by Olivia Rae
“His stomach, has been retchin’ all mornin’,” Blair announced, patting Duncan’s face with a cool cloth. “I fear there is no race in his future.”
Of all the times for this to happen. The cold emptiness that Gavin had felt on the road from Perth resurfaced once again. Why should he be surprised? As he suspected, no God stood on Warring Tower’s side. Gavin rolled his eyes heavenward before fixing them on the ill lad. “We shall have to forfeit the feat. Where is Lady Francis and Mistress Audrey?”
“They still be in the chapel, prayin’ for God’s help.” Blair motioned her head toward the chapel. “Look, here they come.”
His mother, Audrey, and Thomas, upon seeing Duncan lying prostrate, rushed to his side. The astonished looks on their faces produced an awkward laugh in Gavin’s throat. Did they truly believe time on their knees, pressed against a cold floor, would wake up a nonexistent God?
“How did this happen?” Lady Francis asked.
Blair shrugged. “Not sure. He was fine last eve. Hoppin’ around like a rabbit. Racin’ up and down the steps and through the courtyard. He even raced with Master Fraser and Jaxon.”
“Is that all they did?” Gavin leaned over Duncan’s body and took a sniff.
Blair shrugged again.
“Did you drink beer last night?” Gavin asked Duncan.
The lad shook his weary head before he spewed his guts into the bucket next to him. All stepped back, not wanting to catch what ailed him.
Audrey grabbed a clean cloth and wiped Duncan’s face. “I have never seen the boy drink anything but goat’s milk and water.”
“There is nothing for it. We are out of the foot race for there is no one else in the Armstrong family that has swift enough feet to beat the Maxwells, Dunneses, and Halls, but we still have a chance to win.”
Thomas tugged on his father’s doublet. “Let me try. I have been practicin’ with Duncan, and I can run fast.”
Gavin burst with pride, before a dull empty ache settled in his chest. He placed a hand on the lad’s soft curly head and knelt down. “You are incredibly fast, but you are too young. In a few years you will be able to run the race. Then you will beat all, I am sure of it.”
Thomas’s lower lip quivered. “I can run as fast as a man. I have beaten Clyde.”
Clyde could barely walk a straight line. His greatest feats were lifting a mug of beer to his lips and sleeping the afternoon away. But such a point was lost on Thomas. “Aye, but you must be at least six and ten to run the race.”
Letting out a hearty huff, Thomas stomped away, his head hanging low.
Gavin stood. Someday Thomas would be a fine man, but today he would have to be watched closely. “Blair, stay close to Thomas or I fear he will be into mischief.”
Wrinkling her nose and squinting her eyes, Blair motioned her head to Mistress Jonet. “Can he not be with his nurse?”
“Nay, she will have her hands full with Marcas. The task must fall to you.”
The sullen maid nodded her head, but her gaze shifted around the hall to all the visiting young men. ’Twas a lot to ask of a youthful servant who had been looking forward to a day of merriment. There was nothing for it, no one else knew the lad’s habits better than Blair.
Gavin dug into his pocket and pressed a silver coin into her hand. “For your trouble this day.”
“I really could use a new frock.” Blair tucked the coin into her bodice, then brushed her hands over her drab brown dress.
He lifted a brow in surprise. Blair was a shrewd lass. “And a new fancy frock as well.”
With a flutter of her eyelashes, Blair picked up her skirt and hurried off after Thomas, which left Gavin with the problem lying on the bench.
“Take Duncan to his quarters,” Gavin ordered two servants.
“I shall attend him and meet you at the games later.” Lady Francis picked up a wet cloth. “Have no fear. All will be fine. I am sure ’tis not serious.” She squeezed Gavin’s arm. “My prayers are with you this day. If it is God’s will, the Armstrongs will win the day.”
He almost said skill would win the day, not God, but he did not wish to upset her. Most women needed such beliefs to keep them calm and happy.
“Well then, I guess it is up to us to make sure these games are won.” Audrey’s mesmerizing obsidian eyes drew him in.
