His sister’s eyes grew big and she wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand, then she stole another, making him laugh.
“Are you frightened, Lyall?”
“About tomorrow?” He shook his head. “Nay,” he said with a laughing tone, one filled with bluster.
“Not even a small bit?”
He smiled at her. “Well…perhaps just a small wee tad.”
She laughed.
“The truth is, I’m restless and on edge, but not because I am afraid I cannot do this, or of the outcome.”
“I shall be there to cheer for you. She took out a small bit of blue cloth left from the bolt of her favorite gown and pressed it into his hand. “This is my favor for you, to bring you goodfortune. “ She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you are my brother, Lyall.”
“And I you, sprite,” he said with emotion. “I will wear this so all can see. I would not have this chance were it not for you.”
She shook her head. “That's not true. The baron would have given in. You were wearing him down. But when it sounded as if he were questioning your courage, then I could no longer keep quiet.”
She jumped up as quickly as she had flopped down. “I am off to the solar, where I must listen to chatter and sew a new fur collar on my cloak. I was to have finished it yesterday.“ She ran to the door, then stopped. “You will do well tomorrow. Lyall. I know you will.” Then she was gone, off like the water sprite he lovingly called her.
Lyall lay down on his bed, finishing another chunk of bread. His arms were so sore he could not cross them behind his head as he usually did. He lay there limply. There was not a part of him that did not ache, he thought, closing his eyes and he was soon sound asleep.
The call the cock crowing the next morn came all too quickly. Lyall had eaten the boiled egg his mother brought him, and they had talked for a few minutes, during which she tried to prepare him because of her worry. As he followed her out of his chamber, he wondered if she was really as comfortable here at Rossie as she seemed. She always wore a hood or a thick veil that covered the side of her scarred face, but still she knew it was unpleasant for others to look at and she often kept to the solar or her garden and most days did not eat her meals in the main hall for the looks of pity and curious stares. Her great beauty had been the talk of men and the song of troubadours. But more than vanity, her scars ran deeper than the skin, wounds of loss, of Ewane and Malcolm.
He kissed her on both cheeks because he had always kissed her so and refused to stop, even when she told him not to kiss her scarred and puckered skin. Today, as most days, he lifted herveil and placed a kiss upon her rippled cheek, before he came down to the practice field, just as the sun was just bringing on day.
Five times he had gone through his quiver of arrows at the quintain target before the house knights began to fill the area, curious, followed by the squires and his fellow pages, and soon it seemed the whole of the castle was there. On the left shoulder of his page’s tunic he had pinned Mairi’s favor and he wore his velvet cap to the side so the ribbons cascaded to one side and would not impede his aim, and he stood in the large dirt arena, awaiting Ramsey, refusing to show an inkling of his fear and nervousness.
“Lyall!” His sister stood with his mother, waving to him. His mother looked pale and he realized then he had not thought about what this trial had done to her.
Ramsey crossed the distance to stand by him. “You look ready.”
“I am, my lord.”
“I have created a series of trials for you, Lyall Robertson,” Ramsey said to him in a loud voice so all could hear. “My men tell me that every day you have practiced on tree targets and the tilting dummy. The true test of war and weaponry is your strength or accuracy against an enemy, more often than not, your enemy will be a moving target.”
Ramsey signaled to a pair of squires standing near the quintain. One carried a familiar pig bladder filled with sand, usually used for training the nimbleness and agility of the feet by requiring the squire to dash in, about, and around it. “The first of your trials shall be a moving target. Aonghas and Dughal will toss the bladder ball between them. You must hit it as it moves through the air.” Ramsey raised his hand. “Ready yourself.”
The crowd was still and quiet.
Lyall took his position, feet planted apart. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it.
Ramsey lowered his hand, and the squires began tossing thebladder back and forth, arcing through the air and hitting their outstretched hand with a slap.
Before it had exchanged hands twice over, Lyall took swift aim….and shot.
The ball flew back and away and fell hard to the ground with a thud, the arrow true and protruding out and upwards from the ball.
The crowd shouted and clapped, and Lyall took his first real breath.
“Good, lad,” Ramsey said and clapped him on his shoulder. Pain shot through his body and sliced down his bow arm. His muscles were filled with ague from over practice, and his shoulder was especially weak and sore from drawing back the bowstring constantly for so many days. He winced, slightly, but stood there steely and straight as a finely-honed sword,.
I dare not show a single sign of weakness.
Ramsey pulled an apple from the leather sache hanging his elaborately gilded belt and held it up for all to see. “We shall now test your accuracy on a smaller target.”
Lyall readied himself, his eye on the center of the red fruit, the bowstring pulled back so taut it would have sliced off his ear were he were not careful.
