by Olivia Rae
Audrey wrung her hands as Hew, Allan, and Rory rolled the dice again. Audrey’s heart dropped when the Maxwells won.
“Footrace,” yelled Rory. All rushed to find a good place to watch the race. Only the Maxwells, Halls, and Dunneses had runners since the Armstrongs could not find a suitable replacement for Duncan. The shout was given to start; the racers left the line.
Time dragged. Audrey paced back and forth far from the crowd, trying desperately to focus on her own event. Closing her eyes, she visualized her dagger floating through the air, then landing squarely on the cloth. Taking it one step further, she added the motions to accompany her thoughts.
“Dinnae try to overthink it.”
Her eyes flew open to find Gavin standing in front of her. Her throat grew dry like the oatcake she had just eaten. “I-I’m just so anxious. I fear I will not succeed. And then…” She lowered her gaze to the ground, hiding her disappointment.
“Look at me, Audrey.”
With effort, she pulled her gaze upward to meet his. Not a mite of doubt, dread, or defeat graced his gaze.
He gently touched her shoulder, tilting his head to the side. “Did not Paul say in Philippians, ‘Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made to God’?”
His words dumbfounded her. “But you claim not to believe in God and here you are quoting scripture?”
“Even the devil knows scripture. I dinnae have to believe to know the words.” He grinned. “But in truth, ’twas years of my mother’s training that has burned such passages in my memory forever. All that matters is that you believe them.”
She had trained for days. God knew her wishes and her desire to win. She was trying to fight this battle by herself instead of handing it over to God. He was so much more powerful and wiser than her. Win or lose, whatever happened would be God’s will.
“Come.” Gavin squeezed her shoulder. “Best to change your thinking. Let us watch the rest of the race together.”
And they did, and slowly Audrey began to get caught up in the enthusiasm around her. The Maxwell lad and the Hall lad were less than a hand pace apart when they hastened across the finish line. Cheers exploded from the crowd. The Maxwells had been victorious.
Audrey’s heart became numb. The feats would continue. The Halls had won the wrestling match. The Dunneses were victorious in the lang spear throw. The Maxwells had won the footrace and the archery event. The Armstrongs had won the horse race. The tie rested on her shoulders.
“Shall we proceed?” The confidence in Gavin’s tone and the belief on his face spurred Audrey to the butt. Once there, he brushed a wisp of her hair from her cheek. “Worry not. This day is yours.”
She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and stay in his embrace—he believed in her.
“Come now, your opponents await,” his words whispered close to her ear.
Taking a deep breath, with her head held high, she strode to meet Keir Hall, Robert Dunnes, and Ewart Maxwell. Since Ualan had died, Rory had been forced to find another suitable blade thrower. The best replacement was Ewart. Or more than likely, Rory had to find an event for his son or lose face among the other families. Audrey was fairly certain Ewart could be beat. So could Robert Dunnes. Known to be fair with the blade, he was also known to like his drink, and he had consumed much at the noonday meal. It would be hard for him to keep a straight aim.
But then there was Keir Hall. Strong and masterful at dagger throwing. And more importantly, determined not to let a wumman win. Audrey threw her shoulders back. He would be the challenge.
“To the line,” Hew Armstrong called.
Her insides jumped when he cast a cold glare her way. She dared not think what would happen if she did not win.
Then another gaze pulled her. Gavin nodded and called out, “All will be fine.”
His assurance in her was humbling. He stood to lose everything, nevertheless he chose not to burden her. Oh, how she had grown to love him. He may play the cruel boar, but deep down he had great faith. He just needed the Holy Spirit to help him find it again. Before he could read her thoughts, she stepped to the line.
“All shall have three practice throws,” Hew explained. “Then we begin.”
Sweat streaked down her back as she watched Keir flip his dagger with his muscular arms. Each time the blade landed on the mark. Robert’s aim was likewise accurate, but he took a drink of ale between each throw, causing each strike to be farther from the mark than the last. Alas there was Ewart. Constantly fiddling with his knife and glancing to his father, who stood nearby. His dagger landed wide to the left and then to the right. He looked as if he might cry.