The fair Audrey who usually wore simple and demure clothing was nothing of the sort this day. Dressed in a dark skirt and a black leather doublet, her dark hair plaited, she resembled a woman warrior. For certain, she would win the blade throw by skill or intimidation. Or perhaps by distracting the other contestants with her alluring smile.
He placed her hand on his arm. “Mistress, allow me to escort you to Truce Day.” Together they took the stairs and stepped toward the door, then into the beaming light. Whatever came this formidable day, at least he had the loveliest lass at his side.
* * *
They weaved their way through the pavilions and the boisterous crowds. Many already reeked of beer or ale. Merry voices and happy faces floated everywhere. Pipes and tambourines heightened the festivities. Maids danced while others stood near the fields vying for the optimal place to watch the feats.
Audrey marveled at all. Never had she witnessed such a spectacle. How easy it would be to get caught up in the gaiety instead of focusing on the blade toss.
Each family rallied beneath their standard. The Halls, Dunneses, Maxwells, and Armstrongs all proudly hailing the strength of their family. A crier listed off the names of all the feats—reiver horse race, wrestling, lang spear throw, archery, blade toss, and footrace. Dice would be rolled; the winner would name the first feat.
God answered Audrey’s prayers, and the Armstrongs were allowed to choose first, followed by the Dunneses, Maxwells, and then the Halls. An early lead might build the Armstrongs’ confidence.
“The horse race,” Hew Armstrong yelled. Immediately Gavin took to his mount.
Shouts of agreement and encouragement sprung from every present Armstrong. The other families cheered on their own riders as they made their way to the starting line. Those who were able ran to various parts of the trail to rally their rider. At the line, the four contenders struggled to keep control of their horses among all the revelry. A servant called for silence and then raised a flag high. With a powerful yell, he dropped the flag and the riders were off, their mounts kicking up dirt as they flew down the path.
Thomas came out of nowhere with Bairn on his heels. The boy grabbed Audrey’s hand, tugging her down the path. “Come on, let us follow as long as we can.”
Audrey laughed and then let go of his fingers. “You go along. I wish to save my strength for the blade toss.” The lad raced ahead without a look back, weaving in and out of the crowd. If Thomas kept up such a pace, within a few years he would be the best in the footrace.
Stopping at Audrey’s side, Blair placed her hands on her knees, taking deep labored breaths. “I took me eyes off the lad for a moment, and poof, he raced away like a rabbit with a hound on his tail.”
“That is exactly what it was, Bairn racing after him. Your task is not easy.” Audrey stretched her neck but could not spot the boy anywhere. “Let us make way for the finish line. I am certain he will be there by the time the riders cross.”
Blair nodded and followed Audrey to the line. There stood Hew Armstrong.
“’Twill be a while before they come,” Audrey said, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Aye,” Hew confirmed. “They have to loop across the waters and then over the hills that mark off Armstrong land to the east, then back around to the west.”
Her insides tumbled up and down as if they stood on the deck of a ship instead of dry land. “Do you think Gavin will win?”
“Of course,” Blair chimed. “There be none finer on a horse than Laird Warrin’.”
Her smitten look pricked Audrey’s ire. This was no time to be jealous of another maid’s desires. She needed to keep her mind clear and stay
focused on her own feat.
Perspiration dotted Audrey’s forehead as they waited and waited. She closed her eyes and tried to block out all the joviality around her, searching for a deep calm. A jumpy spirit would not do, especially when it came time for her to perform her own skill.
Finally, an approaching rumble shook the ground. Two horses, neck and neck, came thundering toward the finish line. The crowd began to roar. Hew’s words boomed encouragement. Audrey’s voice caught in her throat; her ears rang as Gavin’s horse began to pull away.
Thomas appeared out of nowhere, perched on the side of the lane. He jumped high in the air when his father crossed the line first. Gavin had done it. The Armstrongs had won the first game.
The race had barely ended when the Dunneses shouted, “Lang spear.”
As expected, all ran to where the spears would be thrown. The best of three throws would determine the winner. Going first, Allan Dunnes’s spear flew like an arrow being loosed from a bow. Hall’s and Jaxon’s spears landed far behind, but at least both had bested the Maxwells. Jaxon managed to win the second round, knocking the Maxwells and Halls out of the competition. But alas, Jaxon could not find the strength to beat Allan. The Dunneses had won the lang spear throw.
