“Suit yerself,” she answered, moments before a slightly larger wave caught her unawares. She squealed as the icy water soaked the hem of her dress and then she broke into peals of laughter. Before she regained control, another wave hit her calves, causing her to lose her balance and fall on her arse.
He was at her side in an instant, scooping her off the wet sand. If he hadn’t, the next wave would have completely drenched her.
She continued to laugh as he spun her around in his arms, before moving farther away from the water. He sank down on the dry sand, holding her on his lap while she tried desperately to regain a modicum of decorum.
“Claire Morrison, I don’t care what ye say, ye do not belong in an abbey.”
She started laughing again. “I think it’s fairly obvious, I don’t belong as the lady of a castle either.”
Much later that evening, after they had ridden back to Castle Ranald, Kenna had prepared a bath for her, wondering how her mistress had managed to get sand in her hair and causing Cassie to giggle again. Then, after helping Cassie get ready for bed, Kenna had taken the nearly ruined dress, promising to repair what damage she could.
Cassie was left alone in her bedchamber, staring out the window at the darkening sky.
It had been a truly excellent day.
It felt good to laugh again.
She smiled to herself. It felt very good to be held in a man’s arms again.
And for the first time, in the two months since she had lost Tom, she felt like she could go on. She could do more than just make it through each day. She would miss him forever, but she still had the capacity to feel joy and embrace life. For that alone, it had been worth coming to the fourteenth century.
Chapter 10
The day by the sea had been freeing, and Cassie had vowed again to suck the marrow out of life. Not only here in this time, but also when she returned home. She began to make plans for her future. It’s what Tom would have wanted.
She decided that she would return to college in the fall and after the time she’d spent with Boyd, she was considering changing her major to education. Up until then, she hadn’t given the first thought to returning to school alone. But in reality, she wasn’t alone. She had always been surrounded by people, but had never felt comfortable reaching out. Maybe now, without bodyguards watching her every move, she might try to make some more friends.
Perhaps she’d join Greek life. She had some casual friends in Phi Mu who had suggested she consider it before. She probably wouldn’t be the first person ever to wait until senior year before rushing a fraternity or sorority. Besides, if she changed her major she wouldn’t be graduating this year anyway.
She also planned to take some more art courses. She had enough credits already that, with a few more classes, she could probably graduate with a minor in art. She really did enjoy teaching Boyd the fundamentals. The lad had other lessons with Father Paul most mornings, but at least two or three days a week he spent a few hours with Cassie, learning how to paint. The idea of devoting her life to developing young artists appealed to her.
Thinking about it now, she marveled at the fact that a ten-year-old medieval boy’s request to learn to paint was the thing that gave her purpose again. Gertrude had said she wasn’t giving Cassie the pocket watch because she needed to do or learn something here. But, in truth, she had needed to learn this in order to find her direction again, and Boyd had helped her do that.
To her amusement, somehow, Boyd seemed almost more determined to help Cassie experience life outside the abbey than Tavish did. One day, a little more than a week after their day at the beach, when they had finished their morning art lesson, Boyd said, “Do ye remember the first day ye started teaching me to paint?”
Cassie chuckled. “Aye. Ye were almost ready to quit before ye started. Now look how far ye’ve come.”
He smiled and blushed. “Ye’re a good teacher.”
“Thank ye, Boyd. That’s kind of ye to say.”
“Well, it’s the truth. But on that first day ye said everyone had to start at the beginning when learning something new—like I did when I learned to use a bow.”
“That’s right.”
“Ye also said ye’d like to learn to shoot a bow.”
She smiled broadly. “Aye, I did say that.”
“Then would ye like to? Learn how to shoot a bow, that is? I can teach ye.” He blushed as soon as the words had left his mouth.
Cassie looked at Lady Ranald, who seemed to be trying to stifle a smile. “Uh…I suppose, if yer mother and father don’t object, I would quite like that.”
