Chapter Five
By the next day, the weather had turned fair once more, which allowed Laurence the opportunity to get out of the house and stretch his legs as well as to take in lungsful of clean, crisp air.
That was agreeable to him, for he’d grown bored being bound to his bed with nothing but the walls and window to contemplate.
Or be alone with his thoughts.
Thoughts that centered around Miss Rose Landry.
Not that they wouldn’t as he was walking the grounds, but at least there would be a change of scenery.
The woman fascinated him, and that hadn’t happened for a long time.
Did he care that her past was steeped in a scandal she refused to talk about?
Yes and no, but mostly at this juncture, he merely wished to befriend her, to discover more about her.
One thing she was right about was the beauty of the estate grounds.
From the manicured lawns and meticulous flower beds that were being readied for winter to the orchards on one side of the property to the hint of a hedge maze at the back, everywhere he turned lovely vistas met his gaze.
Easily, he could see himself spending much time here, but that was only a flight of fancy.
As soon as he was fully healed, he would move on.
Wouldn’t he?
Since there were no immediate answers and his brain was clouded with both confusion regarding Rose and fighting through muscle weakness as well as general fatigue, he concentrated on walking.
At some point, he’d found a stout branch of a tree that was tall enough to use as a walking stick of sorts.
After he’d stripped it of small branches and leaves, it worked marvelously for what he needed it for and helped with stability.
An hour into his foray over the acreage, he came upon the woman who currently consumed his thoughts, and true to her story she’d told yesterday, she practiced at archery.
How fortuitous.
For a bit, he stayed well away and to the side in order to study her.
If he thought her interesting before, he was well and truly arrested now.
With her blonde hair caught back in a tight bun beneath a smart, straw bonnet that featured a shallow brim and clad in a dress of some sort of sturdy light blue material with military lines, she looked every bit the part of an archer.
Frogging details went down the front of the outfit while full sleeves at the shoulder tapered down to the wrist, allowing freedom of movement of the arms. Each time she notched an arrow to the bowstring and then drew it back to her ear while aiming, he held his breath.
Then the whizz of the arrow as it released caused him to resume drawing air into his lungs.
“Will you stand there all afternoon, or do you wish to converse with me?”
Damn, she’d seen him. Of course she had, for she was quite capable even if there was vulnerability and deep sadness in the depths of her eyes when she thought no one was looking.
With heat creeping up the back of his neck, Laurence nodded. “Yes, er, I mean, yes I would like to talk with you.” As he spoke, he came forward until he drew abreast of her. “It’s fascinating how you are able to manipulate the arrow and bow so seamlessly.”
“Thank you. I worked at it for years.” She rested one end of the bow on the ground near her feet as she eyed him with suspicion. “How are you feeling today? I’m sorry I didn’t pop in to see you for breakfast.” There was no additional explanation or excuse.
He respected that she didn’t waste words. “I’m feeling even better than yesterday. A bit stronger, which is why I decided to take a walk, though I’ll no doubt be exhausted by the time dinner comes around.”
“That is how healing goes at times, both physically and mentally.” Then she dropped her gaze to the knot of his cravat.
Why? Searching his brain for another topic of conversation, he said, “I won’t apologize for the kiss yesterday.”
Rose slammed her focus back to his face, and he knew a strong urge to dive into those cool blue gray pools. “I didn’t ask you to.”
No, she had not. Instead, she’d left in high dudgeon. He swore that he could still feel the heat of her slap. “Very well, but I just wanted to clear the air on that.”
She nodded and realigned her grip on the bow. The leather gloves highlighted how dainty her hands were. “I do have one question.”
“Oh?”
“Why did you do it?”
Laurence shrugged. “I’m a man and you’re a woman?”
A huff escaped her. “Do better, Captain.”
How much did he adore that tart mouth and independent spirit? “I felt grateful to be alive, grateful that you stepped away from your daily life in order to spare mine. And as I said, you’re angelic. So I kissed you.” It was the truth.
For long moments, she peered at him then shook her head. “Men will say anything to charm a woman.”
Who had hurt her and how? “While that is most assuredly true for some, from me, those words were from my soul.”
“I see.” Slowly, her expression relaxed and lightened. The suspicion faded from her face. “Well, thank you. I appreciate your honesty.” As she started forward, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Come along, Captain, and help me retrieve the arrows from the target.”
