The Last Arrow RH3 Read Online Free Page A

cheek, took a split second to aim, then snapped her fingers away from the string and sped the shaft clean and true to the target.
    Habit sent her fingers to her quiver for another arrow, but she knew she did not need it. She knew from the yelp of surprise and the stunned look on William FitzAthelstan's handsome face as the bolt streaked past his nose, close enough for a lick of hot air to tickle his skin. The resounding f-f'bungg left the arrow buried nearly six inches in the wood and the shaft humming with lingering, resonant vibrations.
    "Christ Jesus God, and all the Saints!" He whirled in time to see Brenna give a small whoop of victory as she held up their scores on her fingers—two clean wins for her, only one for him.
    "You could have cut off my nose!" he shouted.
    "You should be more careful where you put it," she countered, wading through the ferns toward him. The smile was wide and fixed on her face. It was the first time she had outfoxed him two straight strikes in a row.
    His complexion stayed as red as his hair for the full minute it took for her to weave her way through the saplings to join him. The dark copper brows remained crushed together in a frown, the normally placid set to his mouth was distorted by a scowl.
    "Cheer up, Will'um," she said over a laugh. "We all have our bad days."
    He bent his head forward by a breath and tapped his forehead lightly on the shaft of the arrow. "Good shot, Bren. A damned good shot. All of them today have been damned good."

    "I know." She slung her bow over her shoulder and laughed again—it was difficult not to, seeing the abject look on Will's face. "And you, Sir Archer, are a far better sport than I would have been were our positions reversed. Ooooh
    ..." She reached out a slender finger and touched the end of his nose. "Is that a feather burn I see?"
    "You could have put out my eye if you had missed," he said sourly.
    "How could I miss such a fine, bold target?"
    "It has been known to happen."
    "Not since I grew breasts and improved my balance."
    He looked up from under his brows and could not help responding to her teasing smile. A moment later, he sighed and shouldered his bow. "I suppose we should start back. Dag and Richard likely gave the game up long ago, but Robin seemed in a particularly stubborn mood this day. Do you recall where we lost him?"
    Brenna shook her head as she glanced back at the deepening shadows. It was true her brothers Richard and Dagobert would have long ago lost interest in chasing elusive targets through the woods. No doubt they were back at the chateau quaffing mead and bickering over comely milk maids. Robin, on the other hand, could be anywhere. He had also tallied two hits this day, but not solely due to his own skill. He was a keen enough archer to be sure, but both Will and Brenna tended to cheat a little in his favor if he had gone too long without a win. He was far more comfortable on the back of his enormous warhorse, Sir Tristan, leading a company of knights into battle. Only this past July he had, with his brothers and the men of Amboise, joined forces with Philip of France to offer the mercenary army of King John a crushing defeat at Roche-au-Moine.
    "Dearest Robin. On a battlefield or in a jousting run, he is undefeatable. Put him in lincoln green and fit a bow to his hand and ... well..."
    "Some men are suited to wear shining armor and do battle with demons and dragons. Others possess more human qualities, like a tendency to bleed, quake at the heels, and recognize their own limitations."
    "Then as long as he has you at his back, he has no need to fear such mortal failings," Brenna added with an affectionate smile.
    Will's face mirrored her wry expression, but she knew he was thinking the same thing. He had been squire to her father, Lord Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer, since the age of ten, but it was Robin with whom he had developed a close, fast friendship. At four and twenty, Robin was six years his senior, yet there were