Page 26 of To Honor

“It’s Ee-gis,” Gareth added. “Not Ay-gis.”

“I do believe he’s right,” Roland said.

“Nay, ’tis not how Sir Adrian said the name. I am sure of it.”

“And I am sure our newcomer’s aim is better than yours,” Gareth said as the knight stood beside their instructor.

“This,” Sir Adrian said, moving forward, “is the farthest any man has aimed and hit the target.”

“Any man?” Roland mumbled. “Or Adrian himself?”

No one responded as the newcomer prepared his bow. If he indeed hit the target from such a distance, the man could claim an expertise that was unmatched.

She would love to witness this.

The thought, unbidden, was one of many that had interrupted his training. His sleep. How it was possible to miss her these past two days when they barely knew each other, Gareth could not understand. Having noticed his altered mood, both Alden and Roland jested endlessly about his lack of concentration.

No matter. Even now she could be betrothed and there was naught Gareth could do to prevent it. He told himself he simply needed to know, but the truth went much deeper. He wanted more than knowledge.

He wanted Evie to be his.

Gareth had never met a woman quite like her before. Intelligent and empathetic, she knew more history than anyone he’d ever met and enjoyed discussing it, as did he. Gareth also enjoyed looking at her and imagined many times leaning toward her, pressing his lips to hers. Offering Evie her first kiss. Showing her how much he desired her.

How it could be between a man and a woman.

A cheer went up around him just as Roland’s hand slapped his back. “You missed the shot.”

Gareth looked toward the target. Not only had the archer hit it, but he’d somehow managed to land his arrow in the very center.

“Impossible.”

“If you’d seen the shot,” Alden said, “you’d know ’twasn’t impossible at all. But it does seem unlikely. Not even Stirling could make so accurate a shot from that distance.”

Gareth agreed. “How?” he asked as the archer was surrounded by some of the other men. It seemed they wondered the same.

“The same way you’ve not lost a match,” Roland said, though he knew that was not quite true. “Or I, a swordfight. Or how Alden has likely never found himself at a disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat. We’ve each our talents, and it seems our newcomer is the Guardians’ prized archer.”

“These men,” Lord Stirling said, ending their conversation and escorting the newcomer toward them, “are also new recruits. I would introduce you to Sir Gareth Claymore, Sir Roland de Vere and Alden of Dunridge. Men, this is Sir Darien Ellsworth—”

“Of Crimson Hollow,” Roland finished. “Of course.”

The name meant nothing to Gareth, but clearly it did to Roland.

“They say you emerged victorious from a battle with a mystical beast.”

“They also say,” Sir Darien replied, “the Lion of Ravensbrook’s son is an even more skilled swordsman than his father.”

“The tales are true.” Roland smiled as the others laughed.

“Offer him a welcome as I see to the others,” Stirling said, walking away from their circle.

“How did each of you find yourselves here?” Sir Darien asked.

One by one, they relayed their tales, Gareth explaining what Lord Stirling and Sir Eamon had done at Henham Moor. Though his was the most dramatic of all the stories, each had found themselves in some way revealing themselves to the instructors, who it seemed were as skilled at finding new recruits as they were in their respective knightly talents.

“Tell us of this mystical beast,” Gareth said, intrigued.

Did he imagine a shadow crossing Sir Darien’s features? Though the knight laughed off the comment, something about his expression gave Gareth pause. Surely, he did not battle a mystical beast, but there was something odd about the exchange.