The
field of contenders had narrowed dramatically by the fourth round. Daniel was
still a viable player, but Carlton had been ousted in the third set. Tad stood
alongside Richmond and three other finalists as they prepared their weapons.
Arissa's
heart was lodged in her throat as she watched the contestants assume a striking
stance. Richmond was by far the tallest man in the crowd, a good head above the
rest. Her gaze never left him, lulled into the fantasy world she so frequently
entered when gazing upon his masculine beauty, and she had drifted a thousand
miles away by the time the marshal abruptly lowered his arm. Startled back to
the world at hand, she watched as the arrows went roaring toward the distant
targets.
The
crowd cheered their approval as five projectiles embedded themselves into the
straw. After the marks were closely scrutinized by the officials, Daniel and
two other men were eliminated. Richmond and Tad were to face off against one
another.
"I
am surprised you have lasted this long, le Bec," Tad muttered as he
adjusted the tension on his bow. "With your eyes ravaged with age, I was
not at all sure you could see the target."
Richmond
did not reply as he tightened his glove. Then he resumed a firing stance.
"Unlike you, I do not have to see my mark in order to hit it."
"What
kind of nonsense is that?"
"'Tis
no nonsense, I assure you. With age comes a skill you have yet to acquire, the
sixth sense of a warrior. Visualizing the target in your mind; literally seeing
without the use of your eyes."
Tad
looked at him as if he were mad. "Foolishness, le Bec. Not only are you
blind, you are senile as well."
The
corner of Richmond's lips tugged. "Mayhap. But while you are hindered by
your eyesight, I can see the mark perfectly within my mind's eye. I sense it;
therefore, I will not miss." He raised his bow, leveling out his arm.
"You rely too heavily on your senses. Learning to rely on your intuition
is the mark of a truly great warrior."
Tad
passed him a peculiar glance as one of the marshals approached. As was
tradition, when the field had narrowed to the final two entrants, one man would
shoot before the other in a show of good sportsmanship.
The
marshal muttered a few words to Richmond and then motioned to his comrade
positioned by the target to relay Richmond's readiness. When the second marshal
returned the ready signal, the first marshal returned his attention to Richmond
and took a step back.
"You
may commence, my lord."
Tad
watched with astonishment as Richmond's blue eyes, which had been narrowed
intently on the distant mark, suddenly closed. It never occurred to him that
Richmond's quietly uttered boast had been God's truth. Blind as a bat, he was
aiming for a mark over one hundred yards away as if it were directly in front
of him.
It
has to be a trick
,
Tad thought.
Men do not fire without seeing the target. Foolish old man is
going to spear someone with his impossible method!
Puzzled
and outraged, he opened his mouth to protest the knight's firing technique when
Richmond suddenly released the string and let the arrow fly. Tad's head snapped
sharply as he watched the arrow carve a path through the blue sky, drawn to the
mark as if some unseen force was reeling it forth like a hooked fish. The
wooden missile plowed into the target lashed to a sturdy bale of hay and the
entire crowd of onlookers cheered happily at the display of talent.
But
the enthusiasm rapidly faded into an uneasy silence as the second marshal took
his time examining the bulls-eye. Arissa watched, forgetting to breathe, until
the official turned his attention to the expectant crowd.
"Through
the eye!"
The
crowd roared their approval. Richmond, for the second time that afternoon, cast
a lingering glance at Arissa. With a confident smile, he blessed her with yet
another saucy wink. Arissa simply stood, rooted to the spot, and grinned like a
fool.
"He’s
going to beat him!" Penelope shrieked. "Riss, he’s going to
win!"
Arissa
couldn't divert her attention long enough to respond. She clutched the ribbon
to her breast, praying fiercely that Richmond would emerge the victor. She did
so want to award him the ribbon. If she possessed any courage at all, she would
have dispensed a congratulatory kiss, too.
Back
on the field, Tad let out a disgusted sigh. Casting a baleful glance at
Richmond, he assumed a striking stance.
"I
am going to cut your arrow in half, le Bec."
"Be
my guest."
The
crowd began to hoot and roar as the ready signals were passed between the field
marshals. Richmond stood back, leaning on his bow, as Tad took aim. Tensions
built as the noise level increased, an almost unbearable excitement filling the
air.
Arissa
bit her lip, Penelope chewed her nails, and Emma and Regine were reduced to
clutching one another's hands. 'Twould seem that their competition for the same
man was forgotten in the heat of their enthusiasm. The earl and Carlton, a
private wager between them, wait restlessly to collect their money from one
another.
Just
when Arissa thought she couldn't stand another moment of anticipation, Tad
released his bow string. His arrow screamed through the air, piercing the
designated mark with a dull thud. Chaff and dust billowed into the air as the
audience proclaimed their favor for yet another fine display of skill.
Impatiently,
the multitude began to surge forward as if to read the results for themselves.
Several Lambourn soldiers were forced to push them back, away from the field,
as both marshals scrutinized the target. Shouts and cries abound from the eager
observers, demanding to know the outcome as the marshals pointed to the
bulls-eye and chatted between themselves.
Even
the earl was demanding to know. Richmond and Tad remained where they stood,
waiting with thin patience as the officials came to a decision. Finally, and
after much discussion, first field marshal faced the crowd.
"Center
mark, high and to the right!" he announced loudly. "Sir Richmond le
Bec is the victor!"
The
crowd went mad with approval. Arissa was smiling so broadly that she swore her
face would split in two. Her focus, was riveted to the massive knight politely
extending his best wishes to the loser of the match. She was not surprised when
Tad appeared to ignore him.
Beside
her, Lady Maude and Lord William rose from their chairs, preparing to
congratulate the winner.
"You
must commend Sir Tad for a fine match, Arissa," her mother said quietly.
