The ton frowned upon young ladies who had the temerity to have a love for reading, branding them bluestockings and banishing them to the edges of ballrooms. It was safe to saythat they would probably foam at the mouth if they ever found a fragile miss with an interest in archery, perhaps because it disrupted the image of fragility and innocence that they were so eager to paint many young ladies in.
“I am sorry. I have scarcely held a bow and arrow in my hand.”
If she ever attempted to, Violet predicted that she might return missing an eye and several fingers.
“I wish there were other ladies here to teach ye, and Ruaridh is busy these days preparing for the competition.”
Even if he was, Violet was never going to learn from him, not now when their desire for each other seemed to be climbing higher. There was a high chance that she might cause him and herself injury with how distracted she was sure to be.
In all her life, she had never had to deal with such an addiction. A heat that seemed to envelop her senses whenever she caught sight of him, worsening when he came close and drowned her in his scent.
If precautions were not taken, she might ruin the bow and every chance at learning archery in favor of climbing up his body and surrendering to the pleasure she was sure to find in his arms.
There was also the fact that with every moment she spent in his arms, she could feel her heart warming in a way that begged caution. She liked him, that much she knew, but some of thefeelings she had for him scared her. It made no sense that with only one touch, her mind began to travel down forbidden paths.
So, no, Ruaridh could not be her teacher, at least if she had no plans to be found in a sweaty, naked heap with him.
“You don’t need to worry anyone on my account. I am sure that between the two of us, we can figure out something I might enjoy doing,” she told Grannie Ava, in reassurance.
Unfortunately, luck was not on her side. For in the next few days, she tried her hand at other household “talents,” only to realize that she was useless at cloth making, cooking, and even spinning yarns.
So even now, with the competition looming so close, she had yet to find the skill she could compete with.
“Yes, Keira, I am going to join the Highland games,” she replied gently, not surprised when the little girl’s brow furrowed with confusion.
“Which one? The caber toss? Archery? They are so very interesting to watch.”
“You see, Keira,” she said, clearing her throat and smiling to hide her embarrassment. “I do not know yet.”
Her little friend was quiet, her head bent as if she were thinking hard about something.
“Me friends and I are planning a tug of war with the lasses from Clan McDonald,” she said finally, with a serious expression that was so out of place on her face it was almost funny. “Ye can join us. It will be very interesting.”
Violet did not doubt that. But just how appropriate it would be for a full-grown lady like her to participate in a game where the contestants were mostly children. She might be out of options, but it was not that bad.Yet.
“You do not have to worry,” she assured, hating it when the excitement dimmed from the girl’s eyes. “I do not want to bother your friends. I will be the only adult there. They might not be comfortable.”
“Nae if I joined in too,” a feminine voice interjected, smooth and stroked over by a light Scottish brogue.
Its owner was a redhead with a wide smile, and she was striding towards them wearing a flowing green gown with the clan’s tartan belted over it.
Violet’s brain guessed her identity even before Keira confirmed it.
“Davina!” she screamed with excitement, running towards her aunt.
So at last, Violet was going to meet her.
“Ye should let her breathe,” Grannie Ava was saying with a laugh, where she stood beside the embracing duo. “Allow me to introduce yer aunt to Violet.”
Since spending time with Grannie Ava and little Keira took most of her free time, it was sometimes easy to forget that she had not actually met all of Ruaridh’s relatives.
There was, after all, one more remaining—Davina. The only sister he had. The one that was most likely to be most like her.
Violet liked to deny it, but she felt nervous at the thought of meeting her. After all, on the surface, what was a noble Scottish lass—a laird’s sister, no less—supposed to have in common with an Englishwoman who hung at the lowest rungs of society, with no money and no prospects?
The most likely answer was none.
Except Violet knew that Ruaridh’s sister had a love and taste for fashion that closely mirrored her own. That connection or similarity might be flimsy in the grand scheme of things, but she hoped it would be enough to at least get her in the lady’s good graces.
