Dawn was just breaking as Orin and Mara set off for the Faire. The scent of fresh cut hay sprinkled with evening’s dew rose up from the ground, filling Mara’s nostrils. She breathed in deeply and clung to her uncle’s warm body. Laying her cheek against his back in an attempt at making herself comfortable, they rode together atop the great black mare. Not fully awake, Mara was content to ride in silence. There would be plenty of time for talk once they arrived in the village. Dreams were beckoning her to return to them and she did not resist.

“Mara, wake up. We’re nearly there, lass.” Orin’s deep voice seeped into her sleepy head. Shaking her head to throw off the last remnants of sleep, Mara peeked around her uncle’s back to discover that the village was already teaming with people. “Oh Uncle, I hope we haven’t missed anything! Look, there are so many already here.” Orin’s hearty laugh filled the morning air, “Nay Mara, we won’t have missed much. It is still early. Look, some of the tinkers are still putting out their wares.”

While Orin went to stable the mare, Mara timidly walked onto the main street alone. There were flags and ribbons waving in the wind, the faint sound of lutes and bells infused the air, the smell of cooking food and flowers all assailed Mara at once. She felt almost faint from the intensity of it all. Excitement stirred up little butterflies in her stomach. A flush of anticipation colored her cheeks, and Mara’s face broke out into a wide grin of pleasure. She had waited so long for the Faire and now it was here.

Orin finally caught up with Mara, his massive body easily parting its way through the crowd. “What shall we do first, Mara?” She looked up into her uncle’s sun creased face and tried to think swiftly of which of the many things she wanted to see first. “There is so much I would like to see. I don’t know what to pick as the first!” Just then, they came upon a stall selling ale. A large woman with bright red hair, her bosoms threatening to overflow the tautly stretched bodice of her gown, winked at Orin. Mara instinctively put her arm through Orin’s. She caught her uncle’s wink and reddened with anger. “You deserve a queen, not a lowly strumpet!” Mara thought to herself. Though Mara did not know exactly what a strumpet was, she had overheard her father tell Orin that he was wasting his time chasing after one. Her father had said that Orin could have his pick of number of suitable young women to marry. Thus, Mara concluded that a “strumpet” was not the kind of woman that he should pursue. She tugged at his arm, catching sight of the jugglers who were entertaining a small crowd up ahead. “Oh, look. How easily they catch each pin and then send it back into the air!”

She was merrily dancing along side Orin pointing out the various stalls that were selling either crafts or food when she caught sight of the stall that sold hot chocolate. “May I use a few of my coins for a cup of chocolate, Uncle?” Mara’s hands eagerly grasped the flask tied to her skirt, and she screwed her face up into what she hoped was a sweetly entreating look. “You may use your coins as you please, Mara. And does hot chocolate please my lady?” Mara took a deep breath and gushed, “Oh yes, my lord, it does.” The two broke into laughter and neither one could think of any place that they’d rather be this fine sunny day.

Orin left Mara at the stall, saying that he would meet her shortly at the archery range with her gear. After a considerable time, she finally chose cinnamon over vanilla to add a bit more flavor to her buttery thick treat. Her eyes darted from one side of the street to the other as she contentedly sipped her drink. The colors, the sounds and the scents were so strong that each one tugged at her in a battle to gain her undivided attention in hopes of luring her into parting with more of her hard earned money.

Mara was unaware that some of the froth from the hot chocolate had been captured by her upper lip, giving her an appearance of having a mustache. When she took her place with the other archers, Falon was the first to burst out laughing upon seeing Mara’s chocolate mustache. “Eye lass, this competition is indeed a man’s sport. Did you think to fool us with such a “sweet” mustache?”

Embarrassment threatened her composure, but Mara was proud and quickly pushed aside her feelings of mortification. While she raised the back of her hand to wipe away the foam, Mara leveled a fierce look into Falon’s eyes. “Tis a man’s sport you say? We shall see!” With that said, Mara calmly took the bow and quiver of arrows that Orin handed her. Undoubtedly, Orin had witnessed the exchange. Mara fully expected to see a look of amusement on his face, but when Mara looked up, pride was etched into the face of her uncle. Mara was now even more determined to win this tournament.