A smile washed over Audrey’s face, but then pity took hold of her soul. Did not God say, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Perhaps a few wise words could make his showing with the blade a little less disastrous. She leaned over. “Clear your mind. Keep your eye on the mark. Watch the blade go from your fingers to the cloth.”
Though he did not reply, his stance and demeanor spoke volumes of gratitude. The dagger left his fingers and landed firm on the mark. A shout of shock left his lips, and his mood lightened. Hew Armstrong frowned all the more.
Her own practice tosses were marginal at best. Two landing close to the mark and one directly on the center of the cloth. If she could do that twice more, then the feat would be hers.
The call was given to start. Audrey would go first. Closing her eyes, she mentally went through the motions. She said a swift prayer. Lord, make my aim straight.
Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath, the air smelled of leather, sweat, and unwashed bodies. The crowd seemed to move ever closer, suffocating her determination and courage. The heat of every gaze burrowed into her soul. The words she used to instruct Ewart pressed tightly into her brain. Keep your eye on the mark. Watch the blade go from your fingers to the cloth.
She released the dagger. It zinged to the butt, close to the mark but not exactly on the cloth. Not a bad strike, but not perfect either. The crowd murmured as Robert Dunnes stepped forward. He barely made it to the line when he released his knife. The blade landed slightly right of the cloth. Then Keir Hall stepped up and slowly took aim. A perfect strike. The roar of voices hammered in her ears.
Several moments had passed before Ewart crept up to the line, his face etched with doubt. If he remembered her advice, he might beat her. Ewart pointed his dagger at the butt and then pulled his arm back again. Audrey’s breath caught in her throat when his arm stretched out again, but he did not release the blade. The crowd began to mumble, a few goading him on. Ewart looked to his father, who impatiently crossed his arms over his chest. Once again, Ewart pointed the knife at the target, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every breath. His focus fixed, the dagger left his fingertips and tumbled toward the butt, landing directly on the cloth.
“I did it.” Ewart hopped and danced about before seeking his father’s approval. Rory puffed out his chest with pride.
Air seeped slowly from Audrey’s mouth. Did she create a foe that she could not vanquish? Robert, losing the first throw, shook Ewart’s hand and walked from the field.
Now they were three. Keir being the winner went first. Once again he took his time, but just as he was ready to let go of the blade, Ewart sneezed. Though he was quick to apologize, many grumbled that it was a dirty trick. Keir’s blade landed far to the left of the cloth.
Ewart ignored their complaints and marched up to the line, this time with much more confidence. To everyone’s astonishment, the blade landed on the cloth again. Audrey focused on the target. The red cloth blurred in front of her. She closed her eyes to regain her focus. Slowly she opened them and the blade left her fingers, landing on top of the cloth. She had beaten Keir, but not Ewart.
Keir was not as gracious when he left the field vowing he would beat Ewart next year. Ewart ignored the threat and strutted to the line as if he had already won. Once again his b
lade landed effortlessly on the cloth. Shouts erupted. Thinking the feat was over, many began to congratulate the Maxwells. Some even strolled away deeming the match was over. After all, in what world would a wumman ever beat a man, even one as wanting as Ewart Maxwell? Already many were calling the Armstrongs fools for letting a woman partake in the feats.
But this contest wasn’t over. Standing firm near the line was Gavin. A small smile sitting on his stalwart face. Even though she came as a spy, he believed in her. His fate rested in her hands.
Nay. His fate rested in God’s hands. Dear Lord, I know Gavin claims not to believe in you, but he was raised to know you. Your word says, ‘Train up a child in the way they should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.’ Lord, Gavin is your child, show him your hand in this contest so that he believes again.
