Page 48 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
While the rest of the gang went off to shoot birds—shouts of “Loser!” “Wimp!” and “If you won’t shoot it, don’t eat it!” ringing in her ears—Nory followed Isaac down a track to the next field, where the explosions from the shotguns were marginally less ear-piercing.
“Won’t you be missed over there with the bloodthirsty bunch?” Nory asked.
“They have enough guides to keep them safe. And besides, it is our responsibility to make sure all our guests are catered for, and that includes you.”
“Lucky me,” she replied, licking her lips in a way that she hoped looked tantalizing and not just like she was hungry.
“Frank, one of the gamekeepers, was supposed to be entertaining any anti-shooters with nonlethal target practice, but since it was only you, I convinced him to let me do it.” He grinned.
They stopped beside four wooden crates lined up in the long grass. Isaac swung the sack he’d been carrying off his shoulder and proceeded to pull from it several large swedes, a handful of pale pink turnips, and some beetroots. He placed the vegetableson top of the crates before leading Nory over to a grassy knoll some way away and handing her a rifle.
“This is an air gun,” he said. “Your friends are dealing with the main course, and you are in charge of side dishes.”
Nory laughed. “I hope those turnips are free range.”
“Of course,” said Isaac, managing to keep a completely straight face. “All our vegetables are free roaming.” He laid the sack on the ground. “Lay on your stomach.” He gestured for Nory to lie down on the sack and then he lay down next to her.
For the next forty-five minutes, Isaac taught Nory the subtle art of shooting root vegetables, otherwise known as target practice. This was usually done with tin cans, but as Isaac pointed out, Nory was anunusualkind of guest, which pleased her immensely. She accidentally exploded one of the turnips and sheared a beetroot in two, but by the end of her shooting lesson she had become rather good at it if she did say so herself. Most of the vegetables were still usable. Her final shot—at the smallest of the swedes—was a perfect bull’s-eye and the swede remained intact.
“That is what we in the trade would call a clean kill,” said Isaac, taking the gun from her and easing himself up onto his knees.
Nory had to admit she had very much enjoyed having Isaac sidled up close beside her, helping her to take aim, even though he had been consummately professional, much to her disappointment. But then, this was his livelihood. Who was she to ask him to put it on the line for a roll in the hay? Still, she felt the cold seep in where he’d left her side. She sat up and brushed the mud off her knees.
“What will the chef say about the shot in the vegetables?”
Isaac smiled. “Not much surprises the chef. We had a guestin the summer who would only eat windfalls. And another who only ate raw or dehydrated foods.”
“Am I the first guest to slay a swede?”
“I think you might well be.”
Isaac reached his hand out and Nory took it, allowing herself to be pulled up to standing. They stood for a moment, very close to each other, her hand still in his. The tension between them was palpable. Nory was hardly breathing. She was so close to him, she could see the shadow of stubble along his throat, smell the lingering scent of pine and eucalyptus soap on his skin. He made no move to step away and neither did she. She let her eyes roam up over his chin, his ridiculously perfect Cupid’s bow lips, and his equally perfect nose. Never mind kiss him, she wanted to eat him! Her gaze met his eyes, less dark in this light, flecks of amber in warm brown iris, framed by black lashes, which by rights should only have been possible with mascara.
“Elinor.” He whispered her name and she wanted to melt into him. He tilted his head and his lips brushed hers, butterfly light, as though if they just remained in this tantalizing state of barely touching, they couldn’t be accused of breaking any rules. Her heart was pounding. His lips found hers again, a whisper of touch, just enough to wake up every nerve ending in her body.
“Isaac, mate! Where are you? We’re about done here!”
The shout from across the way caused them to spring apart. It was Frank; he couldn’t see them down in the dip, but they could see him peering over the crest of the hill.
“Down here, Frank,” Isaac called, stepping into view.
“Ah, there you are. You done with your target practice? They’ve hit about as much as they’re ever going to. The birds have pretty much scattered.”
“Yes, we’re all done here too. Plenty of side dishes ready for prepping.”
“Huh?” said Frank.
“Nothing,” Isaac replied. “Start packing down, and I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
“Right-ho.”
Frank’s head disappeared back beyond the crest of the hill, and Isaac turned back to Nory, who had just about regained her composure. They looked at each other, quietly acknowledging that the moment had passed. But despite their idle conversations as they packed up Nory’s “kills” of the day, there was an electrifying undercurrent of unfinished business passing unspoken between them.
Fourteen
Everyone was relieved to get back into the warmth of the castle after the shoot, and nobody felt much like venturing out again for the rest of the afternoon.
Lunch was a generous buffet laid out in the dining room, but rather than eat together at the table, the group took themselves off to various different parts of the castle to eat. Charles, Guy, and Pippa ensconced themselves in the billiards room, while the rest of them retired to the snug, which was essentially a small cinema. There were several two-seater sofas and coffee tables scattered conveniently nearby, and a huge TV screen hung above a marble fireplace.