Boyd grinned triumphantly. “It’s fine with them. I asked mam first. We can start now if ye want to.”
Now Cassie understood why Lady Ranald was so amused. She flashed the woman a warm smile wondering how long Boyd had been planning this. “Well, then, I would love to start now.”
“That’s great! The best place to do this is outside the castle walls. I’ll get everything we need and meet ye at the gate in a few minutes.” He rushed out of the room.
After he was well out of earshot, Lady Ranald said, “Ye needn’t do this if ye don’t want to.”
Cassie smiled. “Actually, I was serious when I said I wanted to learn archery.”
“I can’t promise he’ll be the finest teacher. According to my husband, Boyd’s not all that good at it himself yet.”
“Well, it’s a fair bet he’s better at it than I am. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
“No doubt. Frankly, I’d love to see it,” said Lady Ranald.
“Then come with us.”
She shook her head. “Nay, it would make him too nervous if his mama were watching. I guess ye realize, he’s a wee bit smitten with ye.”
Cassie chuckled. “Aye. It would be hard to miss that.”
Lady Ranald smiled. “I think his brother is too.”
The hopefulness in her tone was clearly evident. “I don’t know. Perhaps.” Cassie didn’t want to go down this road. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just pop up to my chamber to fetch a wrap. The air is crisp today.”
“Aye, certainly. Enjoy yer lesson.”
~ * ~
Tavish had spent the morning training with his father’s men. He was on his way back to the keep with them before the midday meal when Hendry nudged him, a grin splitting his face. He pointed towards the castle. “What do ye make of that?”
Tavish glanced in the direction Hendry had indicated to see Claire and his little brother, just outside the castle walls. A target was set up and she held a bow. He chuckled. “By the looks of it, I’d say Boyd is trying to teach Claire how to shoot a bow.”
“Unsuccessfully, based on the fact that her arrows don’t seem to be landing even close to the target.”
Her laughter drifted to them on the breeze, bringing a smile to Tavish’s face. “Perhaps I’ll just lend a bit of aid.”
Hendry barked a laugh. “It looks like ye’d better, or all of our lives are in danger.”
Exceedingly amused, Tavish nodded. “Aye, it would seem so.” He walked towards Claire and Boyd.
Claire looked up as he drew near, appearing surprised. “Tavish.”
“I’m teaching Claire to use a bow,” announced Boyd.
“I can see that.”
“She’s not very good,” said Boyd, under his breath.
The smile playing at Claire’s lips suggested she’d heard him.
Tavish winked at her. “Well, brother, perhaps ye’d allow me to help?”
Boyd’s brows drew together. “That’s probably a good idea.”
Tavish stepped behind her, putting his hand on her hips, turning her body slightly. “Ye don’t want to face the target. Ye want it directly to yer left.”
“That’s what I told her, but she keeps turning,” said Boyd. “I think she’s afraid of the string,” he added in the same loud whisper he’s used before.
Claire chuckled softly.
“Ah, I see,” said Tavish. He bent d
own and spoke softly in her ear, “Ye aren’t afraid of a wee bit of string, are ye, lass?”
She turned her face to his. “Well, now that ye mention it, aye.”
She was so close. Their eyes locked. Her lips were mere inches from his. With just a slight dip of his head, he could kiss her. And in that moment, lost in the blue depths of her gaze, that’s all he wanted to do.
But before he could act on his desire, Boyd interrupted him.
“That’s why I gave the bracer.”
He tore his eyes from hers. “Aye, the bracer will protect yer arm.” He indicated the leather arm protector laced onto her forearm.
“Aye, well…uh…”
He smiled, indulging in a moment of male pride. He’d unsettled her. Which you have no business doing, he chided himself.
She recovered her composure. “What I mean is…a bracer to protect my arm is all very well and fine, but what keeps the string from hitting my face?”
The moment was gone and that was a good thing. Desire was one thing. Love was another and Tavish didn’t want to mislead her. This was an archery lesson—nothing more.
