Chapter Twenty-One #2
Bram followed her gaze and saw Etta crossing the courtyard toward them with a hurried stride, her accusatory gaze fastened on him.
“God’s wounds, what are you two talking about that you look ready to commit murder?” Etta asked in their own tongue.
“Calm yourself,” he snapped at his sister. “I’ve not bitten off her head.” Not so much as she’s bitten off mine.
Possibly sensing the familiar tension in their tones, Anastasia interjected, “Your brother was showing me around.”
“Around what?”
“Well, pointing things out, I guess is more apt—the buildings, the chapel, the stables.”
Etta looked faintly disbelieving. “Is that so?” she asked, attempting to fix a withering glare onto Bram.
He rolled his eyes. “Guid day then,” he murmured and took himself off.
Bluidy hell.
***
Later than afternoon, having spent the better part of the morning putting the newly reorganized companies through their paces, Bram rode back to the keep from the training fields with Harsain and several others.
He listened with only half an ear while Domnall defended the miserable showing of several younger archers and Harsain maintained that no amount of wind could explain why one of them had nearly put an arrow into a grazing cow.
“Mayhap he meant to kill the cow,” Niall suggested, spitting neatly to the side of his destrier. “In which case, ye must allow the shot wasnae so poor.”
“Jesu, the cow stood forty yards left of the target,” Harsain pointed out, scratching at the short brown beard along his jaw. “Lad’ll nae ever mark any achievement worthy of song, and mark me on that.”
Domnall snorted, while Bram grinned and advised, “Put the lad nearer the center tomorrow. If he persists in shooting left, we’ll need to ken whether ?tis truly the wind as he claimed, or the bow itself. Or mayhap we learn the lad would be better suited to the sword.”
“Or we might move the cow,” suggested Calum from behind them.
This earned a round of laughter, which died away quickly when Harsain spoke again.
“Speaking of questionable instruction.”
Bram followed the direction of his gaze, through the few birch trees to their left.
Etta and Anastasia and a placid bay mare stood all alone perhaps fifty yards away in the lower meadow.
Etta held the reins near the mare’s head while Anastasia stood beside the saddle, arranging her skirts with considerable care.
Bram reined in with the others, watching as Anastasia gathered the excess wool over one arm, put her left foot into the stirrup, and made an awkward little hop on her right.
She did not rise more than several inches before her foot returned to the ground.
“What are they about?” Calum asked.
“Seems Lady Etta is teaching the English lass to ride.”
“She isnae English,” Bram defended reflexively.
“Says ye,” Harsain murmured.
Anastasia tried again. This time Etta appeared to be giving instructions, though at that distance Bram could hear none of them, could only see his sister gesturing enthusiastically with one hand while keeping hold of the mare with the other.
Anastasia listened, nodded, gathered her skirts more securely, and put her foot back into the stirrup.
She bounced once and then twice and on the third attempt she managed to pull herself considerably higher, only to lose whatever advantage she’d gained and come sliding inelegantly back to earth.
A portion of her skirt got held up in the gear of the saddle and they watched as Anastasia fought to reclaim the fabric.
“Och,” Domnall murmured.
“She’s too small,” Niall said, “even for the wee mare.”
Anastasia stepped back from the mare, pushed several loose strands of pale hair away from her face, and said something to Etta.
Whatever it was made Etta laugh, and after a moment Anastasia did as well.
Bram watched the quick lift of her face, the brightness of her smile visible even from where he sat.
Etta was a passable rider, Bram thought.
She could get herself from Craig na Coille to any neighboring holding without catastrophe and had sense enough not to attempt anything foolish.
But Anastasia possessed no instincts around horses whatsoever, a fact proven when she’d lost their gelding on the road.
A novice that green needed more than a passable teacher to keep her from harm.
“She’s fortunate she’s bonny,” Calum remarked.
Bram’s gaze left the meadow. “What has that to do with anything?”
Calum shrugged, still watching Anastasia. “A lass that bonny need only struggle so long. Give her another few days and mounting blocks will begin appearing wherever she goes.”
Domnall chuckled. “Carried by hopeful lads.”
Harsain’s mouth twitched beneath his beard.
Jaw tight, Bram returned his attention to Anastasia, who had apparently decided upon another attempt. “Etta has nae business teaching anyone to ride.”
“Lady Etta rides,” Calum said.
“Etta can sit a horse,” Bram corrected. “There is a difference.”
