Page 150 of Bride of Ice
He ached to see her again. And he was certain Hallie wouldn’t miss her cousin’s tournament for the world.
He was well aware that only a fool would hope that anything could come of it. Lingering here only tempted fate and prolonged his pain. And for what?
He sighed. He truly must be a fool.
But just the prospect of glimpsing her again—even if it had to be at a distance, on the tournament field, through the visor of his helm—made his heart race.
For his own safety, he would fight anonymously as always—under a banner with no insignia, in a tabard with no crest.
Concealing one’s identity was commonplace enough, especially for a knight-errant. In some parts of the country, it was the only way for a warrior who lacked the requisite nobility to compete.
Colban reviewed his plans.
The tournament would be two days long, with archery and entertainments on the first day, sword fighting and the melee on the second.
By day, he would wear a hooded cloak when he wasn’t fighting in his helm. By night, he could sleep in one of the pavilions that had been erected for guests on the slopes of Creagor, far away from those flying the banner of Rivenloch.
As long as he was careful, he could be there and gone like mist, with no one the wiser.
Bracing himself with a deep breath that was half resignation and half anticipation, The Sable Knight descended the hill to refill his coffers and replenish his spirit.
Jenefer eyed the target at the far end of the range, pulling back the string of her bow. The crowd hushed. She held her breath.
Suddenly Isabel gasped beside her.
Rattled, Jenefer lowered her weapon in disgust and glared at the lass.
Hallie scowled at her as well.
“Sorry,” Isabel said, blushing and hugging the quiver of Jenefer’s arrows to her breast.
Jenefer would not normally be distracted by a gasp or a twitch or even a scream. But this was the first tournament she’d ever hosted. Archery was her event. And Hallie knew, more than anything, Jenefer wanted to win.
Hallie had shot well several moments earlier. But she was currently in fifth place and nowhere near as talented as her cousin.
There were, however, a few archers from France proving quite competitive. Jenefer was vying with one of them for first place. She needed every advantage. What she did not need was Isabel the Quiver-Holder gasping just as she drew her bow.
Jenefer rolled her shoulders and took her stance again. The crowd silenced as she raised her bow once more, drew back the arrow, and took aim.
In the instant before Jenefer fired, Hallie was distracted by a hooded figure watching the contest from the far side of the archery range. He was clad all in black. His arms were crossed over his chest. His face was hidden in shadow. But he looked almost like…
She gasped.
“Shite!” Jenefer hissed, lowering her bow and turning to scowl fiercely at Hallie.
Hallie was mortified. “I amsosorry, cousin. I promise I’ll…” She exchanged a look with Isabel. “We’ll…be as silent as mice.”
Jenefer grumbled, adjusted her stance, and resumed aiming her bow. When Hallie glanced across the range again, the hooded man had vanished.
To her consternation, her heart was pounding. But surely it hadn’t been him. It was only a trick of the light. A figment of her imagination. Hundreds of knights and squires and merchants had gathered at Creagor for the grand tournament. There must be dozens of tall, broad-shouldered warriors she could have easily mistaken for Colban an Curaidh.
She kept her vow of silence to her cousin. So did Isabel. And Jenefer shot her third bull’s-eye to win the competition.
When the crowd stopped cheering and Isabel finished her quiver-carrying duties, she whispered to Hallie, “’Twas him, wasn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That man in the hood. ’Twas him.”
