ANNA WATCHED EMERICover Hector’s shoulder. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. He was standing by her table, an unreadable expression on his handsome face.
She stumbled and trod on Hector’s foot. “Oops, sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t know this dance.”
Now,thatwas an understatement if ever there was one. When she’d agreed to dance with Hector, she’d not expected this complicated Highland dance where partners entwined their hands in front of their faces and then went through a complicated set of steps that had them stepping and turning, backtracking and whirling. It was a wonder she hadn’t fallen flat on her backside already.
Hector only laughed. “Ye dinna know this one? Where have ye been living, lass? On a rock in the ocean?”
“Um...something like that,” she replied. “I...I’m not from around here.”
Hector’s eyes twinkled. “In that case, it would be my honor to be yer teacher.”
Anna smiled, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Hector was friendly and sweet and she’d been grateful when she’d bumped into him coming down the stairs and he’d offeredto escort her to the hall. After all, who wanted to walk into a room full of strangers on her own? But she couldn’t help wishing he was someone else, a certain sandy-haired archer, in fact.
Hector took her arm and twirled her, and as she came back around, she found herself looking for Emeric again. She spotted him as he disappeared through the door. Where was he going? Wasn’t this party in his honor?
“Hector,” she said, her tone as apologetic as she could muster. “I’m not feeling very well. I think I need some air.”
Hector cast her a concerned look, but he nodded and released her from his grip. She offered him a weak smile and rushed off after Emeric. The cool night air was a soothing balm to her heated cheeks as she stepped outside, the chatter of the hall fading into a distant murmur.
The night was dressed in its finest attire—a million twinkling stars scattered across a velvet blanket of darkness, the full moon bathing the world in a wash of silver. It was beautiful and she might have stopped to admire it, but for the sight of Emeric’s retreating figure crossing the courtyard and disappearing into one of the wooden buildings on the other side.
She hesitated a moment, glancing behind her at the warm light spilling from the great hall. Then with a determined thrust of her chin, she set off across the courtyard, hitching up her skirts so she didn’t trip and go flying.
The wooden building loomed up before her as she drew near, its walls silhouetted by the moonlight. She could hearsoft sounds emanating from within — a quiet snuffling, a rustling of straw.
The wide doors stood slightly ajar and she slipped through, careful not to make a sound. It was somewhat darker within, but shafts of silver light cut through gaps in the wooden walls and ceiling, casting an eerie glow. Her nose twitched as the smell of hay and horses reached her, comforting in its familiarity.
She stepped through the inky darkness and then froze as she heard a sound coming from the far end where the low glow of a lantern broke the darkness. It was a long, low scraping sound, like metal on metal.
Emeric’s voice suddenly spoke. “Dinna look at me like that, Plover. I know it was stupid to come back here—I dinna need ye pointing that out. But what choice did I have? I could hardly miss Aislinn’s wedding could I?”
Anna cocked her head. Was he having a conversation with his horse?
Scrape.
“Aye, ye are right,” Emeric continued. “Ye always are. I know I shouldnae have left the feast. It’s just that...just that...well, ye know.”
Scrape.
There was silence. Then a long, heartfelt sigh.
“Ah, never mind. Ye dinna want to listen to my problems do ye?”
Anna stepped out of the darkness. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I’ve heard that horses can be great conversationalists. Especially about grass. One of their favorite topics, apparently.”
Emeric leapt to his feet and spun so fast she barely saw him move. In the space of one heartbeat, she had the tip of a sword resting against the base of her throat.
She froze, hardly daring to breathe. Her eyes fixed on the gleaming length of sharp steel, not a millimeter from her jugular.
She realized that was what the scraping noise had been—Emeric had been sharpening this blade and she’d blundered in and surprised him and...
Her gaze traveled up the blade until they met Emeric’s narrowed eyes. His face was expressionless, like a mask, but his eyes glinted with barely contained violence. She swallowed.
“Emeric,” she croaked. “It’s me. Anna.”
He blinked and his gaze cleared, eyes widening in surprise. He lowered the blade.
“Anna? By the Saints, ye startled me, lass.”
