Page 8 of Laird of Smoke
Today she planned to win an archery prize.
Since this was a Rivenloch tournament, and since King Malcolm himself was hosting, the prizes had been quite generous.The winner of this competition would receive a gold medallion engraved with a longbow.The second place would win a similar medallion of silver.
Thus far, Eve had advanced through the ranks of archers.Now she was left with one final opponent.Jenefer mac Giric of Rivenloch.
Eve didn’t stand a chance of winning.Jenefer of Rivenloch was legendary for her skills.But Eve was a fairly good shot.She would be content to come in second.
Stopping at the limit line, she swung the bow off her shoulder, eyeing the straw target.
In boring stretches at the convent, to the abbess’s dismay, Eve often made a habit of practicing with a bow, shooting at rotten wine barrels, carcasses left over from supper, and once, at a straw effigy she’d made of a local priest who had ruthlessly impregnated a number of novices.
For his transgressions, the priest had paid no penance.At least not inthislife.For her sin of crafting the effigy, however, Eve had been commanded to make a pilgrimage to St.Andrews.A pilgrimage that had turned out to be more enjoyable than punitive.
What the abbess didn’t know about Eve’s archery practice was that she perfected her skills in order to hunt deer in the forest for the hungry crofters.The king’s law would have called it poaching.But Eve saw the surplus of deer and her talent with a bow as God’s way of providing for his faithful servants.
Eve plucked an arrow from her quiver and nocked it into the bowstring.Due to her size, she couldn’t wield a heavy warrior’s bow.But what she lacked in power, she made up for in accuracy.She hoped to prove that now.She inhaled, then held her breath.
In one smooth motion, she lifted the bow, pulled back the bowstring, and let loose the arrow.
It landed a scant inch from the center.
The crowd applauded.
“Jenefer mac Giric o’ Rivenloch,” the herald announced.
Because Jenefer was a battlefield archer, she was accustomed to hitting targets on the run.With almost no preparation, she stepped to the line and shot.The arrow sailed straight and hit dead center.
Her clanfolk cheered.
Eve hoped she’d never meet Jenefer in battle.She stepped up to take her second shot, reminding herself of her motivation for winning.
She meant to deliver her prize to Prior Isaac at nearby Scone Priory.She’d made a visit to the priory last year, hoping to meet with the prior regarding funds for the convent’s library.While she was waiting for an audience, she happened to note the coldness of the nave and the lack of peat on the hearth.In her efforts to correct the situation, Eve started a fire that quickly escaped the hearth and burned out of control.A fire which ended up destroying several tomes and documents, including the original foundation charter of the priory.
She’d naturally fled.Not for her own sake.But for that of her convent.She wouldn’t dream of bringing that kind of shame upon them.
Still, she carried the weight of that debt on her shoulders.So today, if she won a silver or—even better—a gold medallion, she intended to compensate the prior for his losses in the form of a donation from an anonymous wealthy patron.
With holy purpose in her heart, she drew back her bow.This time the arrow arced and dropped, striking so close to Jenefer’s that the fletching quivered.
The crowd oohed.Now the match was afoot.
Undaunted, Jenefer stepped to the line, scowling at the target, and nocked her arrow.
What she didn’t realize—and what Eve could see clearly—was a bee had landed on her shooting arm and was crawling its way toward her hand.
Eve wanted to call out, to warn her.But it was too late.Jenefer had already planted her feet and was raising the bow to her cheek.
The bee hopped onto her face just as Jenefer loosed her arrow.Smashed between her cheek and her hand, it stung her thumb.It wasn’t enough to completely ruin her aim.But after Jenefer cursed and brushed away the pesky beast, she saw the shaft had missed the center by an inch.
Now they were tied.
But Eve thought perhaps it hadn’t been a fair contest.
“Madame,”she said in the low, hoarse voice of a French youth, “the Devil sent that bee.You may shoot again, if you wish.”
But Jenefer, normally renown for her fiery temper, simply shook her head.“If I can be distracted by a wee bee, I don’t deserve to win.”
Eve thought that was a very Rivenloch thing to say.The clan was known for their sense of honor.So she nodded and stepped up to the line for her final attempt.
