Page 10 of Laird of Smoke
She patted the medallion.The sooner she had the work done, the sooner she could return to the convent.For that, she’d need to visit the silversmith in Scone.And she’d have to change her identity again.She’d travel in the guise of the Irish noblewoman, Lady Aillenn Bhallach.
That was just as well.Despite fooling Jenefer of Rivenloch and King Malcolm, Eve had the uneasy feeling she’d been discovered.That knight in the crowd—the one who looked so much like the Pope’s emissary that it had unnerved her and ruined her shot—had been staring at her.Not so much staring as piercing through her disguise into her very soul.
It couldn’t have been the same man.She knew that.The emissary was likely on his way to Rome already.And this man was a weathered fighter with a jousting helm.Besides, his face had been shrouded in a linen coif.Only his eyes had been visible.
But the way he’d looked at her, as if in recognition, had rattled her to her core.
Perhaps he’d only realized she was a lass, not a lad.Perhaps that was what had made him gape.
Either way, it was time for her to change into another guise and flee.She hadn’t survived this long by being careless.
A hue and cry went up from the field.Suddenly, dozens of combatants surged forward, colliding with a bone-jarring crash.Now was her moment to escape.
As she made her way past the spectators who clung to the wattle fence, cheering on their favorites, her eye was caught by the flash of a blue surcoat in the midst of the fighting.
It was him again.The knight.The one who looked like the emissary.
This time he wore a chain mail coif and carried a blunted broadsword.He was hacking away at one of the Rivenloch warrior maids.She was dodging every blow.
Unable to tear herself away, Eve watched him thrust and block, whirl and lunge, desperate for any sign that would dispel the notion he was the man she’d seen before.
His fighting was superb.He battled with great insight, as if he knew what his opponent’s next move would be.He was obviously a seasoned warrior.
The idea that he might be the same man, that he might have been the messenger from the Pope, was absurd.There was a similarity perhaps.But no dedicated man of God could possess such combat skills.
So she convinced herself.And so she believed.Until, in the middle of a lunge, he turned his head toward her, and she saw those piercing eyes again.
She gasped.
He looked as startled as she felt.
He paid for his instant of inattention.The warrior maid he was battling took advantage of his distraction to push aside his shield.Then she planted her boot in the middle of his chest and gave him a great shove.
He folded in half with an “oof” and fell back onto his arse.
Eve’s eyes widened.
She had to get out of there.She didn’t know what was happening.Who he was.Why he looked so much like the man she’d seen a fortnight ago.How he seemed to recognizeher,even with her face completely covered.
She definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near the battlefield when he recovered, sword in hand, and started looking for the one to blame for his defeat.
Once she got to her pavilion and transformed into Lady Aillenn, she’d be safe.
At least, shehopedshe’d be safe.An expensive crimson velvet gown, gold jewelry, and her loose tresses adorned with pearls would surely hide the fact that, mere moments ago, she’d been the young archer Jehan of Rouen, and a fortnight ago, a humble nun.
Chapter 3
Adam didn’t care that the melee wasn’t finished.He didn’t even care that his ribs were throbbing where his cousin Hallie had booted him to the ground.
He had to know who that archer was.
He’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the resemblance between the lad Jehan and the nun.That at most they might be brother and sister.
But the shocked recognition he’d glimpsed in those familiar brown eyes staring at him in mid-melee was not a figment of his imagination.It had been real enough to cost him the battle.
He’d seen something else in those eyes as well.Alarm.
Why?
