The Arrow Read online

  Cate crossed her arms and glared back at him, feigning anger. “I thought I was doing all that. But by all means, if you think you can do a better job, go right ahead.”

  Gregor’s gaze sharpened. Blast it, he was too shrewd. He guessed what she was doing. Perhaps she’d gone a little too far with all her errors, but she’d wanted to make sure he noticed.

  Conscious of the young boy between them who was doing his best to look as if it didn’t matter to him either way, Cate held her breath. Please don’t reject him again.

  Gregor held her gaze for a long pause, and then gave her a sharp nod. It wasn’t acquiescence as much as an acknowledgment that she’d won this battle—but he wasn’t conceding the war.

  The next hour passed quickly as Gregor instructed Pip in the proper form and technique of the longbow. It was obvious Gregor was comfortable in the role of teacher, and she realized as she watched him that she was probably seeing what it was like when he worked with the men under his command.

  The English had become feared for their bowmen—especially the Welsh—but the Highlands and forests of Galloway had also bred bowmen of great repute. When the time came to face the English, Bruce would not be without skilled archers. Highly skilled archers, if Gregor had any influence on their training.

  It was clear that not only was he gifted with skill, he was gifted in the ability to convey that skill to others—the two didn’t always go together. He knew exactly how much information to give, when to make corrections, and when to give praise.

  He demonstrated but did not shoot his own bow, although she was glad to see that he had brought it. When she mentioned that she hadn’t seen him practicing with it of late and asked him if something was wrong, he brushed her off by turning the focus to her shooting.

  She was surprised when he made a few slight adjustments to her technique that immediately improved her accuracy. Like Pip, she used a smaller, lighter bow made for her lesser strength. Trying to draw Gregor’s bow was like trying to draw an iron bar. She could barely move it a few inches. The size of the muscles in his back and arms suddenly took on new meaning and importance. He needed to be that strong to wield the bow.

  Pip wasn’t the only one disappointed when Gregor put a stop to the practice. “We’d better start back, if we are going to be in time for the midday meal.”

  With most of the guests already arrived for the feast tomorrow, skipping it was out of the question. She gave a disappointed sigh anyway. “Must we?”

  His mouth curved. “Aye, we must.” He turned to Pip. “The way to get better is to treat each arrow you shoot at practice the same way you would at battle. This is not a skill that will be bettered by the sheer number of shots. It’s making each one count. You need to build up shoulder and back strength—remember it’s not in the arm; you are bending into the bow. Shooting when you are tired will do nothing to improve your skill.”

  The past hour had done what Cate had hoped. Pip was no longer looking at Gregor with veiled animosity and suspicion; he was looking at him like a beaten pup that had just had someone pet him for the first time. He was at once desperate for the kindness, but also leery of accepting it for fear that it wouldn’t last.

  When Pip nodded, Cate had to look away, fearing one of them would see the tears in her eyes.

  It would have been a perfect morning, if it hadn’t been marred by what happened on the ride back to Dunlyon.

  They were deep in the forest when she sensed a shift in Gregor’s watchfulness. As with most warriors, he always demonstrated a high level of alertness and awareness of his surroundings, no matter what the circumstances; but this was different. This was the sharpness and edginess of battle. Everything about him seemed harder.

  Pip was riding ahead, and Gregor slightly behind her, when she turned to him and said, “What’s wrong?”

  His jaw had tensed, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line. “I’m not sure. I felt something. In the hills to the north.” He didn’t need to tell her not to look in that direction. “I think someone is watching us.”

  Her skin prickled, and she instinctively stiffened. Her heart started to pound, climbing quickly toward her throat. “What should we do?”

  “When we get to the fork ahead, I want you to ride for the tower house with the lad. I’m going to circle around and see if I can sneak up on our watcher from behind.”

  “But what if there is more than one?”

  For some reason that made him smile. “I will be fine, Cate. You have nothing to worry about.” His face grew grave. “But I am trusting you to get Pip back to Dunlyon safely. Tell John what has happened. I will return as quickly as I can. Make some excuse to the guests.”

  She nodded. Before she had time to argue or panic, he was gone—maybe he’d counted on that.

  She did as he’d bid, returning to the castle with Pip and informing John of what had occurred. She did her best to do her duty as the lady of the castle, presiding over the midday meal and seeing that the guests were well attended, but her head—along with her heart—was somewhere else.

  She couldn’t seem to breathe until Gregor walked through the door of the Hall two hours later, the long meal still going on. He caught her gaze before he was surrounded. Expression grim, he shook his head.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Gregor had not faced danger, but that meant whatever was out there was still there.

  Eighteen

  Cate’s nose was pressed so closely to the wall she was probably getting splinters. He had her hands pinned and was immobilizing the rest of her by crushing her with the weight of his body.

  It was hard to breathe. For one moment, she felt a flicker of panic but pushed it back. She tried to move her foot behind his ankle, but he anticipated the move and used his leg and thigh to inhibit her movement.

  He pressed her even harder. “That won’t work this time, Cate. What else can you do? Think.”

  There was an urgency to Gregor’s voice that she didn’t understand. But his words only increased her frustration. What could she do? She couldn’t do anything, blast it! He was as strong as a bloody ox! She could feel her pulse racing and her blood heating as the sense of helplessness mixed with anger. Every instinct in her body rebelled at this feeling of powerlessness.

  But she wasn’t powerless. With a sudden clarity of purpose, she stopped struggling. The moment he eased the pressure, she reacted. She bent her knees and slumped just enough to bring her head forward and snap it back hard against his face. Because he was so tall, she connected with his jaw and not his nose, but it was hard enough to make a cracking sound.

  He let out a grunt of pain and instinctively bent forward. Taking advantage of the opening, she twisted around, slamming her elbow into his ribs at the same time that her ankle laced around his foot.

  He didn’t fall to the ground, but the imbalance was enough for her to slip away.

  He was rubbing his jaw when she turned back to him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “That was good instinct. When you’re ready we’ll try again, but this time we’ll practice what to do if someone has you backed against a wall with a knife to your throat.”

  She nodded, taking in the focused expression on his face. She knew she should be glad that he was taking her training seriously—very seriously—but she sensed a larger purpose at work. He was working her much harder than he ever had before. Almost as if he was trying to cram every possible horrible situation she could come up against into a single training session.

  Gregor retrieved a skin he’d filled with well water from a pile of weapons he’d brought for practice, drank deeply from it, and then handed it to her. Although it was a cold, overcast day, with an occasional light flurry of snow swirling in the air, her cheeks were flushed and warm from her exertions.

  She handed the skin back to him when she was done. “Is something bothering you, Gregor?”

  “Nay.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure? You seem rather