Blair for a few sets, then leaned against a wall, sipping h
is ale. More than one lady mused about what might be beneath his plaid while the women sat together for meals.
While they enjoyed one another’s company, Blair was aware Hardi grew restless waiting for an audience with the king. She sensed his apprehension and wondered if a substantial part came from knowing he wouldn’t be able to read any documents placed before him. She didn’t dare ask if he knew how to sign his name, but she feared where King Robert might force him to pen his X. She wished she were a fae, able to sit on his shoulder and whisper in his ear as she read the documents from her invisible perch. As his impatience and nervousness grew, so did hers.
“Has anyone given you a sign of when the king might summon you?” Blair kept her voice low, but she knew it would carry. They may have walked behind the group, but the wind carried her words toward the always eagerly eavesdropping gossips.
“Nay. I canna linger here forever, but I havenae a choice but to wait.” Hardi glanced down at Blair’s upturned face. “Eager to be rid of me?”
“Not at all,” Blair murmured. Her eyes shifted toward the cluster of women before returning to gaze at Hardi. “I enjoy your company. I feel less homesick with you here.”
“Do ye feel that way often? Homesick, that is.”
“Aye. It wasn’t so difficult when Maude was here. The Mistress of the Bedchamber refused to consider us being roommates, but I spent all day with her until Kieran began courting her. The only time we were apart was when she tended the sick or went to the abbey to see Michael. It was useful having our cousin at the abbey that supplies the castle with medicinals. Sometimes I accompanied her.” Blair shrugged as she stared into the distance, almost as if she could see her sister all the way northwest on the Isle of Lewis. “I’m busy though, so that helps. I’ve impressed Queen Elizabeth with my embroidery, so she has asked me to stitch the christening gown for her bairn.”
A Saint at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Six Page 4