Instant calm swept through her. With a nod, she strode to the line. She pulled her dagger from its sheath once again and felt the weight of the blade in her hand. A beam of late afternoon sunlight reflected off the shiny metal, sending a wide range of colors across the ground. She wrapped her hand around the hilt of the blade and eyed the target before her. Though echoes of merrymaking reverberated from the tower and the fields, Audrey held fast her focus. With a quick flip of the wrist, she let the dagger go. Thy will be done.
A perfect strike. Audrey’s blade stood in the middle of the cloth. A tie.
The shouts of the tie rolled through the field, and the crowd began to return. There would be another round. Audrey bobbed her head to Ewart, who turned red.
Gavin came forward and offered her a cool drink. “You have him. He’s rattled. Just throw the blade straight.”
Audrey took a long drink, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “I shall win this.”
Gavin nodded, his body brimming with assurance—in her. She couldn’t let him down. With God’s help, she wouldn’t let him down.
Causing the tie, she would be the first to throw. Shifting her shoulders back, Audrey marched to the line. She pictured herself releasing the blade, over and over striking the cloth. She would not falter. Lifting her hand, she let loose the dagger and watched it sail to the target. Her blade hit the mark, dead center.
Roars reverberated through the Armstrong family. Someone began playing a pipe. Ewart’s mouth hung open, though he quickly recovered. A few of his family members gave him an encouraging slap on the back. Rory Maxwell glared at her. All noise stopped and silence reigned when Ewart stepped to the line.
Audrey forced the rapid beat of her heart to calm. There could very well be another tie. If so, she needed to remain engrossed in her task. She needed to put her faith in God. Whatever happened was His will.
Ewart leaned forward. He took his time, weighing and measuring every move. When the blade finally did leave his fingers, it glided slowly on the breeze. End over end, the shiny knife wheeled to the target.
Thump. The dagger landed a hair to the left of mark.
Audrey was the champion.
Sound rushed back into her ears as Gavin came and whirled her around in the air. Gently, he placed her on her feet. “You did it. I knew you would,” he said, giving her a hug.
Her body began to melt into his, but then he pulled away, looking at those around them. Clearly, he did not want to compromise his or his family’s future in any way.
“Forgive me for I do not wish to embarrass the lady,” he said without an ounce of contrition in his voice.
She laughed. “Truly, there is little that could offend me this joyous day.”
But all were not happy. Turning red like a deep wound, Rory Maxwell stomped up to Ewart. “Ye lost to a wumman. What kind of a man are ye?” He waved his hand in disgust before storming away.
Ewart’s head drooped as the teasing intensified. Without congratulating her, he shuffled from the field.
“Though I do not care for the man, I cannot help but feel sorry for him. For the rest of his days he will be known as the man who got beat by a lass.” Gavin winked.
Audrey slapped his shoulder. “I wager I could beat you too.”
“No doubt.” He placed a discreet kiss on her temple. “I think the day will be ours, for Fraser can throw an ax almost as well as you can throw a blade.” Gavin placed another soft kiss on her lips before they strode to where the Armstrong family stood.
Unfortunately, Fraser did not share Gavin’s exuberance. For he sat away from the crowd, hunched on a large rock in a slump defeat, sharpening his already whetted ax.
Chapter Twenty-six
“He seems a mite odd this day.” Hew Armstrong watched his younger son sitting on a boulder, examining his ax.
Gavin did not gainsay his uncle’s words. In truth, Fraser had not been the same for months, nor would he talk about it. The cause of his malady was buried deep inside him. “A lot weighs on his shoulders.”
Hew chuckled. “The lad has been up against worse than this. ’Tis not his hide that is threatened this day. Nor the loss of his future. That be yers alone.”
The words were well taken. If Fraser lost, he would return to his father’s household just as he did every day of his life. Of course, what would happen once Hew died and Jaxon inherited the land? Would Jaxon want his younger brother around? Perhaps they would make the same bargain Gavin’s father and Hew had made all those years ago and split the land. The brothers were close, but greed had a way of changing a man’s heart.
