by Linda Madl
The final game was an archery contest—a skill King Edward III required yeomen to practice. Until this contest Garrett had politely refrained from joining the games. But the urge to earn the approval of the crowd and a victory kiss from the May Queen was more than he could resist. So when Leandra announced this competition, he grinned and was among the first to step forward.
"What is this, my Lord of May?” she chided, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “You would compete with these sharp-eyed bowmen, fresh from target shooting last Sunday?"
The villagers cheered for their archers. Leandra grinned at their goodwill. “What does a knight know of archery?"
"I've not always been a knight, your highness.” He took a longbow offered by one of the village men. “A sergeant of the guard is master of many skills."
"Well, then I think I shall have to join in this contest,” she said.
Surprised, he glanced at her. So, she wished to challenge him.
The villagers clapped and cheered again, and a bow was found for Leandra, a boy's bow somewhat shorter than the average six-foot weapon. Straw-filled dummies were tied in place along a stone wall. The contest began.
Cornish villagers were better fishermen, shepherds, and miners than archers. Before long, with no regret on the part of the crowd, the contest narrowed to the pretty May Queen and the handsome May Lord. The ladies took the queen's side; the men rooted for the lord.
The marksmanship of each was consistently good. Between each volley the opponents eyed each other warily and with some amusement.
"How are we going to settle this to their satisfaction and ours?” Garrett asked under his breath as they waited for a boy to pull the arrows from the dummy that was their target.
"You could let me win,” Leandra suggested. She selected an arrow from the quiver tied to her green girdle and cast an eye along the shaft, measuring its straightness.
He also selected an arrow and gave it the straightness test. Then he examined the fletching. Her expertise pleased him. She was quite good with the bow—confident and at home with the weapon, displaying the patience and concentration needed to be a good target shooter. Silently he congratulated Sergeant Ralph on his training of the lady. Without looking up from the arrow, he said, “If you win, everyone will know that I allowed it."
An unladylike huff escaped her and her bow and arrow flopped to her side as she turned on him. “Is that so?"
"Of course,” he said, still intent on his arrow and determined to return some aggravation at last. He was also pleased to see that she'd forgotten about the missing ring.
"Well, we'll see about that.” She whirled around to face the target. Without delay she smoothly drew her bow.
He scrutinized her graceful form. At full draw with her elbows at shoulder level, her breasts lifted in a pert way that charmed and stirred him. He wished they weren't being watched so closely. She released the arrow perfectly, the spun flaxen string rolling off her fingertips.
"Bull's-eye!” one of the former contestants shouted. The villagers murmured approval, pulling him from his admiration of the lady's form.
He turned to the target to see that she'd indeed made it difficult for him to win this one. He glanced at her, and she returned the sweetest of mocking smiles.
He eyed the target. Sweet Jesu, how had he gotten into this mess? Escort to an innocent lady warrior. Victim of a love potion. Surely God had a design in all of this, but what it could be was beyond him.
He took note of the wind, eyed his arrow again, then licked the dark feather. Slowly he nocked the shaft and took aim. He hoped to do something he had never succeeded in doing in the past. He released the flaxen bowstring carefully, without plucking, sending the bolt straight for the end of Leandra's.
The villagers’ heads snapped around toward the target, and they collectively murmured in satisfaction as his shaft struck the same hole as the May Queen's. It plowed into the target atop her arrow.
Garrett grinned and bowed to the crowd's applause.
"Very nice, my lord,” she conceded between tight lips.
Garrett smiled inwardly, but was wise enough not to claim victory yet.
She was a spirited competitor. “I challenge you to another trial."
"But of course,” he said, shrugging his shoulders toward the villagers as if he could do nothing but comply with the lady's ridiculous request.
"Bring the rings from the ring toss,” the May Queen ordered.
He maintained his smile but groaned inside. Surely she wasn't serious. He'd seen a trickster at a London fair perform with the rings before. But no archer he knew practiced this kind of shooting. “Is this a trick you learned from Sergeant Ralph?"
"Yes,” she said. “It requires a fine eye."
"Nothing wrong with my eye,” he said with supreme confidence. Lord, how was he going to win this one? He watched her nock an arrow in her bow. “Talented soldier, that Sergeant Ralph."
"Yes, indeed.” She nodded to the man who tossed the ring upward between her and the dummy target. She drew her bow. An instant after the toss, she released the arrow and cleanly pinned the ring to the dummy's heart.
In shocked admiration, the crowd murmured in approval, and then applause broke out. Leandra stepped back, a smile of pure satisfaction on her lips.
Garrett admired the marksmanship and swore under his breath. Nothing else had gone right on this undertaking. If only she'd missed that shot.
Slowly he took an arrow from his quiver, licked the feather and nocked the arrow in his bow. If he was to have any glory, any luck on this journey with Lady Leandra, now would be a good time. He nodded to the man who tossed the ring.
Garrett spotted it and released. The arrow thudded into the dummy, pinning the ring to the straw just inside Leandra's ring.
The village men shouted cheers and danced in the street. He grinned.
She frowned. “Good shooting, May Lord."
