The Battle Lord's Lady (27 page)

“Hit the tree?” she repeated.

Cavender nodded. “If you can,” he added. This
time Atty noticed a definite twinkle in the man’s eye.

“Everyone stand back,” she breathed aloud,
and checked to make sure no one might accidentally step in the path
of her throw. Looking back at the man, she repeated for the second
time, “Hit the tree?” adding, “How about the spider on the
tree?”

The knife smith looked over at the target.
“What spider?”

Before anyone was aware of what she was
doing, Atty flipped the blade into her palm, reared back, and threw
the dagger in one smooth move. The weapon sliced through the air
and embedded itself in another tree just beyond the one Cavender
had originally pointed out. A tree that was a good five feet
further feet away.

“
That
spider,” she told him, trying to hide her smile.

One of the vendors who had been watching from
the sidelines ran over to retrieve the weapon. When he brought it
back, a portion of a large brown spider drooped from the tip.

The crowd reacted with amazement; a few
individuals showed true appreciation and clapped. Atty knew she was
good. She just had to show them how good, yet at the same time not
make them feel intimidated or fearful.

“That’s a gorgeous dagger, Cavender,” she
told him in all honesty. “Thank you for letting me test it.” Giving
him one of her warmest smiles, she walked back to the main market
way and continued her stroll among the vendors as all eyes remained
glued on her.

She continued to examine the myriad of items
available, many of which were new to her. She was particularly
taken by a bolt of sheer cotton material in a soft gray color at a
tailor’s stall. Running her hands over the silky fabric, she
wondered what a nightgown of such material would feel like on her
bare skin. A moment later she remembered she no longer wore
nightgowns. Sighing, she pressed on.

She wished she’d brought along some money. Or
coin. Or whatever it was these people used to trade and buy and
barter with. Atty made a note to ask Yulen what kind of currency
was accepted.

Another few feet down was a puppet show.
Several children were seated on short benches before the makeshift
stage, their parents standing at the rear, watching along with
them. The scene reminded her of days when she’d watch similar
reenactments being performed by marionettes in her home compound.
Atty felt the telltale tingle in her nose of warm tears threatening
to embarrass her. She never saw the child before he plowed into
her.

She stumbled but caught herself before she
fell. Two young boys stopped, frozen in place as they noticed whom
they’d almost run over in their haste to catch the ball they’d been
tossing back and forth. Several adults turned, hearing the
collision, and likewise paused to stare in surprise.

“Battle Lord about!”

The cry came from above and behind them, a
cry that Atty had heard numerous times before but never paid any
attention to until now. As she dusted herself off she noticed the
crowd parting, making way for the man who was quickly striding
directly toward her, hand on the pommel of his sword and a worried
look on his face.

“Atty, are you all right?” He stopped in
front of her but kept his hands to himself. She saw his eyes rake
the site, taking in everything around them.

“I’m fine,” she tried to assure him. “It was
an accident. How’d you know I was here?” She watched as Yulen
crossed his arms and gave her one of his knowing glares. She sighed
resignedly. “Right. MaGrath. Remind me to put some of his needles
and thread to better use, and stitch up his lips next time I see
him,” she groused.

To her surprise, several of the people around
them snickered. A smile curled the corners of Yulen’s lips. “Had
enough sight-seeing for one day?”

“You mean, am I ready to go back inside?
No.”

Atty felt a sense of power after seeing his
reaction to her answer.

“No?” he repeated, placing his fists on
his hips. “So, when do you think you
will
be ready to return to the main
lodge?”

Oh, hell, why not?
a little voice inside her urged. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t
find out sooner or later. She had to know for certain, one way or
the other, how these people truly felt about her. “If I’m going to
be your wife, don’t you think I need to get out and meet your
people?” she challenged him directly, never taking her eyes from
his face.

The reactions from the crowd were exactly as
she’d expected—a mixture of surprise, dismay, excitement, and
apprehension. The reaction she got from the Battle Lord was not.
Lifting his face, he laughed merrily. “Never let it be said you
never spoke your mind!” he teased her fondly. “The real reason I
came out here is to find out if you’re ready to head over to the
archery field and let my men see you in action. Are you up to
it?”

“I don’t have a bow,” she reminded him, aware
of the whispering already going on around them. “Remember the big,
ugly cuss that chopped it in half out in the meadow?”

“Not a problem. There’s bound to be one you
can borrow. It just won’t be a longbow, like you’re used to.”

Atty shrugged with her hands. “Not a problem.
I can always make another longbow if I have to. You have a knife
smith on the grounds who knows where to find black ash.”

Yulen nodded. “Cavender. He does excellent
work. Anything else?”

“Yeah. I want to go out and get what I need
to make more arrows. I also need some more barbs.”

“Noted. That all?”

“Oh, one more thing,” she smiled, unable to
stop the softness in her eyes as she stood facing him and crossed
her arms over her chest. “I’d like some grapes.”

“Grapes?” Yulen cocked his head toward her,
as if he didn’t hear her correctly.

“Yeah. Grapes. First, peaches. Now grapes.
You know. Big...juicy...purple grapes.” She was delighted to hear
him chuckle again, knowing he understood exactly what she was
implying.

Yulen took her hand, fully aware of how
everyone would take the gesture, and began to lead her toward the
back of the compound and beyond the main walls, to where the men
practiced in the cleared fields.

