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.
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.