She’d turned slightly towards him, so he squared her shoulders again. “If ye’re in the right position and draw properly, it can’t hit yer face. Let me show ye.”
He stepped even closer to her. She smelled of fresh air and roses and he inhaled the enticing aroma deeply. Wrapping his left hand around hers where she gripped the bow, he raised her arm until she held the bow straight out to her left. “Ye want yer shoulders, hips and feet aligned. And yer arm should be straight out from yer shoulder. ’Twill make yer draw longer and yer aim truer.”
She adjusted her stance.
“Ye also don’t want to grip the bow so tightly. It isn’t going anywhere.”
She chuckled and he felt her hand relax a little.
He pulled an arrow from her quiver and reaching around her with his right arm, he put the arrow on the bow’s arrow rest. “Now, nock the arrow, making sure the fletching feather that is different from the other two is pointing away from ye.”
She put the slotted arrow nock on the bowstring.
“Ye want three fingers on the bowstring, two below the nock and one above it.” He positioned her fingers, putting his right hand over hers. Her small hand practically disappeared under his own. He liked having her hand in his.
“Now, look to yer left, towards the target and draw the bowstring back.”
She did, but her hand stopped when the string was barely past her elbow.
“Nay, lass. Ye need to pull it all the way back until the angle of yer thumb rests on yer jaw.” He guided her hand back into the correct position and leaned his head in against hers.
She cringed. “I don’t want the string to hit my cheek or nose when the arrow flies.”
“With yer thumb on yer jaw, it can’t do that.” He let go of her bow hand and pointed to her nose. “Ye see, when ye hold the arrow this way, yer nose is pointed towards the target and the bowstring is well to the right of it.” Then he pointed to his knuckles that were wrapped around hers holding the bowstring. “Ye see where yer knuckles are?”
“It feels like they’re on my cheek.”
“It might feel that way, but look. They’re actually just in front of yer face. When ye release the arrow, the string can only go forward. It can’t possibly hit yer cheek.”
“I believe ye, thousands wouldn’t.”
He laughed. “While that sounds like ye actually don’t believe me, I swear to ye it’s true.”
“It really is,” chimed in Boyd.
With his arms around Claire, holding her so close, once again Tavish had almost forgotten his little brother was there.
Claire smiled. “Fine. I believe ye.”
He leaned his head in again, until his cheek rested on the top of her head. “Look down the arrow and line up the tip with the target.”
She adjusted the angle of the bow slightly.
“Now simply let go of the string.” He opened his hand and she released the arrow.
Boyd whooped. “Ye hit the target!”
She turned toward Tavish, her face splitting in a broad grin. “I did it.”
“Aye, ye did.” When she smiled and looked into his eyes like that, just as before, he was transfixed. She really was a very beautiful woman.
“Can I try again?”
He took a step back. “Of course ye can. Now it’s just a matter of working on yer aim.”
“Keeping yer eyes open when ye release the arrow is a good start,” said Boyd, seriously.
Tavish laughed. “Yer eyes were shut?”
Claire blushed. “They might have been.”
“They were,” said Boyd.
“Then, aye. Ye’ll want to keep yer eyes open. And remember, the arrow doesn’t fly level to the ground. There’s a slight arc. So depending on how tall ye are and how far away the target is, ye have to allow for it. Try aiming a little above the center. And when ye see where it lands, adjust yer aim accordingly for the next arrow.”
She practiced shooting arrows for about a quarter of an hour—hitting the target with every arrow, even if not terribly close to the center yet. Boyd called instructions to her trying to improve her aim.
Tavish just watched, enthralled. He tried not to think about how good it had felt to hold her close.
In spite of his best efforts, his thoughts drifted back to those few moments for the rest of the day. And as he lay in bed that night, he imagined how much more pleasant it would feel to have her in his arms now. To freely run his hands over her soft skin. To capture her lips with his kisses.
“She doesn’t belong in an abbey,” he said aloud to the empty room.