“All right.” He followed her, and when she reached the bale of straw where a painted round target was tied, she proceeded to pluck arrows from it. Most of them hovered at or near the center. “From the looks of things, you do have the skill you mentioned.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“Of course not. How did you come to the sport?” He yanked the remaining two arrows from the straw then followed her back to where she’d started.
“My brother had lessons, and since I was curious, I demanded lessons as a young girl.” When she shrugged, her lips curved into a pleased smile. “When it became apparent that I was more proficient than my brother, he quit but I stayed with it. Soon, I was as good as my tutor.”
“I can just imagine that.” With a chuckle, he gave her the arrows, and she added them to the ones already in the leather quiver at her hip.
“My sisters thought I was uncouth for being so passionate about what is essentially a sport.” As she grinned, her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“My mother wasn’t pleased either, but my father had bragging rights once I started winning contests at local fairs and garnering awards from larger competitions around England. ”
“I admire the way you didn’t listen to the naysayers in your family and followed the path that brought you joy.”
“It’s been a lovely distraction in recent years.” She shot him a glance brimming with curiosity. “Have you ever shot an arrow, Captain?”
“Laurence.”
“What?”
“Please refer to me as Laurence.” Oddly, he yearned to hear his name from her lips. “I believe we’re beyond formalities, aren’t we?”
“Very well.” Rose nodded. “Laurence, have you ever shot an arrow?”
Those dulcet tones and the way her lips seemed to caress the words before releasing them sent an interest shivering down his shaft, and that hadn’t happened in far too long.
He grinned. “I can’t say that I have. Fought with a bayonet, yes.
Fired a rifle and pistol? Yes. Gutted a man with a knife?
Also yes, but I’ve never shot an arrow.”
Her eyes gleamed like sea glass. “Would you like to learn?”
“I would, and as it happens, I have nothing but time just now.” As he spoke, Laurence let his makeshift walking stick fall to the grass. “What do I need to do?”
“Stand here. I’ll show you how to hold the equipment.”
Oh, God.
When she came around to stand behind him, awareness raced over Laurence’s skin. He hardly noticed the chill in the air, for with her in close proximity, heat enveloped him.
She offered the bow to him, and that was when he noticed the exquisite carved scrollwork on either end of the wood. “To hold a bow properly, push the grip,” she tapped a forefinger to the wrapped leather in the center of the bow, “straight into the center of your palm of your less dominant hand.”
Interesting. “Like this?”
“No, more near the thumb’s base, and make certain your hand is relaxed at a 45-degree angle.”
Laurence attempted to follow directions, but the floral and peach scent of her was damned distracting. “It feels awkward.”
“It will until you’re used to it. Don’t tightly grip the bow.”
“Why?”
The slight exhalation of her breath warmed his nape.
“Squeezing twists the bow and causes erratic shots. Now, here’s the arrow.
” She put it into his right hand. “Pinch the nock under the bowstring’s knock point using your fingers.
Place the meat of your palm squarely against the bow’s handle.
The center line of the grip should align with the vee between your thumb and index finger. ”
“All right. I think I have it.” He turned his head for her inspection. “Yes?”
Rose nodded. “Now, your knuckles should rest at a 45-degree angle relative to the bow. This helps prevent the bowstring from slapping your forearm when released.”
“I can see that.” He did as instructed.
“Good. Keep yourself relaxed: Your fingers should remain loose and curled against the palm, or just gently resting on the front of the bow. Like a lover’s caress.”
A shiver went down his spine. Why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking of running his fingertips over her skin? “Noted,” he said in a choked voice.
“With your other hand—the string hand—place your index finger above the arrow nock and your middle and ring fingers below the arrow.”
He nodded. “Done. Now what?”
“The arrow should snap onto the string directly beneath the nocking point.”
“Which is what?” The new terminology was a tad confusing.
“See that small brass bead on the string?”
“It’s so tiny I missed it.”
Rose nodded. “It’s important. Fit your arrow.” When he did so, she continued. “Do not squeeze the arrow nock between your fingers. Your fingers only pull the string backward; the arrow rests on the bow shelf. Use a gentle touch, but always keep your target or mark in sight.”