"Thank you, my lady.” He gave her a little bow. “One more contest? Which of us can shoot the most arrows into the air?"
She frowned. “That's not a fair test. You are bigger and stronger and can use the bigger bow."
But the crowd liked the idea.
The boys and women took Leandra's part, gathering around her to offer advice.
The men surged around Garrett, several offering him their finest shafts, well-fletched and known to be lucky.
"You first. Are you ready?” Garrett asked.
Leandra's frown vanished. A smile played on her lips and the gleam of challenge sparkled in her eye. He grinned back, knowing that she was going to give her best effort.
Women grabbed their children and cleared the square to stand beneath the overhang of the inn or the eaves of the cottage shops. Silence fell over the crowd.
She rapidly shot five arrows high into the air before the first fell to the thatched roof of the inn. The crowd cheered once more. Garrett suspected that among the village archers, few could do better.
Then she stepped aside to allow him his turn. He took up his stance and swiftly put seven arrows into the blue sky before the first bolt fell to the roof of a nearby cottage.
The archers cheered.
Garrett turned to her. “We can do better together!"
"What? How?"
"I'll shoot,” he said. “You hand me the arrows, ready to nock. Hold them here like this. An archery team is deadly. I've seen it done in France with the crossbows. Yes, like that."
She scowled at him at first, as though she thought he was playing some trick on her.
"How many did I get into the air?” he asked.
"Seven,” she replied. “But only because you are stronger and your arrows go higher."
"We'll get eight into the air,” he promised her.
"Eight is impossible."
"Hand the arrows to me as I showed you."
Rebellion smoldered in her eyes. But she stood at his shoulder as he had told her, annoyance radiating from her like heat from a blacksm
ith's fire. The game master gave the signal to begin. She offered each arrow to him as he'd instructed, concentrating so intently on the task that she didn't even look up to see the arrows fly into the sky, but she counted aloud with the villagers.
"One. Two. Three. Four.” Her hand trembled when she handed him the next one. “Five."
"Keep them coming,” he muttered without a break in his movements—nock, draw, release.
"Six,” she counted, a soft breathlessness in her voice.
Another. And another.
"Eight!"
The first arrow clattered to the cobbles at their feet.
"We did it!” She stared up at him in disbelief. Then she threw her arms around his neck and smacked a kiss on his lips.
Astonished, he set her away from him. “Of course we did it. I told you we would together. You must trust me."
The smile faded from her face, and she spoke in a low, husky voice that only he could hear. “But I do trust you. Completely. I have trusted you from the very first."
He stared down at her, totally disarmed by her confession and excruciatingly aware that she no longer wore Reginald's betrothal ring.
* * * *
AFTER THE HOBBYHORSE games were played throughout the narrow streets of the village, the May feasting began. The shadows grew long. The cool of evening settled over the village with the dusk.
Leandra and Garrett sat side by side, sampling strange green foods and exchanging stories and conversation with the villagers.
She found herself comfortable again in Garrett's company. Something about his quick victory kiss set things right between them. The feeling was strange and indistinct, but it surrounded them like an invisible halo, and he sensed it, too. She could tell by the way he turned to her, speaking at times in a voice soft and velvety, meant only for her ears.
Sometimes his hand lingered on the small of her back. She smiled up at him, delighted with the way he joined in with the people, not reserving himself in a haughty manner as other knights might have done, but laughing with them, delighting in the simple things that pleased them. He could easily bellow at bawdy jokes and bait the men for fishing stories. He would have been the perfect knight for Lyonesse.
She took pride in him, in how he'd impressed the villagers with his prowess and charm, of how he'd turned her loss into a victory. Sir Perfect was so much more than a knight, and she knew that she loved him. She didn't care whether it was the potion's doing. She loved him nonetheless. The knowledge made her sad, because they could never love each other like the boy and girl rolling in the ferns. In lusty innocence and abandon. She could never ask that of him.
Compline bells rang. Bonfires glowed on the cliffs along the sea, and couples slunk away into the darkness. Leandra yawned into her hand, aware that she'd yet to recover her full strength.
"What is expected of the May Queen and her lord now?” she asked.
"I think they usually slip away into the night,” he said. “Just as we are going to do.” He took her arm and led the way to the inn.
He closed the chamber door behind them and barred it. With no more explanation, he knelt in front of the hearth and began to heap wood onto the fire.
She stood beside him to bask in the growing heat. She yawned again. To her surprise, he reached up for her arm, pulled her down beside him and held her close. She studied his face. The firelight gleamed in his tawny hair, and his jovial smile, worn for the day's gaiety, faded into a curious, tender solemnity. Leandra took advantage of his tranquil mood to rub her nose against his.
He accepted her touch and followed it with a light kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes and sighed, soaking in the comfort of the fire, of his embrace. She thought of the words she wanted to say, but remained silent.
"No use denying it any longer,” he whispered, his lips grazing her brow.
"Denying what?” she asked, sinking into his arms.
