Page 15 of King’s Knight

A knot formed in Alex’s throat and the crowd held its breath as Merewyn raised her bow, nocked an arrow and, crossing before the targets, let the arrow fly. With a resounding “thump” the arrow hit the first target dead center.

Shouts of loud acclamation rose from the crowd as Merewyn slowed, patted the pony’s neck and began to circle again.

“I have never seen the like,” said Alex.

“Nor I,” said Father Bernard.

“She is not done yet,” said his lady mother, her voice filled with pride.

The crowd quieted as Merewyn again raced the pony in front of the targets, twisting lithely in the saddle to loose one arrow, then another. Two arrows smacked into the two targets in rapid succession.

The crowd erupted in shouts of praise.

Alex shook his head, amazed at the skill of this sprite of a woman who moved like the wind and contorted her body to wield her bow with deadly accuracy from the back of a galloping horse. Observing the way her slim thighs had gripped the pony’s flanks, in his mind he saw those same thighs wrapped around his body. Silently, he cursed himself for having such thoughts, especially in the presence of Talisand’s priest.

“William’s archers do not shoot from horses,” he said to his mother.

She returned him one of her knowing smiles that told him she was about to teach him a lesson. “Your father told me the Conqueror could draw a bow that no one else could wield while spurring his steed onward. The bow Rhodri designed for Merewyn may be smaller, but your father’s archers are still in awe of her.”

Remembering his king’s fondness for young men, Alex said, “ ’Tis best William Rufus not see her in the bowman’s garb.”

Father Bernard stifled a cough.

His mother shot him a puzzling look.

Unwilling to explain in a place where people could overhear, he turned his eyes back to Merewyn. She handed her bow to the waiting attendant and swung down from her saddle to stroke her pony’s neck.

“The mare was a gift from Rhodri,” his mother said. “Merewyn trained her in Wales and gave her the Welsh name Ceinder. The two have a strong attachment to each other, as you can see.” With a wistful sigh, she added, “I am so proud of Merewyn.”

“You have reason to be,” said Father Bernard. “The girl has overcome much to become the young woman she is today.” With those words, he wished them well and strolled away.

Alex considered the words of his mother and those of the good father. No other woman he knew, save his mother, had both ethereal beauty and a warrior’s spirit. Watching his mother walk to join Merewyn where she was accepting the congratulations of the other archers, he considered the two women were much alike. Both were intelligent, strong and well able to defend themselves.

* * *

Merewyn walked beside Lady Serena as they made their way to the tent where ale was being served. Cecily ran up to her. “You were wonderful! I want to be just like you when I grow up!” the small redhead proclaimed breathlessly.

Her curly-haired companions, Tibby and Ancel, caught up with her, nodding their agreement. Ancel was the youngest of the three at only eight summers, but no less enthusiastic.

Cecily gazed up at Lady Serena, the child’s red hair falling about her small shoulders. “Will you teach me, too?” she pleaded.

Lady Serena paused. “Heaven help me if you ever take up the bow, Cecily. Your mother would never forgive me.”

“I did not begin so young,” Merewyn said to the girl. “You have many years to learn.”

The boys shrugged, but Cecily’s lips formed a pout. Merewyn knew the girl would not let Lady Serena’s words get in her way should she want to learn. In Cecily, Merewyn recognized a spirit like her own.

As they neared the tent, the smell of fresh-baked tarts wafted through the air. “Tarts!” shouted Tibby. With that, the three children scampered off in search of their favorite treat. Merewyn watched them for a moment, wistful at the idea of children of her own. ’Twas a dream she did not expect to see realized.

“Little Cecily is correct,” said Lady Serena. “You did well today.”

Merewyn was not unhappy with her performance but she wanted to do better next time. “Thank you, my lady. Mayhap next time I can add another arrow. What do you think?”

“You could do it, I’ve no doubt. Did Rhodri teach you the feat?”

“Nay, Rhodri’s archers fight from the trees, not from a galloping horse. ’Twas another.” Lady Serena looked at her expectantly. “Owain, a prince of Powys and a good friend.”

They entered the tent and accepted cups of ale, then took them outside to stand under the trees where there was shade and privacy.