Harsain gave a slow nod. “Hasnae been tossed off in years.”
The men laughed again.
In the meadow, Anastasia put her foot into the stirrup once more.
This attempt began better. She gathered the front of the saddle in both hands, sprang from the ground, and managed to get most of her weight upward, but the mare chose that moment to shift one step sideways.
Anastasia hopped after her with her right foot while her left remained caught in the stirrup, her body twisted awkwardly against the saddle while Etta struggled to pull the mare to a halt.
Anastasia freed her foot and stepped away, apparently unharmed.
Every man watching winced, realizing Anastasia might have been dropped and dragged if she’d not managed to free her foot, if Etta had lost control of the mare.
Bram’s jaw unclenched.
“Sweet Christ,” Niall muttered.
“She shouldnae pull herself up by the saddle like that,” Calum said thoughtfully.
“She has too much weight in the stirrup before she even leaves the ground,” Harsain said. “And Etta is standing in the wrong bluidy place if the mare moves again.” The captain’s expression was grave now as he watched the women below. “Though I suppose the mare is quiet enough.”
Bram recalled the mare and thought indeed she was docile enough.
“Would take a fair bit to frighten her,” Harsain continued. “So likely naught will happen.”
Anastasia was listening again while Etta demonstrated something with the reins. Whatever his sister was telling her, Anastasia took it seriously, watching Etta’s hands and then arranging her own accordingly when the reins were passed to her.
“Though a woman who doesnae ken horses can get herself hurt with even a quiet one,” Harsain added. “A foot caught in a stirrup. Mare takes fright. Lass falls badly.”
Bram’s eyes narrowed and he turned a scowl onto his captain, wondering why he insisted on cataloguing all the ways Anastasia could be harmed.
Harsain shrugged and pulled his blue eyes from Bram. “Merely thinking aloud.”
Domnall barked out a snort, as if something had just occurred to him. “Och, that would be grievous—bring her safely all the way from York only to have her break her neck in your own meadow.”
Bram growled something unintelligible. If he didn’t know better, he might have suspected they were deliberately trying to goad him into fixing what they saw as a wrong, namely Etta being the one to instruct Anastasia.
But whatever amusement they found in the matter did not make them wrong.
Etta plainly had no idea how to teach Anastasia to mount properly, and Anastasia knew too little to recognize poor instruction when she received it.
If she meant to ride while she remained at Craig na Coille, she ought at least to learn without risking her neck in the process.
He gathered his reins and turned his horse toward the meadow.
“Och, and dinna be interrupting the lasses,” Harsain barked after him, with astonishing hypocrisy.
Bram shot back over his shoulder, “Someone has to prevent Etta from teaching Anastasia every poor habit she possesses.”
“Aye,” Harsain agreed solemnly. “Very conscientious of ye.”
The satisfaction in his captain’s voice made Bram narrow his eyes, but he was already riding down the slope and had no intention of turning back merely to give Harsain the pleasure of knowing he’d annoyed him.
He heard clopping hooves behind him and knew Harsain and the lads followed, but paid them no heed, his gaze on Anastasia, pleased that she made no other attempt, while she and Etta both stopped and stared at the half dozen riders coming toward them.
Bram was close enough now that Anastasia had plainly realized that he and the men behind him must have witnessed at least some portion of her struggle with the mare.
A flush crept into her cheeks as her gaze moved over the approaching riders, lingering briefly upon Bram before dropping to the animal beside her.
She smoothed both hands over her skirts and stood a little straighter, wearing the particular expression of someone determined to pretend that no one had actually witnessed her lack of success.
Etta suffered no such embarrassment. She planted one hand upon her hip and watched her brother approach with growing suspicion.
“What do ye want?” she called before he’d reached them.
“To prevent injury,” Bram replied as he reined in and dismounted.
“I ken how to ride,” Etta defended tartly.
“Aye, but nae everyone can teach,” he said, not meaning to injure his sister’s sensibilities more than necessary.
Anastasia spoke up swiftly, eager to defend Etta. “It’s my fault—you know how much trouble I have getting on the horse. You’ve seen it.”
“Aye, lass, we’ve all seen it,” Calum advised, grinning as he leaned over the pommel.
Harsain grinned and Niall and the others laughed outright at the recollection of her most recent attempts.
Bram was surprised when Anastasia held out her skirts and dropped into a low, mocking curtsy. “I’m so glad I could provide some entertainment, gentlemen.”