Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (23 page)

"They will not learn it from me or my kinsmen."

"I see that," she said wryly. She nocked the arrow and tilted the bow, aiming it, her brow furrowed. She extended her bow arm and drew the string back with her other hand. Then she relaxed her arms and adjusted her stance, readying to aim again.

"Now 'tis Juliana's turn!" Eleanor said. "Gawain, you must see what a fine archer she is!"

"Juliana's brothers taught her," Catherine added. "She has shot many times in the forests of Scotland."

"When will Father let us go bow hunting?" Eleanor pleaded.

"When you can hit an animal cleanly, so that 'twill not suffer," Gawain said.

"And when you can ride through forest or field without chattering like magpies," Robin said. "Which will never happen."

"Careful, Robin," Gawain murmured. "Next they will demand that you take a bride and kiss her in perpetual forfeit."

"I would gladly do so, if she were as comely as Juliana."

"And as comely as your sisters," Eleanor added coyly.

Robin shielded his eyes in mock horror. Gawain, despite his best effort, laughed. Catherine huffed indignantly.

"I am sure Juliana's brothers do not tease her so harshly," she retorted, tossing her head.

"My brothers," Juliana said, "are not so polite as yours. They tease me most horribly at times." The twins chuckled.

Juliana lifted the bow. The wind blew against her skirt, revealing the lean lines of her body and her confident stance. Gawain had no doubt that he watched an experienced archer: her arms were steady, her gaze intent. She looked only at the hay bale as she drew the string taut and released it.

The arrow flew true and swift, smacking into the center of the target. Gawain whistled low.

"Another stroke of luck," Robin said. "The wind seems to be with her each time she picks up the bow."

"That looked like plain skill to me," Gawain remarked.

"I will wager she cannot do it again," Robin said.

"She can!" Eleanor and Catherine cried in unison.

"Move the target back," Juliana directed. Robin ran the length of the field to drag the bale back, then returned.

Juliana nocked the arrow again. Gawain watched her raise the bow, sight, draw, and release in a fast, fluid rhythm. The arrow flew true to thunk into the painted center of the target.

Robin bowed. "If that were a deer, 'twould be dinner now."

"If 'twere a man, he would be dead," Gawain drawled. He turned. "Excellent. Is that what comes of running with rebels in Scotland?"

"My brothers taught me to defend myself."

"Ah. Ever shot an English knight?"

She looked at him squarely. "Not yet."

"The marriage treatise says a kiss is a suitable reward for a deed pleasing to the spouse," Eleanor prompted.

Gawain shrugged amiably and leaned forward. Juliana tilted her cheek for his kiss. Even so chaste a contact stirred him fiercely. Her skin was silken, her subtle scent intoxicating. He wanted to take her into his arms and carry her to some private place where he could kiss her wild and deep—and do far more.

He gave her a twist of a smile. "Little rebel," he murmured. "Best to stay in your favor. You have a lethal aim."

"I do," she agreed, and turned her head. He kissed her again, without thinking, full and quick. Her soft sigh almost undid him. He stepped back.

Eleanor and Catherine applauded. Gawain began to sense that his sisters' sport would kill him before long.

He took Juliana's wrist in his. "Come with me. We need to collect some arrows." He drew her down the field at a determined pace, walking past several arrows stuck in the grass.

"There are some—" she said. He pulled her onward.

Down the field, he reached toward a target and snatched the shafts buried in its center circle, stuffing them into his belt. Then he drew her behind a tall bale and swept her into his arms.

He kissed her deep and hard and full, as he had been wanting to do all day. She gasped out and circled her arms around his neck. Seeking hungrily, he kissed her again, and swept his hands down her back and over the curve of her hips. She pressed against him, moaned under her breath, and then pulled back.

"Oh," she whispered, "are the twins coming toward us?"

"Nay, we have time," he growled, and delved again. She tilted her head, her mouth eager. As he held her, she seemed to falter a bit, but his own legs felt strong and sure beneath him.

He knew he should stop, should restrain and deny what surged through him. But denial and restraint abounded at Avenel. He craved honesty and passion, and Juliana had both. He could not stop his thirst, once slaking had begun.

His lips lingered on hers, and she did not pull away. Another kiss filled him, rocked him, stirred his desire—and then went further, shaking the very door to his soul.

Cease,
he warned himself, or take her down in the grass, here and now, to seek the greatest bliss he could imagine. Her response made it clear she was willing.

He forced himself to pull back, cupping her face in his hands. "Pray pardon," he whispered. "These forfeited kisses, a bed shared at night—'tis too tempting for a weak man such as I."

"Weak," she said breathlessly. "I doubt it." She leaned against him, her breasts soft, her body warm against his beneath layers of clothing. He stepped back reluctantly.

She turned. "Arrows," she said, sounding confused. "We had two dozen, and used them all. How... how many do you have there?"

He pulled out the bundle he had shoved in the back of his belt. "Four," he answered. "These must be yours, since they were dead center in that target. My sisters could not have put them there, nor could Robin. I am not sure I could have put them there myself," he added, bemused. "And I am no poor archer."

"Your sisters and Robin told me you are a fine archer with a longbow. They said you are fast and sure."

He shrugged. "I have some tricks. And I know enough to recognize genuine ability." His body, his heart, still throbbed.

She looked flustered. "The... rest of the arrows will be in the other targets, or in the grass." She walked around the hay bale, tucking loosened strands of pale hair back under her veil.

Gawain came with her, searching as he walked. Several arrows were planted here and there like saplings. He stepped on one or two before he saw them. A few swayed precariously at the outer edges of the hay bales. The rest were expertly sunk in the heart of another target.

