She gasped.
He looked as startled as she felt.
He paid for his instant of inattention.The warrior maid he was battling took advantage of his distraction to push aside his shield.Then she planted her boot in the middle of his chest and gave him a great shove.
He folded in half with an “oof” and fell back onto his arse.
Eve’s eyes widened.
She had to get out of there.She didn’t know what was happening.Who he was.Why he looked so much like the man she’d seen a fortnight ago.How he seemed to recognizeher,even with her face completely covered.
She definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near the battlefield when he recovered, sword in hand, and started looking for the one to blame for his defeat.
Once she got to her pavilion and transformed into Lady Aillenn, she’d be safe.
At least, shehopedshe’d be safe.An expensive crimson velvet gown, gold jewelry, and her loose tresses adorned with pearls would surely hide the fact that, mere moments ago, she’d been the young archer Jehan of Rouen, and a fortnight ago, a humble nun.
Chapter 3
Adam didn’t care that the melee wasn’t finished.He didn’t even care that his ribs were throbbing where his cousin Hallie had booted him to the ground.
He had to know who that archer was.
He’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the resemblance between the lad Jehan and the nun.That at most they might be brother and sister.
But the shocked recognition he’d glimpsed in those familiar brown eyes staring at him in mid-melee was not a figment of his imagination.It had been real enough to cost him the battle.
He’d seen something else in those eyes as well.Alarm.
Why?
By the time Adam struggled to his feet, dodging the mayhem around him, the archer was gone.
Suddenly the melee lost its appeal.Adam used his sword and shield to pummel his way through the combatants to the outside of the main battle.Then he leaped over the wattle fence bounding the tournament field just in time to glimpse the archer hurrying toward the pavilions.
The lad was definitely fleeing.No doubt he’d gather his things from his pavilion, pack up, and make his way out the palisade gate.
Adam dared not follow in his battle gear.He’d be too conspicuous.The pavilions were deserted.Everyone who wasn’t sorely wounded was attending the melee, watching or fighting.
But once the lad emerged from his pavilion, Adam could be waiting for him at the gate.
Since the archer would be expectingLe Goupilof Paris, Adam would don another disguise.
Thankfully, his satchel contained everything he needed.Indeed, its capacity was the subject of much teasing in the clan.His youngest sister Merewen thought the satchel was magic.His aunt Deirdre claimed he could carry a full retinue of knights in it.His cousin Ian said it defied geometry.
None of that was true.But he did manage to stuff a substantial number of useful items in it.In his line of work, it was essential to be prepared for anything.
So when he emerged from the pavilion moments later, he’d packed his chain mail away and put on the tattered rags of a beggar.One eye was covered with a patch.His chin sported a fake, gray, ratty beard.His hair he covered with a grimy coif.And he limped along on a low wooden crutch, bent under the weight of his enormous satchel.
Near the gate, he dropped his satchel beside the wooden palisade and reclined against it, feigning sleep.He watched the exit through the lowered lashes of his uncovered eye.
He almost overlooked the archer making his escape.Because it wasn’t an archer.
Nor was it a nun.
Sweeping toward the gate with the grace of a windblown rose was a vision in scarlet.Her sumptuous velvet skirts hugged her legs as she strode forward at a rapid clip, her pendant and a girdle of gold links lashing her surcoat.An oversized satchel bounced on her hip with every hurried step.Her dark hair, bedecked at the crown in pearls, streamed out behind her in curls that rippled like a rain-swollen stream as she rushed to freedom.
Adam almost let her pass.He hadn’t seen the noblewoman at the tournament.She must be some lord’s wife, uninterested in the fighting, who’d remained behind in their pavilion.Or some knight’s noble courtesan, fleeing home before his wife could catch her.Indeed, she may have well been theking’smistress, so beautiful and richly-appointed was she.
