The Battle Lord's Lady

by Linda Mooney

  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.

  On
ce 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.

  Opening her mouth to correct the man, she was stunned into silence when he produced an arrow from his quiver and dropped it at her feet. Directly behind him, another man stepped up after his departure and also dropped a shaft at her feet. A third soldier repeated the honor, followed by a fourth, a fifth, a sixth... One by one, each member of the regiment presented her with one of their own arrows, until a small pile lay in front of the toes of her boots.

  By the time the company had filed past the couple, the crowd had dispersed from the hillside and from the top of the compound’s walls, leaving the two of them alone. Atty glanced down at the arrows and slowly shook her head. “Now what, Yulen?” she asked him, still moved by their tribute, and still filled with the adrenalin that was finally starting to recede from her veins.

  “You were right. But I admit, I was worried.”

  She laughed nervously. “Don’t tell anyone, but so was I.” She bent over and picked up the bundle. Yulen took them from her as she prepared to put them back in the barrel. “I think I’ll keep this bow, if you don’t think the men will mind,” she told him as he dumped the ammunition into the container point-first.

  Taking her hand, he gave her another loving smile and squeezed her fingers gently. “Let’s go see what the main hall is serving for lunch,” he suggested as they began down the slope toward the compound walls. “I believe I owe you some grapes?”

  Atty nodded. Food was definitely the last thing on their minds.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Accusation

  “Sir!”

  Yulen paused as they stepped through the small side door and entered the compound. A soldier hurried up to him and handed him a piece of paper. As the Battle Lord read the note, Atty snuck up behind him and tried to read it over his shoulder. Yulen glanced at her and gave her a smile. “Slight delay,” he told her. “Official business, but nothing serious. Why don’t you go ahead? I won’t be long.”

  “Why don’t I meet you over where the grapes are?” she suggested.

  He nodded. “Five minutes.”

  She smiled and continued down the walkway, her fingers unconsciously trailing across various items as she passed by the stalls. When she neared the small shack of the knife smith, she was surprised to find him standing out in front watching her, as if he’d been waiting for her to come by.

  “Atty? May I call you Atty?”

  Lifting an eyebrow at him, she stopped next to his display of daggers. Her eye immediately went to where she knew the Ballock hung. When she saw the empty space, a sense of regret went through her before she kicked herself mentally.

  “That was a phenomenal throw you showed us earlier,” Cavender complimented her. “But I think the trick you did with three arrows is what’s going to put you in the history books.”

  “Th-thank you,” she told him. “It was really just a trick. Not very wise or usable in real combat.”

  “Nevertheless, I wanted to give you this. You deserve it, and you earned it today.” He held out a leather scabbard to her. Without a doubt Atty knew what it was. Drawing the dagger from its sheath, she couldn’t help but hold her breath as she gazed at the perfection of the gleaming weapon that seemed to fit in her palm as if it had been made to her specifications. The highly polished hilt even felt warm to her touch.

  “Cavender...this is,” she struggled. No one had ever given her such a weapon before, and her mind was blank, searching for the right thing to say to let him know how much she appreciated
it. “Thank you. Thank you so very much. But are you sure you want to part with it?”

  The knife smith shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “In your hands, I know it’ll get the care it needs to give you years of service. Besides, next time you show it off, remember to let everyone know who made it.”

  “You better believe I will,” she murmured, turning the weapon in her palm. She balanced it point down on the tip of her finger, again amazed by its craftsmanship. Sunlight glanced off the blade, blinding her for a second. Atty blinked against the glare. A split second later, she saw the reflection of the object coming at her from behind. Too late to duck, she tried to dive out of its path.

  “Murderer!”

  The scream rang in her ears before the blow impacted with the side of her face. The shockwave of pain knocked her to the ground, leaving Atty dazed and gasping for breath against the piercing agony in her cheek, the same cheek Karv had smashed days before.

  She tried to get to her knees, but the earth wouldn’t stay still beneath her long enough. It kept shifting and throwing her off-balance, making her nauseous. The warm, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Wincing, Atty spit it out and lifted a hand to the blinding red heat that used to be her cheek and jaw.

  From somewhere hands gripped her under her arms and helped her to her feet. Dimly she was aware of Yulen coming to a halt beside her. There was a dark glitter of pure anger in his eyes that frightened her as he turned on the woman standing in the street who still held the heavy oak bucket she’d used to strike Atty.

  Reaching out, Atty snagged the sleeve of his shirt, staying his arm from his weapons belt. “Yulen, no,” she begged softly. Her tongue felt the looseness of one tooth in her upper jaw. She spit out another gout of blood.

  “Murderer!” the woman cried again. Tears glistened on her face; her whole body trembled with rage. And fear. She’d done the unthinkable, and now she knew, as everyone knew, she would have to pay the price. But she no longer cared. “You killed my husband!” she hissed at the Mutah woman, under the Battle Lord’s black glare.