Chapter 16

E meric studied the bow in his hand. His fingers clenched involuntarily, tightening around the ornate grip. It fitted his hand perfectly, as though it had been made for him. Ironic, really, considering who it had once belonged to.

How many times had he watched his father practice with this very bow? How many times had he listened as his father demonstrated a shot, pulling back the string, sighting along the arrow-shaft, and then letting fly with an accuracy that Emeric could only dream of emulating. He might be the best archer in Clan Mackintosh—and clans Murray and MacDonald for that matter—but his father had been better. Nobody had ever been in the same league as Edric Mackintosh. He won every tournament, bested every opponent, and for several years commanded the king's own elite archers.

Aye, Edric Mackintosh had been a legend all right.

He dropped the bow onto the grass at his side and stared at the marker stone that rose from the grass three paces from where he sat. The area was well tended, the grass clipped short and neat and with fresh flowers laid at the stone's base. Aislinn, no doubt. How often did she come out here? How often did she come to pay respects to their legendary father ?

How often did she come to pay homage to a lie?

His gaze drifted to the bow again. For years, he had hankered after it. It had been given to his father by the king in recognition of his prowess and his service to the crown and it had become a symbol of Clan Mackintosh's honor.

Honor? That, too, was a lie.

Now that the bow was finally his, he found he didn't want it. He felt the strongest urge to break it over his knee, but knew that would only bring questions that he wasn't ready to answer.

Ah, damn it. He felt that restlessness inside again. That desire to run. That desire to get as far away from this place as he could. Where were his sword-brothers now? Sharing a meal by a campfire at the side of a road? Swinging swords in training at Dun Saith? Riding at break-neck speed on some mission or other?

He'd take any of those things over where he was right now. He felt the ties of family and expectation tightening around his neck like a noose. If he stayed much longer, they would strangle him.

"Emeric?"

He turned. Anna was standing at the little iron gate that led into the graveyard. He hadn't expected to see her and the breath left him at the sight of her. He hated how awkward he'd left it between them earlier. What was it about this woman that tied his thoughts into knots and made him behave like some confused adolescent?

"Anna," he croaked .

Without waiting for an invitation, she walked over and seated herself cross-legged on the grass by his side. "Aislinn told me I might find you here."

Was he that predictable? He supposed he was.

Neither spoke. Around them, all was quiet but for the chirping of birds in the trees and the low hum of the crowd on the other side of the castle.

Emeric finally broke the silence, speaking at the exact same time as Anna.

"Listen lass, I—"

"I wanted to come and—"

They fell silent.

"You first," Anna said.

Emeric took a breath and swiveled to face her. Her cheeks were rosy from her recent exertions, her dark hair mussed and snarled from the wind. He ached to run his fingers through it.

"I wanted to apologize. Again. I shouldnae have said what I did. I'm sorry."

Anna gave a rueful smile. "Actually, I'm not sure that's necessary. I think you were right."

"I was?"

"Don't get used to it because I'm sure it won't happen often, but on this occasion, just maybe." She sighed. "I've just spent the last two hours trying to bat away questions from your sister, from the other competitors, from anyone and everyone. They are all mightily interested in the strange outland woman who talks with a weird accent, has no manners, and can throw axes like a trained warrior. "

Emeric said nothing, digesting this. Then he gave her a wry smile. "I wouldnae say ye have no manners, lass."

Her lips quirked. "You know what I mean."

"Aye, I do." He glanced down at his hands and then back at Anna. "What did ye tell them?"

"I made out that I grew up with five brothers and that's how I learned how to throw."

"Good. Then it should die down."

Anna bit her lip, looking less than reassured by his words.

"Was there something else?" he asked.

"Yes. Kind of. I don't know. It's just that...just that...Lady Maria seemed very interested. She was asking me all sorts of questions and has watched me like a hawk all day. And Aislinn said she's been asking around, trying to get as much information about me as she could. She's been polite and friendly and everything, but there's something...intimidating about her. Maybe I'm being paranoid."

Emeric rubbed a hand over his stubble-shadowed jaw. He felt a twisting of unease in his gut. He studied Anna's face, lit by the gentle glow of the afternoon sun. Her dark eyes were wide and earnest, her lips slightly parted. He had known many strong, fierce women, but Anna was... different. There was a fire about her that drew him in, made him want to protect her.

"Emeric?"

His gaze snapped back to her face and he hastily tried to shake off his musings. "Apologies, lass. My mind wandered. No, Anna, ye are not being paranoid. If yer instincts are warning ye about Lady Maria, then there's probably good reason. Maria is a shrewd woman with ambitions that run as deep as the loch. It was after she went to live with Laird Alexander and his son that the MacDonalds began to gain in power."

"Duncan mentioned something about that. It was after his mother died, his grandma went to live with them. He didn't sound too pleased by it."

"Nay, I suppose he wouldnae. Maria is a strong-willed woman. I've no doubt who wields the power in that household. And perhaps Duncan felt it was disloyal to his mother. By all accounts, Duncan's mother and grandmother did not get on."

"Families, eh?" Anna said. She straightened. "But I can handle Lady Maria, don't you worry about that."