Before congratulations were shared, Rory Maxwell roared, “Archery.”
Here, Rory Maxwell stood against Hew Armstrong, Will Hall, and Edward Dunnes. All the men were of the same age, and all were known to be excellent bowmen. A few practice rounds were given to measure the length of the butts.
Gavin strolled up to Audrey’s side. “Hew should win this,” he said, assessing all the archers.
Audrey did not hold Gavin’s confidence. The feats were more than just skill. If Hew lost, the burden for her would become even greater. Hew let loose an arrow, which landed close to the mark. Audrey stole a look at Gavin’s strong profile, but his expression told nothing. “He is the best, right?”
“Aye. But I have bested him at the butts more often than not and so has Rory and Will. Edward Hall has an aim with the bow like yours.”
She ignored his jab and tried to remain serious. “Then why are you not standing out there?”
Gavin folded his arms across his chest as Hew let go of another arrow. This one fared slightly better, but not well enough to beat Rory Maxwell’s arrow. “At the time I didnae think we would need the event. I knew I would win the horse race and Duncan would win the footrace, and you—”
“I could lose.” Audrey’s spirits dipped when Hew’s last arrow bounced off the butt.
“I am certain you will seal the win for us.” Gavin did not look at her nor blink an eye as if her winning the blade toss was a forgone conclusion.
Despair and helplessness pricked at her soul like a vulture plucks meat from an aged corpse. “You should not place so much faith in me. I could fail.”
Gavin tipped his head toward hers, a grin on his lips. “’Tis not faith I have in you. I know your skill and that of those you compete against. You will win.”
Joy should be erupting from her soul. He believed in her. No matter if she did win the toss, they needed one more event to save Warring Tower. Her high spirits plunged. With Duncan’s illness, the footrace was lost. “And if Hew loses?”
“Pray for a tie,” he mumbled.
“What? I thought you do not believe in God and prayer?”
His gaze met hers, the corners of his mouth curved upward. “But you do,” he said before he strode closer to the butt. “And that is good enough for me.”
How true, she did, and she would pray all the more that all would turn out in their favor.
The command was given for the archers to stand on the line. They flexed their bows and eyed the red cloth that served as the mark. Since Maxwell had called for the event, he went first. The others rolled the dice to see who would be next. The crowd roared and gasped as the favor fell to Hew. He would be second, then Will Hall, and Edward Dunnes would go last.
The contest was simple. There would be three rounds. The arrow farthest from the mark would be eliminated each round. Maxwell readied his stance and eyed the target. A mild breeze ruffled his greying hair. With little effort, he loosed his arrow, which landed slightly above the cloth. The crowd murmured at the fine placement.
Next, Hew stepped forward. His focus solely on the butt. The breath Audrey held in her throat burned. Her eyes fixed on the scene before her. The bowstring pinged, and the arrow landed slightly below the mark. Slowly her breath seeped out. Will Hall had the skill to best them both.
With a nod, Will stepped up. He raised his bow, then dropped it at his side. Audrey’s heart tumbled to her toes when Will strolled over to the target to examine the other two arrows. Was such a practice allowed? No one stopped his steps or seemed surprised. The warmth of the sun made her leather doublet feel heavy. The sun had hit its zenith. This day was only half over, and already sweat snaked down her back. Her nerves tight as the competition continued. How was she to remain calm when her time came?
Seeming satisfied, Will Hall returned to the line. He aimed; his arrow buzzed to the target, landing far off the cloth, but still on the butt. Last came Edward Dunnes. He barely took aim before his arrow sailed through the air and almost hit a woman in the crowd. Clearly Dunnes was eliminated.
Again the archers prepared for the next round. Maxwell went first once again and placed the arrow in the same place as before. Hew did the same. One had to wonder if they had planned such a feat. If so, then indeed they were both fine bowmen. Lastly, Will Hall took to the line and just like last time took his time evaluating the butt. He released his arrow, and this time it landed a hair above Maxwell’s. The oatcake she ate this morn twirled in her stomach. The Halls were out.