It was rumored that a special prize was to be offered the winner of this competition. All of the participants anxiously awaited the commencement of the event, but were even more eager to learn what the trophy would be. A hush played out over the crowd as the judges took their seats in the stands.

Lord Foxley rose to address the crowd and declared loudly to all that this day’s winner would be the beneficiary of a pure-bred chestnut colt. Mara’s heart thundered inside her chest. She had only but dreamed that one day she would have a horse as fine as her uncle’s. Now she had quite a good chance of making that dream come true.

The six archers faced their targets, raised their bows and notched their arrows. An air of deliberate concentration played across each archer’s face and ready posture. At last, the judge called out, “Fire at will!” The crowd had become so silent that the only sound was that of arrows slicing through the air, racing toward their intended targets. Each time a volley was let loose, Mara became the arrow in her mind’s eye and followed its course to the center of the target. After four rounds the call came, “All stop!” As the judge approached and inspected each target, he would give a signal to either leave the line or stay in place. After all six targets were checked, three archers remained. Reluctant to show her pleasure too soon in the tournament, Mara cast an impassive sideways glance and found Falon and another man that she did not know by name giving her a look of begrudging admiration. She, being the only female archer, would have normally been an extraordinary sight in such a tournament. Nevertheless, she had proven her skill in previous matches and there was no longer an objection to her participation.

Four more archers stepped up to take their place in line. “Fire at will!” came the cry to begin. The repetitive sounds of zing, whoosh, thud rang out in each of the four consecutive volleys. “All stop!” Again, the judge made his slow and studied progression down the line of targets. And once more Mara looked to her left to find Falon still standing in place. And so it went throughout the morning. Though her arms ached and her hands were numb, Mara’s resolve never wavered. With a steely determination born from the deep desire to win the grand prize, each of her arrows hit their intended mark.

At last the match was narrowed down to only two archers. Mara turned to face Falon, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “What was it you were saying about this being a man’s sport?” Falon maintained a stony silence, willing himself not to rise to her bait. The call to begin was announced. Two arrows simultaneously flew through the air, but only one arrow clung to a target. Mara’s look of disbelief could not be concealed. Falon turned to Mara, “You have done well this day, but we both know who will win. Would it not be wise if you quit now while you still have time to buy some little trinket with which you could remember this day?” Mara’s eyes blazed and in an even voice she answered, “I will not be leaving this Faire with only a bauble in my pocket, Falon. You can be assured that I am just as determined to win as you are!” She calmly faced the target once more and waited for the command.

The call came and Mara took a deep breath, again becoming the arrow as Orin had taught her to do. Both their arrows hit the target in unison. Deep concentration overtook Mara, blotting out everything save the target and the command. The next volley ended with only one arrow striking the bull’s eye. She was so thoroughly entrenched in her concentration that she did not realize Falon’s arrow had missed its intended mark. Incredibly, the last round repeated itself. Mara stood in a ready stance, unaware that the match was over. The judge announced the winner. Her mind raced trying to make sense of the words, “Did he truly say Mara McVey?” She looked at Falon and was confounded to see the look of dismay on his face. “What? I won? I really won?” His features had not changed from the sullen look of defeat, and it was then that Mara finally realized that she was indeed the victor of the tournament. Joy besieged her, and without a thought she dropped her bow, boldly threw her arms around Falon and kissed him squarely on the mouth. His stunned look brought Mara back to her senses. Blushing yet still smiling broadly, she searched out her uncle from among the crowd that had gathered around her.

Still unsteady from the adrenaline pumping through her body, Mara took Orin’s arm and asked that he accompany her to the place where the colt stood waiting for her to claim it. The ceremony played out as if a dream, all she could see were the large brown eyes of the little horse looking at her as if to say, “So, you are my new master?” Something special passed between the girl and the animal that day that would forge itself into an extraordinary bond between the two.

There were many slaps on the back and hearty congratulations extended throughout the rest of the day. But the conclusion of the Faire was lost in the exhilaration and delight that Mara felt. Had she turned around as she and her uncle made their way home with the colt in toe, she would have seen the boy staring after her. Falon still felt the sting of being bested by a girl; however, he could not deny the respect that he felt stirring in his heart for the lanky, spirited lass. The unexpected kiss only added to the mix of conflicting feelings that ran through his young mind.

Copyright © 2003 Laurie Benedict