Page 62 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
Freya was watching Adam with a resigned air about her.
“Who do ye think will win?” Emily asked.
“I hate to say it, but we will beat ye,” Freya muttered. “Nae only is Adam the best shot in the Highlands, but now he is showin’ off because ye are here.”
Emily scoffed. “He’s made it very clear that he doesnae need me good opinion. Besides, he’s the Laird—he can cheat, and nay one would challenge him.”
Freya sighed. “He willnae need to cheat. He is infuriatingly good with a bow.”
“Well, either way, I still think we’ll win,” Emily said confidently.
Freya chuckled, and Doughall turned to glare at her as she interrupted his shot.
The game continued for several more rounds. Emily was a better shot than Freya, and she preened whenever she felt Adam’s eyes on her. She could tell he was impressed with her abilities, but it was nothing compared to how she felt about his.
Adam was abrilliantarcher. Not only did he have an excellent stance and accurate aim, but he was also very calm.
Emily couldn’t help but admire the curves of his biceps every time he drew the bowstring back, and she could feel herself flushing whenever their eyes met.
She refused to speak to him—she didn’t need his attention—but she couldn’t help watching him. His chest would go taut as he drew back the bow, his breathing steady and sure as he looked at the target. She had likened him to a mountain before, but when he loosed an arrow, it was like the whole world bent to his will.
By the final shot, Emily was prepared to concede that Freya had been right, so she was pleased to find it was a tie.
Then, Doughall said he had entertained them long enough and wished to go for a ride.
Adam watched his friend storm away before he turned to Emily. She raised her eyebrows at him, and Adam approached her, one careful step at a time. Emily couldn’t breathe by the time he was upon her. As she looked into his eyes, she was reminded of how he looked when he had been positioned between her legs, telling her to beg him.
And I did. Iwould beg him again right now if he asked me to.
“Is the game over?” Adam asked in that deep, rumbling voice.
“I suppose I cannae play without a partner,” she said shortly.
“Ye are a good archer. Where did ye learn?”
“It is a natural ability, M’Laird—possess it since me childhood.”
Adam’s eyes twinkled. “Is that so?”
Emily’s shoulders relaxed as she saw the warmth return to them. This was the man from the hunting lodge, not the stiff stranger who had come to greet her the next morning.
“Me braither taught me. I think at first, he let me win, but by the end, I did sometimes beat him. Ye’re a fine shot yerself.”
Adam’s chest puffed up with pride, and he glanced behind him at his sister. “I taught Freya,” he said softly.
Freya was sporting an irritated scowl as she came back to Emily’s side. “I have never been any good at it,” she said irritably.
“That’s because ye dinnae take yer time.”
“I take plenty of time to shoot the damn thing at the ground,” Freya said without much heat.
“Are we goin’ or nae?” came Doughall’s stoic voice from behind them. He was sitting atop his horse already, and a stable boy was standing with Buck, waiting for Adam to take the reins.
Adam turned to Emily, the heat in the air between them growing in intensity. Even Freya looked between them curiously. Then, he bowed, his arm across his chest as though he were leaving his queen, turned on his heel, and made to the horse.
Emily glanced at Freya, who gave her a knowing smile.
“Like I said,” Freya murmured, “showin’ off.”
