“Ersk —” she tried to interrupt him, but he pushed on.
“The basic principle is simple, really. Ye create a spark, which lights the gunpowder in here —” he pointed to the back of the pistol “— and shoot,” he turned sharply and fired the gun. The shot lodged itself in the haystack beside them, making not only Laura jump but some of the horses too from the stable.
“Erskine!” To her sharp tone, he looked at her.
“What?”
“Do you mind slowing down a bit?” She gestured to the pistol. “What is wrong with you this morning?”
“Nothin’,” he said as he looked down at the pistol and reloaded it with wadding.
“Well, there is a lie if I ever heard one,” she folded her arms, feeling spurned by the sudden coldness. Their conversations over the last few days had been so easy, she did not understand what had happened to cause this change. “Are you going to tell me what is wrong or not?”
He turned back to her and took hold of her wrist, placing the pistol in her hand.
“Just had a bad night’s sleep, is all,” he kept his eyes averted. “Hold it up.”
She followed his instructions, deciding that this plan of hers really was a bad idea after all.
I should not have asked for his help.
She held up the pistol with a straight arm and aimed at the same hay bale where Erskine had shot.
“Nae like that. Ye willnae shoot a damn thing like that,” his hand nudged her elbow, making it bend slightly.
“Good lord, what is wrong with you!” She decided she had no wish to stay in this moment any longer.
“Just a bad night’s sleep, as I said,” Erskine kept his eyes on the pistol in her hand and pushed the barrel up.
“Well, it is hardly my fault if you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she snapped the words. Her harsh tone made him flick his head back toward her. She realized that though her voice had been harsh, it had been more akin to her usual pitch. She cleared her throat and spoke again, deepening the voice. “There is no need to take your bad mood out on me.”
“Ye’re right,” Erskine sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. Laura grew distracted, no longer thinking of the pistol in her hand but suddenly thinking of the dark red locks that he had pushed back from his forehead. “Aye,” he said suddenly, looking back at her. “I dinnae intend to take it out on ye.”
“So, you will cheer up a little?” She raised her eyebrows, feeling tempted to tease him. “I have no desire to stay in your company if you are going to be grumpy all day.”
“Grumpy?” He put upon a mock look of offense. “Me? Never. Besides, who else would ye ride behind all day?”
“True,” she lowered the pistol to give her arm a break. The effort of having to hold it up was making her arm tingle. “I would certainly not choose Dearg. I have no wish to put up with his jests all day.”
“That is nae exclusive to ye,” Erskine agreed with a nod. “I cannae bear them either, and I am his brother.”
“Perhaps I will ride with Tam instead?” She smiled as he shook his head.
“Are ye tryin’ to extract a promise from me to cheer up?” He gestured to his chest.
“Aye,” she mimicked his Scottish accent, prompting him to laugh. “That and trying to get an apology out of you.”
“Very well,” he agreed. “Billie, I am sorry for bein’ grumpy, and I promise to try to cheer up. Is that better?”
“Much!” She lifted the pistol again. “Now, tell me what to do, and this time do not speak so fast. It’s hard enough to understand you at times anyway with your accent.”
“Me accent? The irony!” He walked around to stand behind her.
“What do you mean ‘the irony’?”
“Ye with the fine London accent. Whatever house ye were in service must have been a posh one. It is far too fine for the likes of the streets.” His words connected with her, making her stiffen. Though she had thought to deepen her voice, she had never thought to alter her accent.
He is right. The accent of the daughter of Lord Hamilton is rather different to a lad’s from the street.
