“Aye, ‘oh,’” he repeated. Conscious of too many eyes upon them, he drew her away. “Come, we can talk inside the armory—where we won’t have any interruptions.”
“Ah, hell, I was hoping for a rematch,” MacSorley said. “I’ll be ready next time, lass. Although you might not want to wear such a pretty gown. This time I won’t be the only one to get dirty.”
Cate was laughing as he dragged her away. “He’s amusing,” she said. “I can see why you like him so much.”
“Hawk’s a pain in the arse,” he grumbled. “Wait until he comes up with a nickname foryou.”
The smile that lit her face stabbed him with a longing so intense it stole his breath. How could he have been such an idiot? How could he have thrown away the most important thing that had ever happened to him? She meant everything to him. He should have trusted his feelings. Committed himself to her, heart and soul.
“Do you think he will?” She couldn’t hide her excitement. “What do you think he will call me?”
“I don’t even want to guess. But you can be assured it will be hilarious to everyone but you or, more likely, me.”
Before they went into the armory, he washed some of the grime off his face and hands with a bucket of fresh water from the well.
Entering the armory, he could see that there was enough light coming through the wood slats, so he closed the door behind them. Clearing off a wooden crate that was used to reach the weapons stored higher on the walls, he motioned for her to sit, but she shook her head. “I’d prefer to stand.”
He’d prefer she do her standing a few feet away from him because in the enclosed space, with only a few feet between them, he was finding it very hard to keep his hands at his sides. It had been so long since he’d touched her—really touched her—that he ached with the need to feel her soft skin under his fingertips again. And as if the thought of that wasn’t enough to test the limits of his control, a moment later the subtle scent of flowers teased his senses. She’d used lavender in the water to wash her hair, and all he could think about was unbinding the two coils secured under her veil and burying his nose in the silky softness.
But he’d lost that privilege. He’d have to earn it back—if she let him.
Taking a step back, he cleared his throat. “What did you want, Cate?”
Unaware of the fragile command he had on his control, she stepped toward him until she stood only inches away. Christ, all he had to do was bend his head and her lips would be under his. His muscles tensed. A rush of heat pounded through his veins, but he kept his arms pinned to his sides and tried not to think about how badly he wanted to kiss her.
Maybe she was more aware of what she was doing to him than he realized. Her voice was slightly husky. “What’s wrong, Gregor? Why have you not been using your bow? Why are you contemplating quitting?”
His jaw hardened. It wasn’t quitting; it was merely that what he wanted had shifted. He no longer felt the need to prove himself. He no longer had the drive to be the best and nothing else. He no longer wanted to avoid his other duties.
“This isn’t because of me, is it?” she asked. “I know you didn’t mean to shoot me. It was an accident.”
He gritted his teeth against the tight swell of emotion in his throat. When he’d let loose that arrow, for the first time the full import of what he did hit him. “I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t. And even if you had, it wouldn’t have been your fault. You couldn’t have anticipated what I was going to do. In fact, I think you’d instructed me many timesnotto do what I did.”
The sympathy in her eyes undid him. He had to tell her the truth—no matter how shameful. “You don’t understand. If you hadn’t done what you did, the king might be dead.” His mouth hardened. “I missed, Cate. The arrow I shot was too low. It wouldn’t have killed Fitzwarren.”
The surprised doubt on her face only made it worse. “You can’t know that. And even even if it’s true, I imagine you were unusually distracted.”
He clenched his jaw in silence. She was right. He had been distracted—by her—but that was no excuse. “It wasn’t the first time. It’s one of the reasons I was sent home.” He described the hesitation at Berwick and the small mistakes he’d made leading up to it. He gave voice to his fear for the first time. “My skills are slipping.”
“Your skills are exceptional. But you are not perfect. So what? You are the only one who expects you to be, and you don’t need to be. Even with a few not-perfect shots, you are still the best archer in the Highlands. What about the shot you made from the ladder? From what my father said, it saved the attack from discovery.”
“I was lucky.”
She looked at him as if she knew better. “Luck or not, no one else could have made that shot, Gregor. No one. Think about that.”
His jaw hardened. Whether she was right really didn’t matter. “You don’t understand. I’m…” He just said it: “Christ, I’m losing my edge. I don’t feel the same intensity.”
She gave him a long look, considering his words but seeing far beyond them. “How could you? You must be mentally exhausted. You’ve been fighting for my father for…?”
“Over seven years,” he filled in.
“So seven years of functioning at the highest levels, under the most extreme of conditions, with constant pressure? That would be difficult for any archer, let alone with the type of precision required for a marksman. I’m not surprised it has begun to wear on you; actually, I’m surprised you lasted this long.” She paused, cocking her head to study him. “Do you still believe in my father?”
“There is no one I believe in more. He is a great man—and a great king.”
She looked up at him with far more understanding and compassion than he deserved. But it was what she did next that nearly brought him to his knees. Slowly, she reached up and cupped his jaw in her hand. He regretted the roughness of the stubble scratching her soft skin, but she seemed not to mind as she rubbed his chin against her palm.