She
nodded graciously, eyeing Tad as he approached on Richmond's heels. But her
attention to him was brief; the moment Richmond stepped before her, all else
seemed to fade. His blue eyes were tender on her, and expression she had seen
before, but there was an added element this time. Something reserved only for
her.
The
earl held up his hands for silence as he moved toward Richmond. "Good
ladies and gentlemen, 'twould seem our winner is none other than Henry's Great
One. Certainly not a surprise." When the crowd laughed in agreement,
William slapped Richmond on his broad shoulder. "Congratulations, Sir
Richmond. There was never any doubt in my mind who the victor would be."
Richmond
acknowledged him with a faint smile, his attention returning to Arissa. When
the crowd began to grown noisy again, he held up a hand in an unusual show of
public control. Richmond could handle a thousand men with ease but, as William
had pointed out, a cadaver was better suited to host a crowd of guests.
Nonetheless,
the group hushed. Richmond reached out and took Arissa's hand and, with a
widening grin, took a knee before her in a display of chivalry rarely seen.
Every woman viewing the scene went soft with the romance of the gesture, the
inherent gentleness. The great Richmond le Bec was on bended knee in front of
the birthday girl, the beautiful Lady Arissa; what a lovely, delicate picture
of genteel grace it presented.
Arissa
gazed into Richmond's beautiful eyes, almost eye-level with him. His smile,
terribly tender, was nearly the only thing she was aware of. All else about her
was distant and faded.
"I
have honored my lady this day by winning the archery competition," he said
loudly, but Arissa could have sworn he was speaking only to her. "In
tribute to her most momentous day of age, I humbly bow at my lady's feet in
homage as her champion."
Arissa
cheeks were flushed a lovely pink, tendrils of black hair caressing her face in
the faint breeze. Suddenly remembering the ribbon she had all but mashed in her
hand, she extended it to Richmond.
"For
a contest well executed, my lord," she said softly.
He
took the award from her, noting that it was crumpled and stained because she
had gripped it so tightly. Clutching it against his heart, he kissed Arissa's
hand sweetly.
The
crowd roared. Still grinning, Richmond rose to his full height, Arissa's hand
enveloped tightly in his fist. Arissa would have been content to allow him to
hold her hand for the rest of the day, but she could feel her mother nudging
her from behind.
Knowing
the gesture's meaning, she reluctantly removed her hand from Richmond's grasp
and moved toward Tad. His expression was hard, like a pouting child. All
tolerance and good feelings vanished, Arissa's gaze was equally as hard as she
curtsied stiffly before him.
"A
match well fought, sir knight," she said as evenly as she could manage.
He
cocked an eyebrow at her. "I would have won, too, had I cheated like Sir
Richmond."
Arissa
lost her thinly-held patience. "Sir Richmond did not cheat. He beat you
with sheer skill alone, and if you had better manners, you would acknowledge
the fact that he’s a greater knight that you could ever hope to be."
Audible
gasps could be heard. William pushed forward, taking Arissa into a protective
embrace. "Forgive her, Sir Tad. It has been an exceedingly taxing day and
her composure has suffered."
Arissa
irritably yanked herself away from her father, an unusual action. "The
only thing that has suffered is my patience with Sir Tad. I was forced to
endure his company earlier and I am not at all ashamed to declare him to be an
obnoxious, dull-witted boor. I shall not pretend to think otherwise." Gathering
her skirts, she dipped a rapid curtsy to her parents. "If you will please
excuse me."
William,
aghast, watched his daughter's straight back as she marched away. Sputtering,
he glanced at his ashen-faced wife, whose features mirrored his own. As Tad
worked up a head of steam, Richmond quietly excused himself. He had to; he was
far too close to succumbing to snickers.
"I
shall see to her, my lord."
William
was not given the chance to reply as Richmond went in pursuit of Arissa.
Instead, the earl found himself faced with a humiliated and outraged Tad de
Rydal.
The
earl had no idea how deep the vein of shame ran. First Richmond had bested Tad
in a highly one-sided duel, and where Tad had envisioned an opportunity for
revenge in the archery contest, he found himself cleanly defeated. Two
crushing blows in the same day, from the same man no less, was far more than
his ego could accept.
Where
vengeance had once been a sweet taste upon his tongue, it was now a consuming
hunger. Dark hatred began to blacken his heart. Short of calling le Bec out in
challenge, he began to sort his options.
There
would be a time and a place; he simply had to be wise enough to take advantage
of it, and lovely Lady Arissa would meet his wrath as well.
It
was a promise.
***
Richmond
found Arissa in the place where she usually went when she was upset. Seated in
her father's solar near the lancet windows inlaid with precious Venetian glass,
she was picking harshly at her fingernails. It was a bad habit she had,
especially when bored or moody.
"Stop
nibbling your nails," he commanded quietly as he entered the room.
Her
hands dropped to her lap. "Did Father send you to spank me?"
"He
did not. But I should take my hand to your backside at the very least for that
insolent spectacle. I do believe Tad de Rydal was in the process of bursting a
vein when I left."
She
turned away from him, toward the window. "You should have punched him in
the nose when he accused you of cheating. He’s an insufferable, pompous
whoreskin."
"Mind
your tongue, lady. I shall not hear those words from your mouth."
She
did not reply to his reprimand and he moved to the chair opposite her. Lowering
himself to sit, his gaze never left her beautiful profile. She seemed pensive
and distant.
"What
is the matter, Riss?" he asked softly. "Do not tell me that Tad de
Rydal has upset you so terribly that you would allow him to ruin your
birthday?"
She
shook her head faintly, her chin resting in her hands as the multi-hued glass
cast warm, erratic color across her face. "He’s not upset me," she
sighed heavily. "But I would be lying if I said I was glad he had
come."