"That Vivian's love potion has worked.” His lips pressed against her temple. “I have known it for days, but I refused to believe. I even told myself it was just the spirit of May Day. But I can no longer deny it. I love you, Leandra. Though I can hardly believe it's so, I think you love me. I've seen it in your smile. Heard it in your voice, too. A solemn maid like you would never smile with such warmth at a man she didn't care about."
She sighed, relieved to hear her own confession on Garrett's lips. She touched his face with the back of her hand. A calmness settled over her. This moment was so fated that it seemed almost familiar. “'Tis true, I'm afraid. I love you."
He took her hand and kissed it.
She closed her eyes, allowing the ardor of his kiss to tingle through her hand and up her arm to her heart. Her sleepiness vanished, and the vivid memory of the couple wrestling among the ferns popped into her head.
"I didn't think this was how the potion would work,” he said. “So slow and quiet and compelling. An irresistible force."
"Yes.” She refused to open her eyes. The tingling in her arm had yet to stop, and she wasn't ready for it to. She wanted this magic moment to go on and on. She let him draw her closer, until she sensed his lips against her hair and the fresh stubble of his beard scratching her cheek.
He nuzzled her ear. “I want to be your lover."
Her eyes opened, and she almost pulled away. She could tell by the sudden iron in his grip that he'd anticipated her reaction. “Garrett, I know we've been given a potion and ‘tis May Day, but—"
"I know,” he whispered, his lips closer to hers now, his breath moist and warm against her cheekbone. “I promise that we will not break our vows. There are many ways to love, Leandra. You said today that you trust me. Will you trust me in this? I will reveal the mystery to you. I'll give you what you need to know. I will take nothing. I promise. I swear."
Briefly she thought of the morning to come, when they would see the world in a new light. But in truth she cared nothing for tomorrow. All she could think of was this moment and him—a night of passion and love—more powerful than any thoughts of the future. She wanted to lie close, skin against skin, mouth brushing mouth, legs and arms entwined. She'd tuck whatever needed to be tucked into wherever it needed to go because she longed to hold him, and she could see in the tense lines of his face that he wanted to be held.
"Tell me what you want,” he said.
"I want to touch you.” Images of the morning, of him pulling the tunic over his head, of rippling muscles and gleaming hair, still danced in Leandra's head.
He tensed in her arms, drawing away from her slightly. “I know you're curious, lioness. But don't you think that's too familiar to begin with?"
A blush heated hers cheeks. “Touching your chest is too familiar? After we've shared a lover's kiss?"
"My chest?” The tension eased from his face. He chuckled, shaking his head in a self-deprecating manner. “Forgive me, sweet lady. I thought you referred to something else. I forget that you are virgin."
He pulled the green tunic over his head and cast it aside. He took her hands in his and placed them over his heart. “Is that what you desire? You have already touched me more ways than you will ever know."
Beneath her hands his heart beat strong and steady, and between her fingers his golden chest hair curled crisp and wiry. He leaned closer. She caught the tantalizing male scent of him. A dizzying weakness filled her head and spiraled down through her belly.
"Remember the lover's kiss?” he asked.
She nodded, offering her lips to him, and he took them, stroking and parting and teasing until she kissed him back. She pressed closer, returning Garrett's passionate attentions, exploring territory, new and strange, yet so natural, so nearly a part of her. Without uncoupling, she sighed, melted against him and offered more of herself. To her surprise, he grabbed the back of her head and took her surrender, delving greedily into her mouth, forcefully yet delicately seeking her. Her world shrank to nothing but the feel of him. And she wanted more.
He pulled away first, only to des
cend on her throat, his lips doing things that thrilled down through her breasts and swirled into her middle. His fingers fumbled with the laces at the back of her gown.
She took his hands away and put them on her thighs. “You need only to pull up my skirt,” she whispered. “Like the boy and girl we saw in the woods."
"Oh, no.” He drew her closer and resumed his work with her laces. “This is no lusty mating stolen in the woods. I'm not a lover to be content with bare thighs. This is a true loving. There."
She felt the laces loosen.
"The defenses are breached,” he said, soft amusement in his voice. Gently he slipped her gown and shift from her shoulders, following the fabric down her arm with light teasing kisses. But he stopped just as he bared her breasts. Leandra held her breath, achingly aware of a heaviness in her that longed for his touch.
He lifted his face to hers, his eyes half closed, his lips fuller and more sensitive than Leandra remembered. His grip bit into her arms. “Do you still want the mystery revealed, Leandra? Nothing will ever be the same after this night if we yield to the potion."
"What choice do we have?"
"I believe we always have a choice.” He lifted his head, his eyes widened and his stormy gaze searched her face. “At least, I believed that until I met you."
"Then let's choose tonight,” she whispered, uncertain what he meant about choice. She needed him, and he wanted her. What other choice was there? She put her fingers to his lips in a gesture of appeal. “Will you choose it with me?"
"Yes,” Garrett said without hesitation. But he closed his eyes against something painful, something she understood but refused to think about. Vows and promises, duty and obligations. She would not admit them. Not this night. He offered her light in dark hours of May Day, and she would take the light for herself, for him. These hours would be theirs alone.