The archery contest should have started by now; however, the participants, many eager to try their luck, had yet to agree on the precise structure of the contest. She and Michael were both appealed to, but were too experienced to get drawn in; laughing, they disclaimed all knowledge and, after a shared glance, beat a hasty retreat.
“Enough!” Taking her hand, Michael led her back into the crowd. They circled the central ring of stalls, passing three more, stopping to talk to the helpers who’d relieved those who had manned the same stalls earlier.
The crowd was dense, the sun high. Waving a hand before her face, regretting her lack of a fan, Caro tugged on Michael’s arm. “Let’s step to the side for a moment—catch our breath.”
Instantly, he led her free of the bustle. A tall birch with a smooth trunk stood just within the clearing; reaching it, she turned and leaned against it, half closing her eyes, lifting her face to the sky. “It’s really the perfect day for the fete, isn’t it?”
Michael stood between her and the crowd; he let his gaze dwell on her face, on the light flush the sun’s warmth and their peripatetic exertions had brought to her fair skin. When he didn’t immediately respond, she lowered her gaze and looked at him. Slowly, he smiled. “That’s precisely what I was thinking.”
Smile deepening, he reached for her hand. “Indeed.” He drew her from the tree, almost into his arms as
he leaned close to murmur, “As I was about to say—”
Whizz-thunk!
Startled, they looked up. Froze. Stared at the arrow quivering in the tree trunk precisely where Caro had been an instant before.
Michael closed his hand hard about hers. He looked down at her. Slowly, she brought her gaze back to his face. For one instant, her screens were down. Shock, bewilderment, and the first stirrings of fear were all there in her silver eyes. The fingers locked in his quivered.
He swore, drew her closer, into the protection of his body. One glance around showed that with all the noise and bustle, no one else had heard, much less seen, what had happened.
He glanced down at her. “Come on.”
Keeping her close, he drew her back into the safety of the crowd, her hand still locked in his as they tried to disguise their shock. Caro put a hand on his arm, slowed him. He looked down. She was shaken, pale, but in control.
“It must have been an accident.”
His jaw clenched so hard he thought it might crack. “We’ll see.”
He halted as the crowds parted and they got a clear view of the archery butts, now properly set up and with the contest in full swing. Laughing, Ferdinand laid down a bow. He appeared to be in high good humor, exchanging comments with two locals.
Caro grabbed his arm. “Don’t make a fuss.”
He looked down at her, grimaced. “I wasn’t intending to.” His protective instincts might have leapt at the sight of Ferdinand, bow in hand, but his wits were still functioning; he knew the two men running the contest—neither was so witless as to allow anyone to point an arrow toward the crowd.
And, as he’d assumed but had wanted to confirm, the butts all the contestants were aiming at had been positioned along the edge of the forest. There was absolutely no chance that even a stray arrow could have struck where he and Caro had been, all but in the opposite direction.
In addition to that, the arrow they’d left sunk in the tree trunk had been fletched with dark-striped feathers. All those for the contest carried plain white ones. He scanned the quivers standing filled and ready; not one arrow sported even a single stripe.
“Come on.” He urged Caro back into the crowd.
She drew a tight breath and stayed close. After a few steps, she said, “So you agree. It must have been an accident.”
From her tone, she was trying to convince herself.
“No.” She glanced up; he caught her eye. “It was no accident—but I agree there’s no point in making a fuss. Whoever fired that arrow wasn’t in the crowd. He was in the forest, and he be long gone by now.”
Caro’s chest felt tight, her heart thudding in her throat as they pushed on through the crowd. But more people had arrived; they had to stop and talk as before. Both she and Michael slipped on their polished masks—no one seemed to guess that behind those masks, they were shocked and upset. However, the more they talked, the more they were forced to respond in a normal fashion to those about them, to discuss the gentle vicissitudes of country life, the further the incident, and the sudden fright it had caused, receded.
Eventually, she realized it really had to have been an accident—perhaps some boys larking about in the forest edge, as boys were wont to do, with no idea they’d shot at anyone. It was inconceivable—there was simply no reason—that anyone would want to harm her.
Certainly not Ferdinand. Even Michael seemed to have accepted that.
Only when they reached the far side of the clearing and Michael continued on did she realize she hadn’t, indeed, any idea what he was thinking.
“Where are we going?” Her hand still locked in his, he was heading for the clearing where the carriages and horses had been left.
He glanced at her. “You’ll see.”