With a huff, his lover lowered the bow. “Do I tell you how to suck me off?” The acerbic tone in Darshan’s voice stung a little. The man had never spoken quite like that before, at least not to him.
Behind Hamish, he caught the overloud growl of Gordon clearing his throat.
“Because I’m good at it,” Hamish shot back, unable to let the jibe fall. “Unlike you with a weapon you’ve barely touched before.”
“You show me how it is done then,” Darshan snarled, thrusting the bow into Hamish’s hands. There seemed to be a little more bravado in the action than it really warranted.
Was Darshan… afraid? He had displayed some uncertainty in his ability to make it through the trials, but little more. Did the prospect of losing gnaw at him as much as it did Hamish?
“Well?” Darshan pressed.
“I havenae picked up a bow since… since the bear.” The only reason he’d brought one out here was more from habit. He wouldn’t even have arrows if it wasn’t for Gordon, for his mother had insisted all manner of sharp objects be kept from his hand.
The admission seemed to chip the haughty mask Darshan had donned. Grief and doubt radiated through the cracks.
“Gor?” he asked over his shoulder. “Give us a wee while alone, will you?”
Grumbling a few half-hearted obscenities, his brother sauntered over to their nephews. The trio instantly crowded their uncle, intent on gaining his praise all for themselves.
Darshan sourly watched Gordon’s passage.
“All right, what’s the real reason behind all this bluster? Did something happen last night that…?” His thoughts trailed off as he recalled what his brother had mentioned during their trek to this part of the forest. Hamish remembered only bits of last night’s feasting and dancing, the rest drowned by alcohol. But his brother was adamant he had done something to fluster Darshan. “Did someone say something that could cause us trouble?” Had that someone been him?
His lover winced. An act he visibly struggled to cover up. “I have not the foggiest clue as to what you are referring to.” Even as he spoke, a faint redness took the man’s cheeks.
Hamish folded his arms and silently ran his tongue over his teeth. If he had said something wrong, then surely Darshan wouldn’t have turned up at all rather than be surly about it.
His lover’s gaze darted to Gordon, seeming to ensure the man was well out of earshot. “I availed myself of the archery range last night, before seeking solace in the library, and I—” Sighing, Darshan hung his head. “It shall not matter how many hours I practice or how well I attempt to aim,” he whispered. “Without the aid of my glasses, I might as well be shooting blindfolded.”
“Ah.” He had considered that would be a problem, but he had also foolishly thought Darshan would have a solution. Hamish pulled at his bottom lip, tugging to one side and twisting back and forth between his fingers as he thought. “Can you see the target at all without them?”
Darshan looked back at where Hamish’s nephews and brother chatted animatedly amongst themselves. “That tree they are standing before.” He gently slid his glasses down his nose to peer over the tops. “The entire trunk is a fawn blur.”
“But can you aim for it?” A blur was better than nothing. Aiming in the centre would likely get him a decent shot. Perhaps not the mark he would need, but it was a base to work on.
“I cannot even be certain how far away it is,” he hissed.
“That willnae matter,” Hamish said as he leisurely strolled towards his nephews’ makeshift target with Darshan following. “There’ll be one target to aim for. It’ll be at one set distance. Each competitor will get one go.”
Gordon twisted as they neared, eyeing them with a measure of interest before returning to herding the boys to the line they’d marked before the target.
Darshan screwed up his nose. “That hardly seems fair in itself. I would have thought an overall score. Surely, a poor competitor could win with one lucky shot.”
“If that is the Goddess’ will, then aye.” Hamish agreed. There likely had been such occurrences over the generations. No one seemed to mind. “On the bright side, you’ll ken exactly how good your aim will need to be.”
“How so?”
Shrugging, he drew an arrow from his quiver and inspected the fletching. “The competitors go in reverse order of how they exited the forest run. Except…” He placed a finger squarely on Darshan’s chest. “For the one I’ve announced as being me favoured to win. They go last.”
“I would have thought the favoured one would go first.”
“Once the others ken who he would prefer to win?” Gordon asked, joining them at the line with the boys. “Some may be accused of not performing at their best.”
“Which is how they’re expected to compete,” Hamish added. He knelt before his nephews. “How do you lads feel about a little extra competition?”
“It isnae against you, is it?” Bruce asked, narrowing eyes almost as deep a green as his mother’s at Hamish. “Because you always win.”
“Even Uncle Gordon cannae best you,” Mac piped up.
“Well,” Gordon drawled, scratching at his neck. “I have done just that in the past. Back when your uncle was a wee lad and barely able to draw a bow, mind you,” he finished with a wink in Hamish’s direction. “But what I think your Uncle ‘Mish is alluding to is a bit of friendly competition for our ambassador to gauge himself against.”
“That I am,” Hamish added with a bob of his head. He pulled out the arrows that were already in the tree and paced out the distance the trial’s target would be placed at. “Here should be a good starting line.”
Ethan gave a low whistle. “That’s a fair distance for a novice. Are you sure you dinnae want us to start closer?”
Hamish shook his head. “If you think this’ll test you lads, then maybe we’ve been going
