If she hadn’t been right twelve years ago when she was a bundle of girlish nerves trying her very, very best... then she definitely wasn’t right now.
There was areasonhe’d hid behind a tree rather than be seen with her. Cynthia could harm Alexander’s standing just by existing next to him.
Just being in her vicinity was embarrassing.
The unwelcome reminder sapped much of the joy out of the day.
“Come on.” She positioned his skis. “I’ll strap you in.”
Once his skis were safely attached, she attended to her own.
She gestured toward the sledding slope. “Remember, we skate in this direction. Over there is—”
“The village,” he said. “I remember.”
Not just the village.
Gertie.
Cynthia’s mouth fell open.
Max gave a loud yip.
“Youareusing the skis!” Gertie squealed. “I saw they were missing, and I wanted to watch. Can I watch?”
“Stay next to the wall!” Cynthia commanded. “It’s slippery here, and I don’t need you breaking your neck.”
“There was a higher probability of neck-breaking if you’d talked me into those skis,” Gertie replied, cradling Max to her chest. “From the look of things, you haven’t fared much better. You two have snoweverywhere.”
“Er,” said the Duke of Nottingvale.
“Er,” said Cynthia.
“Well, make haste,” said Gertie. “They think I’m taking Max for a walk, but I can’t stay long. Max loves the snow and keeps getting lost in it. I only find him when I see his little tail poking out. He’s angry at me for carrying him up this mountain. You’d think the snow was hiding a field of bones to chew—”
At the wordbones, Max yipped and sprung himself from Gertie’s chest.
He did not get lost in the snow.
He tumbled backward down the slick mountain, his yip turning to terror as he slid off the incline and over the edge—in the wrong direction.
“Dammit, Max,” Cynthia muttered, and pushed off after him.
This direction wasn’t as smooth as the other, and bumps beneath the snow sent her skis a few inches into the air before continuing on with a jarring thud.
Max was tumbling out of control now, a spinning, howling, puppy-avalanche of white snow and brown fur.
He wasn’t headed into the heart of the village.
He was headed straight for the area blocked off at the base of the castle... for the archery tournament.
Which was currently in progress.
“Damn it, Max!” she shouted, but of course he couldn’t hear her, not that he could do anything about it if he did.
The poor terrified puppy shot down the mountain like a cannonball.
Right into the line of fire.
