Chapter Twenty-Two #3
Excitement, today, that she intended to be part of.
Unaware that his audience in the manse was coming to take a closer look, Bric was standing by the targets he’d helped build, noting that he, Dashiell, and Sean had hit their targets while Bentley had been slightly off.
While Bentley was out of the competition at that point, humiliated in a good-natured sort of way, Bric, Dashiell, and Sean began arguing over who had come closest to the very center of the target.
It was Sean who had started the argument because, in truth, it was a ploy to distract Bric.
As the men argued and pointed, Bentley went to collect the broadsword that they’d been carrying around for four days, attacking Bric with it intermittently, and watching the man’s reaction to the surprise attacks.
After the first attack, when Bric had become so angry and then had broken down and wept, the High Warrior’s reactions were quickly improving.
Sometimes it was Bentley doing the charge, sometimes it was Dashiell, and once it was Sean, an attack that had turned into a fist fight when Bric disarmed Sean and had furiously thrown a punch.
But there had been no animosity, even when Sean ended up with a bloodied nose. They’d all laughed in the end, and hugged one another, and everything had been fine between them. It was all part of the healing process for a man who had done much healing as of late.
But he had also become wise to their tricks, very quickly.
Therefore, when Bentley came up behind Bric with a broadsword leveled at him, Bric was ready.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, ripped the arrow from its target, and then moved swiftly away from Bentley’s sword to come up beside the man, grab his hair, and hold the arrowhead at his throat.
Instantly compromised, Bentley dropped the sword, but Bric held the sharp arrowhead at his throat a few seconds longer before breaking down into laughter and releasing the man. Rubbing his scalp where Bric had grabbed his hair, Bentley held up a hand.
“I am not doing this again,” he said. “The last three times, I’ve had my hair grabbed or my knees kicked out. I refuse to be pummeled any longer.”
As he turned to pick up the sword that had been dropped, Dashiell snorted. “That is the only reason we brought you along,” he said. “It certainly was not because you could hit a target with an arrow.”
Bentley scowled. “I can still hit your eye with my fist.”
Dashiell shrugged. “And it is your right to do so, Savernake.”
It was Dashiell acknowledging the hierarchy that hadn’t existed until last year between them.
Before that, Bentley had been his subordinate, but marrying the heiress to the Savernake dukedom had changed the dynamics somewhat.
Still, they were great friends, and Dashiell showed Bentley all of the respect he’d ever shown the former duke.
That was never in question. But the knightly camaraderie hadn’t changed between them.
Bentley chuckled at Dashiell to let him know there wasn’t, and never would be, any animosity.
Taking the sword in-hand, he headed over to the stone bench to set it down as Royce, excited more than his little mind could adequately handle, came rushing up to the knights as they began to pull their arrows out of the hay targets.
“I saw you, my lord!” he said as he jumped up and down. “You shot the arrows!”
Bric looked over at the child; Royce had been something of their shadow for the past few days, but he’d stayed well out of sight most of the time. Today was the first day he’d actually come into the area where they were, into the garden this time, and Bric frowned at the boy.
“Aye, I shot the arrow,” he said. “What are you doing in the garden? Your mother will be cross with you.”
Royce’s features flickered with concern, meaning he knew very well that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but his excitement had overruled his fear of punishment.
“But I want to fight,” he said. “You said I could be a soldier. Can I shoot the arrow, too?”
Bric had to admit that the bold little servant boy was growing on him. “Mayhap later,” he said. “We are busy at the moment, but mayhap when we are finished. Until then, you can do a job for us.”
Royce began jumping up and down again. “I will do it! I will do it!”
“You do not even know what it is yet.”
Royce stopped jumping and just grinned, a gap-toothed smile that had Bric chuckling at the lad. The child certainly was enthusiastic, for anything at all when it came to the knights and combat.
“When we are finished shooting the arrows, it will be your job to carefully remove them and bring them back to me,” Bric said. “Do not break them. Can you do that?”
