They came forward to claim her prize.Neither of them recognized Adam in his helm.But Merraid took the horse’s reins and placed a hand on Adam’s arm.
“Thank ye, sir.I shall treat her with kindness.”
Adam bowed his head.
Gellir came near enough to murmur, “You rode well, sir.Not many can stand against my brother’s lance.”
Adam, who never ceased to be amazed when his own kin couldn’t recognize him, watched them lead the horse away.Then he limped from the lists, wondering if he’d ever find a love like Merraid and Gellir shared.If he’d ever have a grand wedding with a tournament like this.
He grimaced as a sharp pain cut across his ribs.
It might have been from the impact of Brand’s lance.
Or it might have been his heart flinching in response at the painful truth.
Adam would never find a bride.
No woman would ever fall in love with him.
Not only was he forgettable.He wasn’t the same man from day to day.
How could a woman want a man when she’d never know who he truly was?
“Jehan from Rouen!”the herald announced.
Beneath her hood of forest green, Eve adjusted the brown linen cloth over her face so only her eyes were showing.Then she strode forward with the bold steps and outthrust chest of a cocky lad, waving at the crowd with her free hand.Her woolen cloak covered a nut brown tunic and hose.A leather bracer protected her left forearm.A pair of worn boots two inches too big completed her garb.Slung over one shoulder was a yew longbow and a quiver of arrows.
To all appearances, she was who she claimed to be.Jehan from Rouen.A young French archer.
Today she didn’t intend to be invisible.
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.