A little voice inside him said, The fact that you want her in your bed, means nothing.
The little voice was right. He couldn’t have her unless he married her, and even though he found her desirable, he couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t offer her the love she deserved. Still, that didn’t mean she should return to the abbey.
He tried to redirect his thoughts to something else, but that was futile. She seemed to fill his consciousness.
His thoughts drifted back to the day they had spent by the sea.
His arms had been around her that day too. He’d held her—wet, sandy, and laughing—on his lap. That’s when he’d first told her she didn’t belong in an abbey.
As the days had passed and he spent one delightful moment after another with her, he had grown even more certain of that. He convinced himself that the issue of whether she returned or not wasn’t about him; it was about her.
Perhaps if her brother had another potential betrothal for her, before she went back to the abbey, she’d be willing to give that man a chance. But who?
He supposed it wasn’t really any of his business. Her brother would make those decisions. But Coll was young, only twenty-three, and he really knew nothing about Claire.
After spending so much time with her over the last few weeks, Tavish felt he did know her well. Very well. Perhaps Coll would be open to suggestions.
Tavish’s first thought was of Bennett Macauley. He considered Bennett a good friend and knew he’d make an excellent husband for Claire. Not to mention the fact that she would be close to her family again. But the more he thought of Claire being married to Bennett, the less he liked the idea. In truth, it probably wasn’t the best match. After all, the Morrisons were already close allies of the Macauleys. Not only were they neighbors, Coll had trained there.
Nay, Bennett Macauley wouldn’t work.
Perhaps a betrothal with one of the Gunn brothers would be advantageous. Egan was the Laird’s heir but Tavish didn’t know him well. However, Sean Gunn, Laird Gunn’s second son, trained with Laird Matheson. Tavish considered him a good man and the last he’d heard, Sean hadn’t been betrothed yet. Even the laird’s third son, Will, would be a good option. He had trained here and while Tavish had been away most of that time, his da thought highly of Wil
l.
Aye, any of the Gunn brothers would be fine husbands, and an alliance with the Gunns would be good for the Morrisons. Then again, as he considered it more, it just didn’t feel right. The Gunns lived quite far away, in the northern Highlands. Nay, she’d been away from her family for so long, it would be nice for her to be able to see them often.
None of the Gunns would be right for her.
Laird Macrae had several unmarried sons, but Tavish knew very little about them. Furthermore, the Macraes were close allies to the MacLennans and the MacLennan’s closest allies were the MacIans. Tavish had no use for the MacIans—they had feuded with the Mathesons for years.
He moved on. Which clan had marriageable young men, didn’t live too awfully far away, and would be an advantageous alliance for the Morrisons? Finally, it occurred to him. The MacLeans would be perfect. Laird MacLean had two younger half-brothers, James and Andrew. Both were fine men. The Morrisons would benefit from an alliance with MacLeans. Like the Ranalds, they had several ports as part of their holdings. They would only be a day’s journey by ship to Lewis. Then too, as they were the laird’s younger brothers, and Laird MacLean had a son and two daughters, perhaps whichever one married her might agree to live among the Morrisons.
Aye, either James or Andrew MacLean would be perfect for Claire.
Except when he imagined one of them married to her, holding her in his arms, loving her…well, somehow it just didn’t seem right.
On second thought, he couldn’t recommend that Coll seek a betrothal with either of them.
He’d keep thinking about it. Surely he’d come up with someone.
Chapter 11
Over the next couple weeks, Tavish continued to consider possible husbands for Claire, but he found reasons why she shouldn’t be betrothed to any of them. Still, even if he couldn’t come up with an ideal candidate for her to marry, he was dead certain she wasn’t meant to be a nun. And he had made it his mission to convince her of that.
Nuns didn’t hike up their skirts and go wading.
Nuns didn’t ride at a gallop, chasing the wind across the moors.
Nuns didn’t laugh until tears ran down their faces.
The Gift: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Page 10