"I'm sure ye can, but even so, I think it's wise we tread carefully around her. If she is indeed digging for something, we wouldnae want to give her anything that could harm us...or ye."

Anna smiled ruefully. "I know you don't think I've got a subtle bone in my body and so far I've not exactly been circumspect, but I'll be careful, Emeric." She held up three fingers next to her face. "Scout's honor."

He looked at her quizzically. "Scout's honor?"

"It's a saying from where I come from. It means I'm promising to keep my word."

Anna reached out and gently squeezed his arm. His heart quickened at her touch, but he kept his expression neutral. She was so close that he could see the individual strands of her hair dancing in the light breeze .

"How come you're down here, anyway?" she asked suddenly, changing the subject. "Hiding from your own party again?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Yes, actually. The other winners are back there basking in the glory of their victory—Duncan MacDonald, especially. Honestly, I don't think he could have more women dripping off him if he tried. Anyone would think he'd won the Olympics or something. And yet here you are, sitting alone in a graveyard."

"I'm not alone," Emeric replied with a small smile. "Ye are here. Perhaps it was a ploy to get ye on yer own."

He was rewarded by the blush that crept up her neck. "Why, Emeric Mackintosh," she said. "I do believe you're getting the hang of this flirting thing."

"I've had a very good teacher."

"Oh? And who might that be?"

Emeric grinned. "The wild outlander lass with no manners, of course."

Anna snorted in amusement. "I'm not sure I'd call myself a good teacher."

"Ye are too humble, lass. There's much ye've taught me already, and not just about flirting."

"Really?" she asked. "Like what?"

How to feel alive , he thought. How to feel things I've never felt before.

But he said nothing, only stared at her.

Anna cleared her throat and gestured to the bow lying on the grass. "Your father's bow, huh? "

Emeric glanced at it, then at the grave marker, and all the pleasure he'd been feeling at Anna's presence evaporated like smoke.

Perhaps picking up on his sudden change of mood, Anna touched his arm gently. "Sorry. It must be hard being given that, and then coming to your father's grave."

"It's not his grave."

Anna blinked at him, surprised. "It's not?"

"It's empty," Emeric said, unable to keep the sudden anger out of his tone. "A marker only. My father isnae there."

"But I thought he died in a boating accident."

"Aye. But they never found his body."

The memories of that day engulfed him. His father's footsteps crunching on the loch shore as he threw his belongings into the boat. The glint of sunrise on the water. His father's surprise as Emeric had stepped out behind him.

And everything that had followed.

His heart began to beat rapidly, anger and hurt and betrayal all churning inside his gut like acid. "He took the coward's way out." He was surprised by the vehemence in his words.

Anna's brow furrowed. "What does that mean? Everyone talks about him as a hero."

"Oh yes," Emeric snapped. "The mighty Edric Mackintosh. The doting husband. The devoted father. The king's elite. The pride of Clan Mackintosh. How could any of us hope to live up to that?" His words were hard and bitter, twisted by all the years of deceit .

Anna studied him for a long, quiet moment, her gaze unreadable. "You're not supposed to live up to him, Emeric," she said quietly. "You're supposed to be you."

Ha! If only that was true. If only his mother, his sister, his uncle didn't see Edric Mackintosh every time they looked at him. If only they didn't measure him against his father every time he breathed.

"I dinna want to measure up to him," Emeric hissed. "Why would I want to measure up to that bastard?" He gestured at the keep, encompassing the whole of the Mackintosh clan. "Why would I want to measure up to any of this? It's all a lie!"

He was furious now, and some small part of him warned that he needed to shut his mouth or he'd say something he'd regret. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He was sick of it. Sick of the lie. Sick of the charade.

"Emeric..." Anna's voice was soft, a soothing contrast to his harsh words. "I know that what happened to your dad hurt you, but there's no need to punish yourself like this."

The compassion in her words stung him to anger. "Dinna speak of what ye dinna understand!" he snapped. "Ye know nothing about it!"

She pursed her lips. "No, you're right. I don't," she said, her voice laced with anger. "But I do know one thing. I know that you have everything, everything I've always dreamed about and yet you don't give a damn about it! You have a home. A mother, sister, uncle who love you. Dear God, Emeric, do you know what I would give to have that? And yet you throw it all back in their faces! You push them away and act like you can't wait to get out of here! Well, I'm sorry if you have daddy issues, but that doesn't give you the right to behave like a spoiled brat!"

With that, she climbed to her feet and stormed off, slamming the metal gate behind her. Emeric watched her go. He knew he should go after her. He itched to tell her the truth. Yet he didn't move. His secrets sat inside him like barbed hooks and if he dragged them to the surface, they would tear him up.

Coward , he told himself. Perhaps you are your father's son after all.

The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

It will be a choice that will force ye to heal the division in yer heart, to decide, finally, who ye are and who ye want to be.

Choice. It was all about choice. He'd been walking this path blindly, believing it was the only path open to him. But there were always other paths, other choices.

Who ye are and who ye want to be.

He climbed to his feet. It was time to stop being a coward.

He strode after Anna.