Will Hall waved, then left the field. A servant handed Hew and Maxwell each a cup of water. Both wiped their brows before standing at the line. The crowd shouted and encouraged their favorite.
A familiar arm looped through Audrey’s. “’Tis highly exciting, is it not?” Perfectly put together in a spring green gown, Lady Francis looked as if she did not have a present worry. Hopefully that meant that Duncan was feeling better.
“How can you remain so calm? Warring Tower’s future is decided this day.”
The older woman stared straight ahead as if she were looking for something buried in the past. “Whatever happens, I will be content. I have shared my peace with God. It is all in His hands now.”
Content. All in Warring Tower by the end of the day could be at the mercy of Rory Maxwell. His long scar seemed to pucker and whiten as concentration rested on his face. A dark glint of intolerance burrowed in his brown eyes. Like a mighty oak with crooked branches, his hatred made him strong. Rory Maxwell did not exhibit an ounce of mercy. How then could Lady Francis find contentment if such a man became her laird?
“You will see, all will work out. You must have a little faith,” she whispered in Audrey’s ear.
And there it was—faith. How many professed to have a faith in God yet worried about daily woes? Did not God say, “Have no fear, for I am with you.” If God’s words were true, then Lady Francis was right. There was nothing to worry over.
The sound of an arrow whirled through the air, and Maxwell hit the mark right in the middle. Audrey’s heart plummeted in spite of her faith.
“’Tis fine. You shall see, Hew will split his arrow.” Lady Francis squeezed Audrey’s upper arm.
Hew lifted his bow, inhaled deeply, and loosed his arrow, which sailed high on the mild wind. The arrow landed far off the mark. So far that Audrey had to wonder if Hew deliberately threw the contest.
Cries of glee rang out from the Maxwell family. Rory lifted his bow high above his head and roared. Then he did the most chilling thing. His icy gaze swept over Lady Francis. Though Audrey’s knees grew weak, Lady Francis’s stance never wavered, nor did she look away from his frozen stare. Something was wrong, but what only these two knew.
A lad came running up and handed Lady Francis a mis
sive. Her face shone white as she quickly read the note. “I must go. A small situation has arisen.”
“Should I go with you? All will rest a bit before the next event.”
Looking away, Lady Francis crushed the note in her hand. “Nay, this is nothing for you to worry about. Best you get ready for your own feat.”
Lady Francis rushed away as if the ground were covered in hot ash. Audrey meant to follow, but Thomas and Blair came up wearing long faces.
“Dinnae look so good for the Armstrongs,” Blair grumbled. “A blind man could have landed a better arrow.”
“Da should let me run the footrace.” Thomas’s head hung long and low like a goose at the chopping block.
Audrey knelt down, hoping to bolster his spirits. “This will all change after the noonday meal. You shall see. The Armstrongs will have the day.”
Taking Thomas’s hand, Audrey walked backed to the tower. All the while praying for a miracle that would grant the Armstrongs victory.
Chapter Twenty-five
Audrey nibbled offered oatcakes and couldn’t even take a sip of her small beer. No matter how she tried to calm her senses, her coming event left her insides in a shamble. She laughed when Jaxon told a joke, even though his words sounded like a garbled mess. Gavin lay on his side cooing and playing with little Marcas. Every so often she would catch him looking her way, smiling. Blair flirted with any man that passed, while Thomas ran back and forth, showing off his swiftness of feet. Not one of them seemed to have a worry about the impending contest.
Except her.
The call was given for the feats to resume. Audrey said a quick prayer. Let the dagger toss be next, O Lord. For I am not sure I can keep my wits much longer.
Once again Hew Armstrong, Rory Maxwell, Will Hall, and Allan Dunnes shook the dice. Audrey’s heart sank when the Halls won the first event call. “Wrestling,” shouted Will.
Few wagers were cast on this event as Will Hall’s son, Henry, was sure to win. Though not muscular, he had speed and quick moves. He’d slip through his opponents’ grasps until they tired. Then like a fast wind, he would have his sorry challenger down on the ground, giving up the match. As predicted, he vanquished his foes effortlessly.