A bagpiper was playing on the ramparts, surveying the archery competitions, sword-fighting demonstration, and face painting. Cook and some of her assistants were selling scones, fruit cakes, bannocks, Scottish black buns, and venison stew.

Over by the stables, Calla tried playing the game of quoits, in which iron rings are tossed at an upright pin, much like pitching horseshoes. But after her toss landed the ring impossibly far from the iron pin, she decided she was better at setting up the games than playing them. She saw Guthrie watching her, arms folded and smirking. She would have asked if he could do better, but she didn’t dare, certain he could.

Ian had nixed the notion of having a kissing-under-the-mistletoe booth. Even though the wolves had tougher immune systems than humans, he didn’t want any of the lupus garou females in his pack kissing a bunch of strangers—human or otherwise.

Guards were posted along the wall walk as a deterrent in case Baird and his kin attempted to sneak into the castle posing as guests. The guards were armed with swords and crossbows, not that they meant to use them. To the tourists, the weapons were just part of the show. They took pictures in the inner bailey with the guards, who looked fierce with their swords out and holding their Scottish targes, the shields scarred from sword fights, both in ancient times on the battlefield and modern times on the playing field.

Kids and adults alike visited the Irish wolfhounds in their enclosure where the dogs had room to run and play. Logan was happily in charge of that. Though since the wolfhounds were included in the cost of admission, Ian was paying for Logan’s time so he could earn enough to buy Christmas presents for his family, like the kids who were selling crafts.

The tour only included certain rooms in the castle, the kennels, the stables, and the gardens. The reenactment of the fight scene in the great hall had been a great success, and Calla was glad no one had gotten close to knocking over the Christmas tree.

Calla and Guthrie were in charge of all the events overall, and Calla thought everything was going splendidly. She couldn’t thank Ian enough for allowing the fair and Guthrie for making her an equal partner in the venture.

Calla noted that Guthrie was also taking part in some of the activities—and looking like he was having just as much fun. She observed him giving lessons to a lad who was taking a shot at archery.

She smiled to see Guthrie offer encouragement to the boy, who looked to be about preteen, but when Guthrie caught her eye, she felt her cheeks flush. He motioned her over when the boy had finished his five chances at archery. Guthrie didn’t have any other takers at the moment, though Cearnach was helping a lad of about ten or so take aim at another target nearby.

Calla joined Guthrie but hesitated to take the bow. “I’ve never used a bow before.”

He raised his brows in challenge.

“Oh, all right,” she said under her breath. How bad could she be? No worse than at quoits, she suspected.

Guthrie moved in closer to her, not like the way he’d shown the lad how to shoot. First, he said, “We have to determine which of your eyes is dominant. Make a triangle with your thumbs and two index fingers. Hold your arms straight out and look at the target in the distance through the triangle. Then bring the triangle back to your face. Whichever eye your triangle frames is your dominant eye.”

He watched her as she brought the triangle partly over her nose and it veered off a little more to her left eye. He smiled.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Nay, your left eye is more dominant.” He handed her a bow. Standing behind her, Guthrie placed her right hand on the bow, his touch warm, inviting, and not in the least bit teacher-like. His face was so close to hers that he looked like he wanted to give her a kiss along with the lesson on archery. His mouth curved up again, sexy, hot, and interested. “I told you it’s hard to see you as just another pretty lass.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “Keep saying such things and you might just change my mind.”

“You mean to mate with me, aye?”

She rewarded him with a smile, but nothing more.

“I won’t give up trying.” He kissed her ear, then slipped his leg between hers and guided her left foot over so that her feet were shoulder width apart. Somehow she didn’t think he would do that with anyone else he was instructing, either. He placed her right hand on the bowstring. “Now, pull back.” She did, and then he said, “You want to use your back muscles, not your shoulder muscles. Your shoulder should be low and relaxed.” He ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm to her elbow. “Your elbow should bend a wee bit, so that it’s not locked in place.”

She was trying not to chuckle at the way he was touching her. She just hoped that anyone watching saw her trying to concentrate on his instruction—and not the way his touch was turning her on.

“Now it’s time to nock an arrow,” he said.

He helped her nock the arrow on the string and prepare to shoot with one finger above the nock point and two fingers below.

“You want to shoot with just your fingertips on the string. Extend the bow arm out in front of you, and draw back with your right hand. Bring the string all the way back to the corner of your mouth, and release. Your fingers should roll quickly out of the way of the bowstring to keep it from influencing the flight of the arrow. And then you release.”

She said softly to him, “You don’t teach everyone to shoot this way.”

“Nay, only a very special student.”

“I don’t think I can hit anything with you being so close.”