The Champion by Carla Capshaw

Author:Carla Capshaw [Capshaw, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4089-5143-9
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Limited
Published: 2011-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

In a short time, the trainees began to arrive in force. The raw recruits quickly swelled from two, to four, to six. Judging by their accents, most of the men were Italians, but one hailed from Gaul, and another from across the Adriatic on the coast of Dalmatia. Near the back stood a ferocious-looking Thracian.

All the men were more than average height, with three or four almost as tall as Alexius. Each of them was huge and swollen with muscle. They were battered and scarred, with the majority bearing bruises, black eyes and at least one bandage.

Alexius leaned on the trunk of an olive tree behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. Her senses heightened by his close proximity, she tried not to be overly sensitive to the silent, but intimidating force of his presence.

Silo called for attention. The chatter quieted. Men who waited beneath the trees, stood, dusted themselves off and moved forward. They formed a tight half circle around her before Silo made introductions.

She smiled and offered a greeting to the wall of indifferent faces. Six pairs of unimpressed dark eyes stared back at her in reply.

Denying her instinct to run and hide in her chamber, she offered a brief history of her archery experience. Still no response. She looked to Silo, “Perhaps we should just begin.”

Silo nodded in agreement. He moved to the stack of bows and called the trainees forward. Based on his height and upper-body strength, each man chose the weapon that best suited him. Tibi explained how to restring the bows and, amid their complaints, made them practice until each man mastered the process.

To her relief, Alexius disappeared after the midday meal. Everyone seemed more at ease. While the men waited, they made friendly wagers and created challenges to test each other’s strength.

The sun was high overhead, transforming what had been a cold, gray morning into a warm, spring day. She removed Alexius’s cloak and hung the garment with care from a branch of one of the olive trees.

Her bare arms drew a round of whistles and hoots from the trainees. Thankful for the dark, shapeless tunic that covered her from throat to ankles, she colored, but ignored their teasing.

Secretly pleased that the group seemed more inclined to accept her, she called the men to order. She held up an arrow and proceeded with the second half of the day’s lesson. “Using a well-made projectile is essential to hitting your target.”

“Are we going to make one of those as well?” the Thracian interrupted from his place in the back.

“Of course. How will we proceed to shooting without arrows?” she replied over the round of sarcastic comments that followed his jest. “First, you’ll have to gather the sticks. However, you may want to consider using limbs from the surrounding olive trees. Once you peel away the bark, the fresh wood is easier to manipulate into a straighter missile during the drying stage.”

Disbelieving grumbles skittered through the troupe.

“Of course, that is the easiest part,” she continued, without skipping a beat.

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