“Okay, Atty,” he promised her to where all
could hear. “First, prove yourself on the archery range, and then
you can have all the grapes you want.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Trial

Atty stood staring at the circular bales of
hay that had been draped with painted targets. Yulen had led her
outside the compound and up the gentle slope to where the men
practiced their archery along the edge of the forest. Apparently he
had notified his soldiers there would be a trial featuring the
Mutah woman’s skills with a bow, because a good two hundred bodies
now crowded the clearing to watch and see for themselves. From the
corner of her eye she could see bets being placed, and for some
reason it amused her. Did Yulen put money down on her?

Below, in the compound, more people crowded
the battlements and parapets to try and catch a glimpse of the
talent they’d heard so much about. Taking a deep breath, Atty
watched as the Battle Lord gestured to her to join him near a thick
strand of birch where a rack of bows stood near a barrel of
arrows.

“Take your pick,” he told her, gesturing
toward the collection of nearly a dozen bows of all shapes and
sizes. Atty picked up two that looked the most capable, and tested
the strings. The one made of pecan had excellent tension, and she
stepped back with her choice.

“Just tell us how you want us to set up the
targets,” one of the men requested. Atty looked over at where Yulen
stood with Mastin and one of Mastin’s lieutenants she recognized
but didn’t know by name.

“I’m only going to fire once,” she told them
loudly. “One chance. One showing. That’s all I need. Otherwise I’ll
be forever proving myself,” she pointedly remarked. Turning to the
man who was prepared to make ready, she instructed him, “Set that
second bale of hay back another fifty yards. Then set the third
bale back farther another hundred yards.”

“In a row? Or in line?”

“In a row, spaced apart just like they are
now.”

The man signaled to several others, who
joined in and began to roll the large bundles back the requested
distance. Atty watched to make sure they were placed as she needed
them, knowing that everyone observing was curious as to what she
had planned. When they had finished, three bales of hay sat in the
open field, lined up at an angle, the first one more than fifty
yards from where she stood, and the last one over a hundred and
fifty yards away.

Once the targets had been pinned down to the
front of each bale where they wouldn’t blow away, the men retreated
to the sidelines and waited. Atty walked back to the barrel and
selected three arrows before returning to the painted circle in the
grass which marked where she would stand.

Holding the shafts in her teeth, she tested
the good, heavy catgut again, checking the notches to make sure the
string was tightly bound to the ends of the bow. There could be no
room for accident. The bow had to withstand what she had planned.
It wasn’t as long as her own weapon had been, but it had the
strength.

She gave the wind a quick check, then began
to nock all three arrows simultaneously. Around her, every man
immediately stood at attention, and the noise level grew. Behind
her Yulen raised a hand for quiet as he approached her, concern
evident on his face.

“Atty, what are you doing?”

“What I said I would do. One shot. One
showing.”

“
Three
arrows? At three different targets?”

“Have faith in me, my love,” she told him in
softer voice.

“How many times have you done this in the
past?”

“Twice.”

“How many times have you hit all three
targets?”

She shrugged. “Once.”

“And yet you’re going to attempt to do this,
knowing the chances—”

Atty held up a hand to silence him. “Have
faith in me, Yul,” she repeated.

Yulen gave her a long, concerned look, then
reluctantly backed away to give her the breathing space she’d need
to carry out the impossible shoot.

Two arrows at the same target was a hard
shot. Two arrows at two different targets was something he’d only
heard about but had never personally seen accomplished. If Atty had
attempted to hit the same target with three arrows, it would have
been enough to convince even the most cynical soldier in the
compound.

Three arrows at three separate targets was
unheard of. More than that, it was suicidal.

And yet...

The crowd grew deathly still, until the only
sound was of birds flying overhead. Atty tested her sight window,
an arrow nestled between each of the four fingers of her right
hand. She’d chosen three shafts of varying length—the shorter arrow
for the shorter distance, and the longer one for the farthest
target. Setting the smallest arrow at the bottom, she checked her
grip again. She knew she couldn’t delay this for too long. All her
life she’d trusted that inborn knowledge that had always steered
her in the right direction, her gut instinct which she’d never
questioned, but followed trustingly. Giving Yulen one more quick
glance, she took another deep, calming breath to center
herself.

Planting her feet apart, Atty drew back on
the string and looked down the middle arrow to focus on the center
target. Then, before the crowd was aware of what she was doing, she
turned the bow horizontally, dropped to one knee, drew as far back
as the bow would give, and let the arrows fly.

The first arrow buried itself up to its
feathers in the center red circle. The second arrow hit dead center
in the second bale and disappeared into the mound of hay. The third
arrow nicked the upper outer edge of the red bull’s-eye but stayed
firmly embedded over its intended site.

A cheer rose like a roar from the crowd as
several men ran to the bales to retrieve the arrows. The impossible
shot had been accomplished. Now there would never be any doubt as
to what the Mutah woman was capable of doing.

Yulen strode over to where she stood with a
wide smile of relief. His pride in her accomplishment was
unmistakable. It took every ounce of control for him not to gather
her up in his arms and cover her with kisses.

“Only once, eh?” he grinned, and laughed
nervously.

“Yeah, but I was just fourteen at the time,”
she admitted.

They remained standing, looking at each
other, passing their thoughts, their hopes and desires, to each
other with their eyes, and wishing they were back in the privacy of
their rooms where they could lose themselves in each other’s arms.
Her success was his success, and the long road toward acceptance no
longer appeared as distant. By accomplishing the impossible, Atty
had done more than hit three targets with three arrows.

She had almost guaranteed them a future
together.

“Madam.”

Atty started at the salutation. Her eyes
widened as she turned her head and looked at the seasoned soldier
standing off to one side. The title he’d spoken was used only for
the wife of a noble or high official. Or for the Battle Lord’s
wife. Madigan was referred to as “Madam”, but that was hers by
right.