Gavin rubbed his chin. And what of him? He stood to lose everything. His land, his home, his family. All that he held dear rested on Fraser’s ability to hurl an ax.
“I shall speak to him.” Gavin gave Audrey a reassuring nod and then strode to his cousin’s side.
“What ye be wantin’?” Fraser barely glanced up, his gaze fixed on his gleaming ax.
“Your da is a little concerned. How are you feeling?”
Fraser paused his polishing. “Dinnae worry. I know what is at stake here,” he said gruffly before returning to his task. “And I will do what’s right.”
What’s right. This wasn’t a contest of honor; it was a game of skill. Perchance Fraser wanted to make this right by winning the event.
Gavin knelt so that his gaze was level with Fraser’s. “I just want you to know that whatever happens, you will always be my friend.”
Again, Fraser’s fingers stalled. His brow knitted, and his hands started to shake. Suddenly, he nodded, his focus locked on the ax.
Whatever tormented him would not be shared this day, but for certain someday Fraser would open up, and once again, they would be close. Gavin stood. “I look forward to having a mug of beer with you afterward.”
With no acknowledgment coming from Fraser, Gavin went to Mistress Audrey’s side.
“How is he?” she asked.
Gavin stroked his chin. “He’s not worrying over his skill. Something else gnaws at him and has for quite some time.”
“He does not like us together. And he has grown even colder since he found us…”
She spoke of the kiss and embrace Fraser had witnessed. Gavin believed the opposite was true, that Fraser was captivated by Audrey. ’Twould explain much of his bizarre behavior as of late, though not all of it.
“I believe you search for something that is not there.” Gavin motioned his head back to the butt. “Come, the call has been given. The feat will start shortly.”
With strong determined strides, Fraser trod to where his competitors stood. There were only two families competing since only the Armstrongs and Maxwells won the same number of feats. By the throw of the dice the Maxwells would start, followed by the Armstrongs. Each man was strong, and each man seemed comfortable with the ax. The Maxwell man seemed determined to win, but not Fraser. His gaze darted among the crowd as if he were searching for someone.
Knowing Fraser for most of his life, Gavin had no problem interpreting the moods which rode across his cousin’s face. First, he pushed his lip and chin out like he would not falter. Then his eyes clouded and
his eyebrows slanted, his face filling with doubt. But most chilling was when he set his jaw, his grip white on the ax handle. If Gavin didn’t know better, he would believe murder festered in Fraser’s heart.
All the while Hew guffawed with Rory Maxwell as if the event meant nothing. Didn’t Hew see Fraser’s distress? A prick of unease wrestled for a place in Gavin’s soul. Could other deals have been dealt?
He guided Audrey away from the family. “Whatever happens, I want you to make for the tower immediately.”
Confusion rested in her eyes. “What do you mean? You fear something is amiss?”
“I am not sure, but something is terribly wrong here. Fraser is a puzzlement. And my uncle is too at ease.”
“Is that not how all men act before a fight?” Audrey worried her lip, examining the pair.
Quite right. Bluster was a tool used to fool an enemy. But Hew and Rory seemed too familiar. Too friendly. The men parted and stood near their own families. Hew’s face shone like granite as he watched Fraser.
One of Maxwell’s men came up next to him and whispered into his ear. A subtle smirk settled on his lips before the man sprinted away.
Gavin could not make sense of what was happening, but his gut told him something was wrong, very wrong.
“All will be decided now,” Audrey said breathlessly.
True. The future of Warring Tower rested on Fraser’s ability to wield his ax. Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, then an idea occurred. “Would you say a prayer?”
Her eyes widened. “But you do not believe.”
A quiver caught his lips. “Nay. But you do.”
She stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the daylight. “Dear Lord,” she said quietly, “we know you are in control of everything. We come to you this day to stretch out your strong hand on our servant, Fraser. Give him the knowledge and ability to follow your will wherever that leads. We ask all this in your son’s name who saved us all. Amen.”