Page 9 of Laird of Smoke
Sending up a prayer that God would keep His wee bees at bay for one moment, Eve drew an arrow from her quiver.
Then she happened to glance off to the side of the field, where the crowd stood watching.Her eyes paused on a knight in a dark blue surcoat emblazoned with the figure of a fox.He held a jousting helm in the crook of his arm.His head was coifed in padded linen which was tied to cover the lower part of his face as well.Only his eyes showed above the coif.Staring at her.But she would have recognized them anywhere.
Adam narrowed his gaze.
It couldn’t be.
And yet he was so sure those were the eyes imprinted on his brain.The lovely, wide, beautiful brown orbs of the nun he’d nearly trampled in this very place a fortnight ago.
Surely he was wrong.
This was no nun.This was a young lad.An archer.French, if the calls of “Jehan!”were meant for him.
The lass he’d run into had most definitely been a nun.And though she’d said not a word, she’d had a wild Scottish look about her.Fair skin with a smattering of freckles.Fine, dark brows that had arched in judgment.An unruly lock of chestnut hair that had escaped her veil to curl upon her delicate cheek.
If it wasn’t the nun, perhaps it was a relative of hers.He furrowed his brow and watched.
Though he hadn’t been following the archery, a quick glance at the target showed it was a close match.The lad must be good if he was keeping up with Jenefer.
It certainly wasn’t apparent from the lad’s manner now.He dropped his arrow.And when he went to pick it up, the whole quiver slipped down over his arm.
Flustered, ducking his head, the lad retrieved the arrows and slid the quiver back onto his shoulder.Then he blew out a forceful breath and approached the shooting line again.
He nocked the arrow and drew.But he seemed to have trouble steadying the bow.And the longer he hesitated, the more his muscles trembled.And the more his aim strayed.
When he finally let loose the shaft, it sailed far wide of the mark, lodging outside the target in the margins of the straw.The crowd ahhed in disappointment.
Jenefer had the final shot.As usual, she spent no time in preparation.She swiftly and easily added another arrow to the cluster in the center to win the match.
“Hey,Goupil!”someone called out from the crowd, distracting Adam.“Are ye fightin’ in the melee?”
The melee was the last event of the tournament.It was the most dangerous.It was also the most fun.A free-for-all mock battle with blunted weapons that could nonetheless do damage in the right hands.
Adam’s ribs were already aching from the joust.Even a light tap would mean a few days of coddling his injuries.
Still, he had enough Rivenloch spirit to accept the challenge.“Mais oui!”
The melee was also risky for another reason.In close combat,Le Goupilwas much more likely to be recognized.He’d therefore continue to wear his padded linen coif to conceal his face and replace his jousting helm with a coif of chain mail.
He needed to return to his pavilion to prepare.The melee was next.
He turned back to the archery field in time to see the second place winner accepting a silver medallion from the king.Adam shook his head.He must be imagining things.That was no nun.The king stood a yard away from the archer.Surely he could tell the difference between a lad and a lass.
It was only that the face of that nun had haunted Adam for a fortnight now.And he didn’t know why.
Did he know her?
He didn’t think so.
But he knew her angelic face was going to plague him until he figured out who she was.
There was no way Eve was going to take part in the melee.She did many brave things, but the idea of willingly entering a field of combat to be pummeled half to death was not her idea of courage.It was foolhardy.
Besides, she’d achieved what she’d come to achieve.She’d won the silver medallion.Now she could repay Prior Isaac.
Peering down at her chest where the medallion hung, she rubbed her thumb over the engraving of a longbow.She’d have to have a silversmith melt the piece down into something more religious.Perhaps a decorative cross with the popular Latin saying which advocated a life of poverty,Nudus nudum Christum sequi,though the irony of engraving that on a silver cross wasn’t lost on her.
She smirked.Since the cross was recompense for the fire she’d started, perhaps it would be more fitting to engrave it withQuid pro quo.
