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“It’s a very dashing outf it,” Sabrina replied. “Obviouslytoodashing for David. If he found out you’d also laid a bet, he’d have a fit.”
“He’ll have an even bigger fit if he finds out who’d organized the betting in the first place.”
“Who?”
“His brother.”
Sabrina’s eyebrows shot up. “But Mr. Robertson is the one holding the book and taking the money.”
“According to Angus, the captain put him up to it.”
“That hardly seems fair, given that he’s a finalist.”
“I agree, but Captain Brown seems to have gathered influence over some of the villagers. Jennie Robertson hangs off his every word.”
“That woman is a menace, I swear. And I must say that I cannot approve of Captain Brown, even if he is David’s brother. He strikes me as rather . . .”
“Scaly?” Kathleen ventured.
“You’ve been hanging about with Angus, I see.”
“That’s your fault, pet. Whenever Gus has a bout of wind, the nursemaids come running for me or Angus, begging for our help.”
Sabrina laughed. “You’re both so good with my little darling that I cannot really blame them. And Iamvery grateful for your help.”
“I don’t mind. And I like your grandfather. He’s as outrageous as I am.” Surprisingly, Kathleen found she also liked taking care of Gus, at least in moderate doses.
“No one’s as outrageous as Angus, not even you. And speaking of outrageous behavior, care to tell me on whom you’re betting? Not the captain, I’ll wager.”
Kathleen glanced around at the lively crowd milling on the lawns. In addition to the archery tournament, there were children’s games and footraces overseen by Graeme. The lord of the manor had played the pied piper all afternoon, with a gaggle of little ones trailing behind him.
“No one can hear us over all this commotion,” Sabrina assured her.
“It’s supposed to be a secret. I’m a reformed character, remember?”
“I wonder what Grant thinks of your reformation?” Sabrina asked with a sly smile. “And speaking of Grant, doesn’t he look splendid in Kendrick plaid?”
Kathleen refused to respond to her cousin’s bait as she watched the man in question. Carrying a large yew bow as he strolled onto the archery field, Grantdidlook splendid in kilt, leather vest, and tall boots. And from the moment she’d laid eyes on him this morning, she’d been seized with a compelling desire to answer that age-old question: Whatdoesa Scotsman wear under his kilt?
Nothing, if you’re lucky.
“Kathleen, I think you might be getting a sunburn,” Sabrina said. “You look quite flushed.”
“Hush, you. We don’t want to distract the archers.”
Sabrina cupped a hand to her ear. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear above all the cheering for Grant.”
“You aresoannoying.”
Her cousin snickered.
Grant assumed a bowman’s stance, one that showcased his brawny form. He nocked the arrow and then easily drew the massive bow. Once loosed, the arrow flew downfield and thudded into the canvas, just to the right of the bull’s-eye.
“Blast,” muttered Kathleen.
Sabrina tsked. “He’ll have to do better if you’re to win your bet.”
“Who said I bet on Grant?”
