After the Storm (7 page)

Everybody in the castle was aware of the attraction. Hell, everybody within a ten-mile radius was probably aware of the attraction between those two. The air temperature went up several degrees when they so much as glanced at each other, but it really wasn't doing any harm. Libby would never see the man after today.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"Let the girl have her holiday," Reynard urged, as though he'd read Marj's thoughts. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "And remember that today is May Day yourself, my lady."

Marj handed the sheriff her bow to string. "Very well, if it's a holiday, let's get on with the contest."

"Are you any good with a bow?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, I'm not," he admitted. "In fact, I expect the womenfolk are about to make fools of us men. Not that we don't need to be made fools of every now and then."

He gave her one of his deep-dimpled smiles. "Perhaps I should name you my champion and you can wear my colors into battle."

Oh, to hell with Libby, Marj thought as she responded to the sheriff's charm.

"Maybe I should."

She wanted to say to hell with the rules as well, but she remembered herself and instead moved away from Reynard of Elansted to take her place among the women. Lady Sibelle had taken her turn, hitting inside the target circle, but not by much. Bastien of Bale lifted his bow to shoot. Marj didn't watch him, she watched Libby watching him. Libby's concentration on Bastien was complete.

Looking around at the crowd, Marj decided that Libby's attitude was not very different from that of anyone else at Passfair, though perhaps her flushed cheeks and bright eyes spoke of a bit more personal interest. Still, everyone was watching Bastien with silent intensity while Bastien paid attention to the task at hand. He moved with deliberate grace. The flawless play of muscle and flesh as he drew the bowstring slowly taut was sheer physical poetry. His expression was still, stone-carved, pure concentration.

"I think your lady is much taken with yon archer."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Marj discovered she'd been holding her breath. She gasped when Lady Sibelle whispered in her ear. She missed seeing Bastien release the bowstring as she looked at the woman who'd spoken. As the crowd roared she glanced back quickly to see that Bastien's arrow had buried itself just inside the green inner circle painted on the target.

"He's good," she said, and ignored Sibelle's comment about Libby's interest in the man.

The Lady of Passfair tucked her hands inside her sleeves. "I would be taken with Bastien of Bale myself," she said, "if I were young and ripe for a lover."

Marj looked at Libby as she stepped up to shoot. "She's not ripe for a lover," she told Lady Sibelle.
Not if I have anything to say about it
, she added to herself as Libby gave Bastien a challenging look. He stepped back, looking complacently smug, and leaned casually on his staff when Sir Stephan passed it back to him.

Libby didn't even seem to look at the target as she lifted the bow and shot. After her arrow thwacked dead center in the green circle, Bastien didn't look so smug, but he did answer the impertinent smile she turned on him with one of his own.

The crowd shouted their praise for the lady's skill, while Father John looked appalled. Lady Sibelle chuckled knowingly.

Marj said, "Oh, dear."

Libby wondered why her friend sounded so worried. "Was that too flashy?" she asked Marj as she made way for Father John to take his shot.

She grabbed Marj by the arm and moved back even further as the priest gave her a venomous look before lifting his bow. For a moment she thought he might actually fire the thing at her. He turned his aim on the target, but his hatred was disconcerting. He put his arrow into the target very close to hers.

"Maybe I shouldn't be so conspicuous," she said as she decided that her Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

performance was what the historian was upset about. "I was just trying to show Mr. Bastien of Bale that he's not exactly God's gift to jockdom. He reminds me of my brothers." Actually, he wasn't at all like her brothers. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever known. "He's pretty good, though, isn't he?"

"He's looking at you," Marj said.

"I know." She could
feel
him looking at her, even though she and Marj had moved away from the archery range and there were people between them.

The intensity of the man's gaze followed her, penetrating and compelling. It sent shivers through her, it both warmed and warned her, it made her want to turn back and go to him and turn and run for safety. It made her wonder how long it had been since she'd been with a man, if she'd ever been with a man, and if there was any man quite like Bastien of Bale—in this world or the future one where she belonged. Bastien of Bale made her think of sex, and that was the last thing she needed.

She sighed. "I should not have gotten into this archery contest."

"No," Marj agreed. "What we need to do is get away from Passfair."

"You're right." She sighed. "I thought I could do some good with Matilda, but I haven't thought of a thing to help her. Maybe Matilda's good with a bow," Libby said hopefully. "Maybe she'll win the contest, and Henry will finally think she's wonderful and Lady Sibelle can stop worrying about the two of them ever getting together and then we can leave."

Marj arched one eloquent eyebrow in reply.

"It could happen."

"In your dreams."

"Right." Being taller than most of the crowd, Libby had no trouble watching the girl take her turn from the back. "We'll leave tomorrow," she conceded after Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Matilda completely missed the target.