"Yours?" he asked. She nodded. "You have amazing skill, lady." He fisted the collected arrows. "I have scarcely seen such accuracy from a man, let alone a woman. You would be the devil to beat in any competition—and a considerable foe in a skirmish or on a forest path."

Juliana stooped to pick up a shaft in the grass. "I started using a short bow when I was twelve. My father and my brothers Niall and Will, and my cousin James, are skilled archers. I learned much from them." She sent him a curious glance. "You have met my cousin. Your mother mentioned so."

"I have," he said neutrally.

"Robin told me, this morn as we were fishing, that you were taken prisoner by Jamie's men and escaped. You pledged your obedience to your king as soon as you got away. But I thought you transgressed and had to make a new pledge. How many times have you had to declare obeisance?"

"More than most," he answered vaguely. "I have not been the most courteous of knights in Edward's regard." He busied himself with the search for arrows. She watched him, then seemed to accept his answer, turning away to look for more hidden shafts.

The story of his capture and escape from Scottish rebels was the version his family preferred; it kept the Avenel name clean of the taint of treachery. Many men changed allegiances in the war between Scotland and England, especially those who lived near the border. The Avenels, by tradition, were fiercely loyal, and he had shattered that pattern. Yet his family loved him regardless.

He wanted to explain his secrets and his conflicts to her, but not now, not yet. He had much to resolve within himself. Glenshie, and its complications, must remain protected for now. When he could finally share all of the truth, he wanted to share it with her.

Juliana swept the grass with her foot. "We are missing two arrows."

"Not planted in some English knight somewhere, are they?"

"If I loosed them, 'twould be no accident where they hit."

"I am certain of that." Spying a flash of gray feathering, he extracted the arrow shaft from matted grass.

Juliana found the last arrow and walked back toward him. He took it from her hand, fingers grazing. "Well done, Swan Maid."

She glanced toward his sisters. He realized she expected them to demand a kiss for the collected arrows. "My apologies on behalf of my sisters, and myself," he murmured. "We need not play their silly game."

"It doesna bother me," she said.

"Their silliness—or the kisses themselves?"

She shrugged, as if to say none of it mattered. For a moment he felt hurt. He wanted it to matter to her. He wanted her blood to simmer each time he kissed her, as his did.

"My sisters' heads are full of troubadours' verses and stories of courtly love. I will talk to them."

"They are young. And I wish my brothers had been as kind and as tolerant with me as you are with them."

"Your brothers taught you to shoot as well as any man, so they certainly did not ignore you." He glanced at her. "Where are they now?"

"Ach,
do you think to learn where the rebels are?"

"So that is why you do not speak to English soldiers. You know too much, I think." He lifted an eyebrow.

"I do not speak to English knights because they are fools!"

"All but me," he said blithely.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "When I was the twins' age, I adored my older brothers, as your sisters do you. But Niall and Will had scant tolerance for me at that age. My father ordered them to teach me to shoot—they did not want to do it. They were demanding tutors and excellent archers. But I would not give in until I bested them."

"With good results. You are an uncompromising archer. Your stance, your draw and balance, your aim—all superb."

"They taught me to defend myself," she said, "and then they left me to do just that." She hurried ahead.

* * *

Thunder rumbling over incessant rain woke Juliana. She lay on her side, her wrist tied with the veil, its other end around Gawain's wrist. Snoring softly, he slept beside her. The kitten curled between them, a hillock of warmth against Juliana's knee.

Gawain had said very little to her before going to sleep. After the day's closeness and intimacies—including its startling, dreamlike advent—his coolness hurt. He seemed to be deliberately quiet toward her.

Pale light seared the room, and a loud crash startled her. She drew up her knees and winced as flashes and rumbles filled the room. Wanting some contact and reassurance, she touched Gawain's arm tentatively. He slept, but his solid warmth was comfort enough. Another crack of sound, followed by a flash of light, made her jump and squeak.

"What is it?" Gawain asked groggily, rolling toward her. "You are safe here." He propped himself on his elbow. When she flinched at a new crash of sound and light, he sat up and took her hand in his, the silk draping between them. He drew her nearer. Between them, Pippa stretched in her sleep. "Come here. Watch the kitten, now."

"You needna coddle me. Go to sleep." Keenly aware of his half-nude presence, she felt herself blush.

Thunder exploded again, and he circled an arm around her. She relented, leaning against him. He felt warm and good.

"Does the storm disturb you—or is it the thought of rejoining the escort in the morning?"

She shrugged. "I do not like storms. And I do not want to return to being dragged about as the Swan Maiden."

"The king put his Master of Swans in charge of you—not the Swan Knight. I would not have treated you, or any woman, so."

"Why must we go with them? We can ride to Elladoune together." She leaned against him, caught in a spell created by the curtained space, body heat, and their low, quiet voices.

"The king does not trust me well enough for that."

"Ah. You disobeyed his orders by taking off my chains."

"He does not know about that yet. And I did not ignore his orders completely." He held up their bound wrists.

"But he mistrusts you, and means to test you in Scotland."

His laugh was rueful. "As I said before, I am no prize. Get to sleep. In the mora, you will go home, as you so want."

"Gawain." She hesitated. "I like it here at Avenel, though 'tis England. I... I do like your family. But I must go home."

"I understand," he said quietly.

"And I understand why you decided to wed me in the king's court. 'Twas for your family. For your mother."

His hand rested on her shoulder. "In part," he said.

Beside her, Pippa stretched and made tiny noises in her sleep. Juliana stroked her, feeling safe and good beside Gawain. Although this trust and ease might not last, she savored it. But she wondered what Gawain kept secret from her—what other reason he had to marry her and go back to Scotland with her.