He’d acquitted himself exceptionally well, coming in third behind MacNaughton and her brother.
Yet it was strange. He seemed to miss by precisely the same amount each time—a few inches off where her brother’s or MacNaughton’s had landed.
The men had taken off their helms and had handed off their mounts to the stable lads. Rather than stand around and accept the congratulations of the crowd, Sir Arthur looked as if he intended to follow his horse back to the stables.
Anna stood up quickly, wanting to rush down and catch him before he could escape. Perhaps she’d insist the top competitors join the high table on the dais for the evening meal tonight? That ought to make him angry enough for a few sentences at least.
She stepped around Mary, who was taking her sweet time getting up from the blanket.
“Where are you going in such a rush?”
Anna’s cheeks grew hot. “I wish to congratulate Alan, don’t you?”
She picked her way along the rocky path on the edge of the cliffside, trying not to look down as she silently urged the crowd of spectators down the hill faster.
“Are you sure it’s not the young Campbell you wish to congratulate, Annie-love?” Juliana teased from behind her. “Don’t look now,” she whispered, though with the boisterous crowd it was unnecessary. “But I think he’s looking at you.”
Of course she looked.
Anna turned over her left shoulder and gazed down.
She sucked in her breath. Juliana was right. He was staring right at her. Their eyes met in a sudden jolt that reverberated like a powerful shock through her body. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at her with indifference. Actually, it looked like alarm.
Too busy gazing at him, she wasn’t watching where she was going.
“Anna, watch out!” Mary warned.
But it was too late.
She stepped on a rock. Her ankle twisted and she started to lose her balance (which even in the best of circumstances wasn’t very good). Propelled backward, she stepped back to catch herself—which would have been fine if it wasn’t the edge of the hillside and if the rocks hadn’t given way beneath her foot.
“Anna!” Mary shrieked, reaching for her.
Oh God!
For one horrifying moment time seemed to hold still as she hung in midair.
Then she was falling.
She could see her sisters’ horrified faces swimming above her as momentum carried her backward. A loud rush of air drowned out the cries of the crowd and for a moment it was eerily quiet—as if she were in a strange, airless tunnel.
Ten feet.
Twenty.
No time to shift her position to try to land on her feet.
She braced herself for impact and hit the ground.
But she didn’t hit the ground.
She gasped, realizing she wasn’t lying in a painful mass of twisted limbs and broken bones. Nay, she blinked up into the handsome visage of Sir Arthur Campbell.
My God, he’d caught her! But how? How could he have gotten there so quickly?
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, because she couldn’t speak. It’s wasn’t fear from her fall that caught her tongue, but something else.
His voice. The look in his incredible eyes.
It wasn’t indifference.
At the first crack in his steely facade, a flutter of awareness shuddered through her. Maybe her father wasn’t wrong after all.
Six
Arthur inhaled deeply, letting his lungs fill with the pungent air.
Freedom, even reeking of cow shite, still smelled sweet. Five days away from the castle, patrolling (or in his case surreptitiously scouting) the eastern borders of Lorn’s lands, and now, courtesy of the good friar, he’d bought himself a couple days more.
In other words, he would have an entire week of freedom from the blue-eyed, honey-haired enchantress who’d tormented him with her innocent flirting and pushed him to the end of his tether.
It wasn’t until she’d fallen—and he’d caught her—that he knew he had to get the hell out of there. So much for his plan to go unnoticed; the entire castle could speak of
Yet it was strange. He seemed to miss by precisely the same amount each time—a few inches off where her brother’s or MacNaughton’s had landed.
The men had taken off their helms and had handed off their mounts to the stable lads. Rather than stand around and accept the congratulations of the crowd, Sir Arthur looked as if he intended to follow his horse back to the stables.
Anna stood up quickly, wanting to rush down and catch him before he could escape. Perhaps she’d insist the top competitors join the high table on the dais for the evening meal tonight? That ought to make him angry enough for a few sentences at least.
She stepped around Mary, who was taking her sweet time getting up from the blanket.
“Where are you going in such a rush?”
Anna’s cheeks grew hot. “I wish to congratulate Alan, don’t you?”
She picked her way along the rocky path on the edge of the cliffside, trying not to look down as she silently urged the crowd of spectators down the hill faster.
“Are you sure it’s not the young Campbell you wish to congratulate, Annie-love?” Juliana teased from behind her. “Don’t look now,” she whispered, though with the boisterous crowd it was unnecessary. “But I think he’s looking at you.”
Of course she looked.
Anna turned over her left shoulder and gazed down.
She sucked in her breath. Juliana was right. He was staring right at her. Their eyes met in a sudden jolt that reverberated like a powerful shock through her body. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at her with indifference. Actually, it looked like alarm.
Too busy gazing at him, she wasn’t watching where she was going.
“Anna, watch out!” Mary warned.
But it was too late.
She stepped on a rock. Her ankle twisted and she started to lose her balance (which even in the best of circumstances wasn’t very good). Propelled backward, she stepped back to catch herself—which would have been fine if it wasn’t the edge of the hillside and if the rocks hadn’t given way beneath her foot.
“Anna!” Mary shrieked, reaching for her.
Oh God!
For one horrifying moment time seemed to hold still as she hung in midair.
Then she was falling.
She could see her sisters’ horrified faces swimming above her as momentum carried her backward. A loud rush of air drowned out the cries of the crowd and for a moment it was eerily quiet—as if she were in a strange, airless tunnel.
Ten feet.
Twenty.
No time to shift her position to try to land on her feet.
She braced herself for impact and hit the ground.
But she didn’t hit the ground.
She gasped, realizing she wasn’t lying in a painful mass of twisted limbs and broken bones. Nay, she blinked up into the handsome visage of Sir Arthur Campbell.
My God, he’d caught her! But how? How could he have gotten there so quickly?
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, because she couldn’t speak. It’s wasn’t fear from her fall that caught her tongue, but something else.
His voice. The look in his incredible eyes.
It wasn’t indifference.
At the first crack in his steely facade, a flutter of awareness shuddered through her. Maybe her father wasn’t wrong after all.
Six
Arthur inhaled deeply, letting his lungs fill with the pungent air.
Freedom, even reeking of cow shite, still smelled sweet. Five days away from the castle, patrolling (or in his case surreptitiously scouting) the eastern borders of Lorn’s lands, and now, courtesy of the good friar, he’d bought himself a couple days more.
In other words, he would have an entire week of freedom from the blue-eyed, honey-haired enchantress who’d tormented him with her innocent flirting and pushed him to the end of his tether.
It wasn’t until she’d fallen—and he’d caught her—that he knew he had to get the hell out of there. So much for his plan to go unnoticed; the entire castle could speak of
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