"Good."

"Reynard's leaving with his prisoners then, anyway," Libby said. He thinks, she added to herself. In her pouch there was a key. Sometime today she was going to get a chance to use it. She had plans for Sir Reynard's prisoners that neither the sheriff nor Marj Jones would approve of. It was interfering, but there was no way she could stand by and let the men be taken to Reculver to be hanged.

"It's Sir Reynard's turn," she observed as she linked arms with Marj and made her friend move back to the front row of watchers. "Then yours." Marj made a face, but Libby wasn't sure if it was because of Sir Reynard or at having to shoot.

Libby did watch Marj watch the sheriff. The historian's look was full of guarded pleasure, pride, and interest as Reynard drew and fired. He just barely missed the green inner circle.

As for herself, Libby firmly kept her attention away from Bastien even though she knew he was only a few feet away. She wondered what it was about these thirteenth-century men that two women of the twenty-first century found so fascinating. They were a pair of barbarians, brimming with testosterone and misogynist notions despite their tiny butts and killer pectorals. Maybe it's the costumes, she thought, maybe the clothes made everyone seem more romantic and desirable. It was like living at a full-time Renaissance fair. This was the sort of thing Elliot Hemmons wanted to provide to a future time, a flesh-and-blood entertainment reality to rent out to those bored with the virtual kind. He had no idea how dangerous these men really were. Libby knew she should be embarrassed that she was uncivilized enough to equate dangerous with sensuous when the words really didn't have anything in common, though her body told her otherwise.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Marj took her shot, also just barely missing the green. When Marj was done and the polite applause had died down. Sir Stephan stepped forward. He lifted a small embroidered pouch for everyone to see. "A dozen silver coins for the winner," he announced. He turned in a slow circle, jingling the coins as he did so. With his other hand he pointed at the archers. "Who shall receive the prize?"

Libby blushed as the spectators began to chant, "Isabeau! Isabeau!"

"Isabeau is Queen of the May," someone called out.

"Ooh, ouch," she muttered. She didn't mind taking the archery prize but she preferred another candidate for the beauty pageant. "Matilda is youngest and fairest in the land!" she called out. "I'll take the coins. Give Matilda the crown!"

She grabbed the girl by the hand and pulled her forward. "Here is the May Queen, good people!"

"Isabeau!" was the loud reply from almost
every
voice.

This was not what she'd intended. Winning the archery contest had been fun, it had been something between her and Bastien of Bale, even if there had been fifty or sixty other people watching. Unfortunately the fifty or sixty other people hadn't known she hadn't been paying any attention to them. They'd been paying attention to her. Now her plans for Matilda were screwed up because she'd forgotten about the audience.

"This world's too damned interactive," she muttered.

When someone else called out "Bastien of Bale is the Hooded Man!" Libby glared at Bastien as though it were his fault he was being declared the most virile male in the vicinity. Much to her annoyance people began to call out "Isabeau and Bastien!"

When Bastien stepped up to her he wasn't carrying his staff. "Lady," he said, gently easing her grip from Matilda's arm, "I think we should accept this honor."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

As Matilda fled, Bastien's arm went around Libby's waist.

"Well, I don't—"

Her words sputtered to a stop as a knife appeared in his other hand. The knife rested at the base of her throat a moment later. She stared cross-eyed down at the weapon, and forgot to breathe.

"I'll take the lady's prize for myself," Bastien said as Sir Stephan hurried toward them. "And the lady's life as well," he added, "if I don't get what I came for right now."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Chapter 4

Bastien answered the look
of disbelief on Sir Stephan's face by pressing the tip of his dagger a bit deeper in Lady Isabeau's throat. Oh, not so deep as to break her fine, soft skin, but the action held enough menace to warn off the knight. Sir Stephan was a man who believed in some chivalrous ideal, while Bastien took a more realistic view of the treatment of noblewomen. He knew they didn't belong on pedestals. He also knew he wanted nothing to do with their kind, but that a few more minutes of having warm and shapely Isabeau of Lilydrake close in his arms would serve his purpose very well.

"What do you want?" Sir Stephan asked while the crowd gaped and murmured in consternation.

"My men," Bastien answered.

"Your men?"

"The men you're holding in your dungeon."

"The outlaws?" Isabeau asked. Despite fear, there was also curiosity in her voice.

"You came for the outlaws? You're an outlaw?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating."

He tightened his grip and began to walk backward toward the keep, using her as both shield and hostage. "Don't faint," he warned as the crowd began to follow Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

them.

"Or you'll be in big trouble," she responded.

"Yes," he agreed. "But remember that no matter what happens, you'll die before I will."

"Am I supposed to find that knowledge comforting?"