Royce nodded eagerly and ran straight to the targets as if to stand there and wait for the arrows to come. But Bric waved a big arm at him.
“If you stand there, you are going to be hit with the arrows,” he said. Then he pointed to the southern wall. “Go and stand there. Do not move until I tell you to.”
Wildly, with arms and legs flying, Royce raced over to the wall and stood there, but he was not still. He was bouncing around with excitement, and Bric had to shake his head with humor. He’d never thought about children as being adorable before, but if he did, the boy was all that.
“Who is that?” Sean asked.
Bric glanced at him to see that his focus was on Royce. “That is a servant boy who very badly wants to fight for de Winter,” he said. “His name is Royce and he will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Sean, having twin daughters who were slightly younger than Royce, seemed to have some patience for the child.
He didn’t order him away or snap; he simply shrugged and turned back to his work.
The knights finished gathering their arrows and returned to the spot where they’d been firing at their targets.
Resuming their positions and taking aim, another volley of arrows flew to their marks.
In truth, it was an exercise that was helping Bric a great deal.
Fire, collect arrows. Fire, collect arrows.
It was repetition in the strictest sense of the word.
They’d been doing it most of the morning because, yesterday, Bric had spoken of the arrow that had wounded him and it was Sean and Dashiell’s impression that arrows in general were making Bric nervous these days.
This morning when the men had come out to continue their work, Bric had seen the hay bunches set up with targets, and they’d been firing arrows at them since early morning.
The first two volleys had been difficult for Bric.
His palms had sweated, and his heart had pounded, but as the day continued and they fired off round after round, the sweaty palms eventually faded, and his heart rate had returned to normal.
The repetition of it had calmed him down and the competition of it turned the act of a firing arrow into something that wasn’t so terrifying.
Certainly, arrows were still deadly, but the more he used the bow and arrow, the more he began to put the weapon into perspective.
An arrow had nearly killed him, but he wasn’t going to let that disturb him any longer.
He was slowly regaining control.
After firing off their last arrows, Bric whistled between his teeth, loudly, to get Royce’s attention.
When the boy looked at him, he motioned to the targets, and the child raced over and began yanking out the arrows, or at least the ones he could reach.
Bric turned away from the boy to examine his longbow, which was starting to splinter.
This was a longbow that was kept in the small armory at the manse for protection, and he inspected the split closely as Dashiell came up next to him.
“What is the trouble?” Dashiell asked.
Bric sighed, with some frustration. “These longbows have been in the armory for quite some time and it is clear that no one has maintained them. This one is starting to split under the stress. You had better check the other longbows as well.”
Dashiell did just that. He and Bentley began pouring over the bows while Sean headed out to the targets to help Royce collect the arrows that were taller than his reach.
The boy had already toppled one hay bundle trying to reach the arrows at the top, so Sean went out to assist him.
The young servant boy was thrilled to see yet another knight and even at a distance, Bric could hear the boy telling Sean how much he wanted to fight.
It made him smile, something Dashiell noticed.
“Why are you grinning, Bric?” Dashiell asked. “What is so funny about a splintered longbow?”
Bric shook his head, looking to the west side of the garden where Royce was evidently showing Sean his moves with a stick he’d picked up off the ground, the same moves he’d tried to show Bric the first day they’d met.
“I am not smiling at a broken longbow,” he said. “I can hear the servant boy from here. He was very excited to see me on my first day here, also, and told me how he wanted to be a knight. I wonder if my own son shall be so eager to follow in my footsteps.”
Dashiell’s gaze moved to the far end of the garden where Sean pretended to seriously watch Royce as the child demonstrated his skill.
“Your son will have the greatest teacher in all of England in his father,” he said. “In fact, I will send my own son to you for training.”
Bric looked at him, a somewhat surprised expression on his face. “You would…?” He stopped, swallowed, and then started again. “Even after all of this, you would still send your son to me for training?”