Her Ladyship had gone to the village for a change. With the morning to herself, Anya opted to spend it reading in her bedchamber rather than taking Rory to explore the crevices of the castle. To her chagrin, two mornings past, she had awaken with a nagging cough and a tender throat that hadn’t yet gone away. She blew her nose as she turned the page of her book. It was too early in the season for congestion of the lungs. That dreaded misery seemed to plague her every spring when the trees bloomed.
She coughed again, a very productive cough that made the throat burn all the more. Mayhap the seasons were different in Scotland.
“Fire!” shouted someone, who sounded very much like Angus.
Anya set her book aside, headed to the window, and pulled across the fur. Indeed, down below, His Lordship wielded a bow as did a dozen MacDonald men, all shooting at targets across the way.
Dropping the fur, she blew her nose and donned her cloak. No use letting a little cough ruin an entire day, especially one where she did not have to do the bidding of the lady of the keep. She took a sip of water to bathe her throat and headed out the door.
“Good morn, Wolfie,” she said, a tad hoarsely. “How’s the sprouting of that tail coming along?”
He stroked his fingers down his neatly groomed beard. “Nothing as of yet. Mayhap by the end of your tenure here, I’ll be wagging a nice wiry one.”
“To wave goodbye?”
“Och, I reckon ye’ll grow so fond of me ye’ll not be able to live without me.”
She started through the corridor. “Is it not the other way around? Ye are supposed to grow fond of me.”
“Right again, Miss Anya,” he said, following as always. “Are ye going out?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I thought I’d watch archery practice.”
“It might be a bit safer if ye watched from your window.”
“And a great deal less entertaining.” She ducked into the stairwell and started downward. “Are ye fond of archery?”
“Aye.”
“Then why are you not down there practicing?”
“I think ye ken why.”
“Though ye’d rather be with the men, would ye not?”
“What I want does not matter.”
She stopped and faced him with her fists on her hips. “I emphatically disagree. Everyone is entitled to do what they please.”
“With all due respect, miss, I have a half-holiday once a sennight when Archie guards ye. ’Tis fair.”
“I disagree. Guarding me must be the most tedious task ye’ve ever had.”
“A man can use a wee bit of tedium in his old age.” He winked. “I’ll never admit it to His Lordship, but our banter is amusing. I oft wonder what ye’ll be dreaming up next.”
Anya chuckled, but when she swallowed, her throat burned. Continuing on her way, she decided she would be heading for her bed early this eve.
The stoop beyond the main doors looked out over the courtyard, where she stopped and rested her elbows on the balustrade.
Raising a loaded bow to his cheek, Angus stood directly below. The string twanged as he let his arrow fly. Anya muffled her cough as his shot hit an inch right of center.
“Not bad,” said Raghnall who followed suit, hitting the center mark.
His Lordship grumbled and loaded his bow. This time, his arrow darted straight into the middle. He grinned at the man-at-arms. “Spot on. That makes us two-for-two. Next point wins.”
Raghnall drew another arrow. “I’ll be more than happy to relieve ye of your coin, m’lord.” He hardly looked at the target as he drilled another dead center.
“Bloody miserable braggart,” Angus growled, as he loaded his bow. Rather than haste, he stood very still, like a hunter homing in on his prey. His back as straight as a board, his feet planted wide, his gaze unwavering from his mark. Good heavens, he posed a picture of a majestic Highlander.
Anya inhaled with him as his chest expanded. With a resounding hiss, he released the arrow, shooting it through the air like a dart.
From where Anya stood, the contest was too close to call.
The two men marched forward and examined their targets while Friar Jo followed, waving a ribbon. “The only fair way to judge is with a proper measurement!”
She knew the outcome when Raghnall held out his palm. And judging by the way Angus dug in his sporran and parted with a coin, he wasn’t happy with the results. But his scowl was replaced by a grin when he looked to the stoop.
Pretending her cough was a giggle, Anya waved, the motion making her head swim. “May I have a go?”
Raghnall motioned toward the soldiers, flicking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll set to putting the men through their drills.”
Angus hesitated before he held up the bow and grinned. “Why not?”
She pattered downward. “I haven’t any coin with which to place a wager.”
He met her at the foot of the steps and took her hand, but his gaze flickered to the friar as the older man followed the MacDonald soldiers. “I reckon we can come up with something interesting.”
Anya glanced at Angus’ lips before she had a chance to check herself. “Have ye anything in mind?”
“Well…” His tongue slipped to the corner of his mouth. “If I win…”
Anya’s heart leapt.
“I’d like ye to draw me a picture of Dunyvaig.”
The leaping was replaced by a lump in her chest. She thought for certain he’d want a kiss. Of course, Anya would have drawn a picture of his castle without even being asked. “Very well. But I cannot properly draw the castle within the walls. I will have to find a spot where I’ll have some landscape to work with.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
She eyed him. Would he take her to find a spot, or would he assign the tedious task to Rory? And now he hadn’t asked for a kiss, she must ask for something other than that which she truly wanted. “If I win, I should like to take another ride to the Oa.”
His Lordship’s eyebrows arched. “I believe that is fair.” He handed her the bow. “Ladies first.”
As she took it, a hacking cough erupted from her throat. Doing her best to recover and stop the swooning of her head, Anya patted her chest. “Good heavens, forgive me.”
“Are you ill?”
“Nay, I just have a bit of a cough.” She loaded an arrow and raised the bow, drawing the string to her cheek. “I think the outside air will do me good.”
“Very well. Would you like a few practice shots to begin with?”
Anya should have thought to make such a request. “Thank you,” she said as she released her arrow, her spirits sinking as it hit the far left of the target. “Oh dear, that was awful.”
“’Tisn’t a bow ye’ve used afore.”
Though it was kind of him to say so, she wasn’t accustomed to missing by such a wide margin. Swallowing against her urge to cough, she drew another arrow from the quiver. Her next shot was better, though a bout of dizziness caused the third to miss the target altogether.
“Allow me to retrieve my arrows,” she said, hoping the walk might clear her head.
“I’ll go.”
“Nay.” She held up her palm as she stared off. “I will do it.”