Page 63 of The Scot's Perfect Match
“Now?”
“’Twould be ideal,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her first instinct was to say no, to decline politely, to retreat to the safety of poised distance. But she could still feel the echo of last night’s kiss all the way to her bones. And the way he’d looked at her like she was the only person in the room had kept her up half the night. She found herself unwilling to deny him or herself the experience.
“Verra well,” she said, tilting her chin. “But dinna think I’ll go easy on ye.”
Something flickered in his eyes, amusement, perhaps, or maybe admiration. “I would no’ dream of it.”
By the time they stepped into the late-morning air, the targets had been arranged at the far end of the yard, bright circles set against a backdrop of verdant green. Charles, Heatherfield Castle’s butler, stood at attention nearby, bow in hand, ready to offer assistance should either of them need it.
Ava gave Gavan a sidelong glance as they crossed the grass together, some dampness gathering on the tips of her slippers. “Did ye plan this?”
“I prefer to think of it as… hoping,” he said mildly. “I hoped ye’d say aye. And Charles did let me know ye had the proper equipment still.”
She swallowed around the emotion gathering in her throat. They’d practiced targets together many times in their youth, but it had been years since the last time. “Ye take a lot of risks for a man who claims to dislike recklessness.”
“Some things are worth the risk.”
Her breath caught at the weight of his tone.
Charles handed her the bow first, the familiar feel of the polished wood like an old friend against her fingertips. She hadn’t shot since her mother had died, when all the things that had once brought her joy had felt too hollow to bother with, but the thrill of it came rushing back all at once.
“Ladies first,” Gavan said, stepping back to watch.
Ava took an arrow from Charles, nocked it in place, and lifted the bow up. She inhaled slowly, letting the world fall away until there was only her, the bow, and the painted circle ahead. One, two, three… The release was smooth, the arrow thudding into the outer ring.
“No’ bad, my lady,” Gavan said, though his voice was deliberately casual.
“Oh, dinna flatter me. I’m rusty,” she countered, handing the bow over with a little flourish. “Your turn, my lord.”
Gavan grinned, wiggling his brows with cocky confidence. He rolled his shoulders as he lined up the shot. When he loosed an arrow, and she watched it sail through the air, striking just shy of the bullseye.
Ava let out a low whistle. “I see ye’re a bit rusty too,” she teased.
He grinned, and the sight of it nearly undid her. “Verra.”
For a while, they traded turns, baiting each other to see who could hit the target with the best precision. Their banter was light and effortless, punctuated by the dull thud of arrows hitting the target, bringing back the many afternoons they’d done the same thing in their youth.
Charles lingered a polite distance away, occasionally retrieving arrows, though it was clear from the way he avoided eye contact that he knew to give them privacy.
After a while, Ava decided to purposefully bungle three shots in a row. Gavan stepped behind her to correct her stance. “Your shoulder,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear as his hand lightly adjusted her arm.
A shiver went down her spine, but she held her ground. After all, she’d orchestrated this. “If ye’re trying to distract me, it willna work.” Except it likely would.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though his hand lingered just a heartbeat too long.
By the time her father rode up on his horse, most likely on the pretense of just having discovered them there, Gavan had bested her by two arrows, though the score hardly mattered. Today had been wonderful, and he could have bested her by a thousand, and it wouldn’t dampen her mood. The space between them felt charged, alive in a way that made her pulse quicken and her carefully built defenses tremble.
“Well,” her father said, glancing between them with a satisfied look. “It seems ye two are enjoying yourselves. I’ll leave ye to it. But dinna tarry long, storm clouds could come at any time.”
As he steered his mount to the stable, Ava lowered her bow and glanced at Gavan. “So,” she said softly, “this is how ye win my forgiveness?”
“A man can dream,” he said, his tone softening.
And something in her chest ached at that, because for all her poise, for all her walls, she hadn’t realized how badly she’d wanted someone to share anything with her.
Ava took aim, needing to look anywhere but at him. Her arrow sank into the second ring, and she lowered her bow. She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Well, I suppose I could forgive ye. Your efforts are well noted, though I am displeased no’ to have won this little game. Charles, turn away, I’m a humiliated failure!” she teased.
