A Knight for Love

by A. M. Westerling

  “We had no choice but to continue on foot. Soon Simon, overwhelmed with our plight, disappeared. We suspected he joined a monastery out of despair.” Now the voice became sad and the gaunt shoulders sagged as if carrying a weighty burden.

  “But David and I kept on, for what else could we do? We had nothing, only the clothing on our backs. We begged for food where we could and slept by the side of the road. We didn’t even begin to consider how we would find the coinage to buy our way back across the Channel but placed our faith in the Almighty that He would help us. And seemingly, He did, for David encountered a small group of tradesmen willing to take us along as far as Calais and for a time we traveled in safety. But pestilence struck and took first one, then another, then finally David. So great was their dread that I was not even able to see David buried in consecrated ground. Instead, he lies unknown in an unknown land.” Alan paused in his narrative for a moment to again wipe his nose, this time in the elbow of his sleeve. “Fearing that I was also diseased, no sooner had we buried him than I was left behind and the others fled. That is where you found me.”

  By the Virgin Mary, Warin thought sourly, what wretchedness befell him now to have offered aid to someone carrying pestilence. However, he didn’t voice his apprehension, saying only, “You’re safe with me.” He frantically wracked his brains, trying to recall if the lad had evidenced any sign of disease.

  “More than once I’ve rued the day I ever thought to join David.”

  The embittered voice interrupted Warin’s attempts at recollection and piqued his interest. “Oh, how is that?”

  “I’m not entirely truthful on how the story unfolded. It wasn’t the intent of my father that I was to accompany them, but rather I was to remain back in the keep. Instead I followed them and begged them to let me go with them.” He rubbed his eyes before continuing, the voice now almost rasped to nothing. “It wasn’t a pleasant journey for me. One in our group was not in agreement with me being there and did his utmost to discredit me at every turn.”

  Warin could feel the deep inhalation as if his companion prepared himself to say more. However, no words came forth.

  He considered what he had just been told. He could picture it well, a small group, full of hopes soon dashed, and one that must take the blame. He didn’t envy the situation, for it wouldn’t have been easy travelling for the lad.

  In truth, Alan’s tale wasn’t that unusual. Treachery and danger occupied the long road to the Holy Land. Many groups had faltered on the way, or even if they reached their destination, would fall to the dangers of active warfare or the parching climate.

  Only one thing disturbed him greatly and it had nothing to do with the lad’s story – it was the stirring in his loins.

  God’s blood, he had tarried too long without feminine companionship if the contact with the bedraggled young lad riding before him affected him. He knew of men with few scruples who were taken with young boys but he wasn’t one of those. The sensation troubled him.

  “I only wish to return home, to England.” The thin rasping voice disturbed his thoughts, faintly pleading, pathetic in tone.

  “England isn’t my destination. But you may travel with me for a day or two.”

  “I thank you for your aid.” The voice grew a little stronger; the lad sat a little straighter.

  “Alan, home is where you lay your head,” Warin replied briskly. “With your sword and shield by your side.” Whatever words he could offer wouldn’t lessen the pain of his young passenger but the lad must learn self-reliance to mature and reach manhood.

  Alan shook his head. “Home is where you lay your heart.”

  Warin snorted. Lay your heart? What boy would say such a thing?

  He surveyed the sodden cap in front of him, just below his chin. Never mind the lad’s odd comment. What in god’s blood should he do with him?

  Chapter Two

  They prepared to spend the night beneath the shelter of a fir, fringed and wispy with the new growth of spring. The tree reminded Alyna of the evergreens surrounding Caperun Keep which brought forth a surge of homesickness. She pushed it away and concentrated on the present. Fortune had swung her way. She had a companion, one who had rescued her and homesickness served no purpose.

  Fallen needles padded the ground and they had to contort themselves to avoid the drips falling through the thick boughs. Warin, mouth twisted in exasperation, finally managed to maneuver himself such that he leaned against the trunk, body one way and legs sprawled in another.

  Once settled, he gestured to Alyna, pointing beside him to the ground on his right. “It should be sheltered there.”

  “Thank you.” Alyna lowered herself, carefully avoiding any contact with him. She sat there stiffly, peeping at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge how close he was. When he moved to remove his helmet, she could no longer contain her curiosity and swiveled her head to stare unabashedly.

  “Is there aught amiss?” He scowled at her, clearly uncomfortable with her frank perusal.

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “Nay.”

  And pointedly turned her head away. Yet, she kept her eyes skewed so she could peer at him sideways from beneath her eyelashes as he pulled off the helmet to place it beside him. He raked his fingers through his long coal black hair, massaging his scalp with obvious great relief.

  His nearness caused the heat to rise in her cheeks and she knew she blushed. She tore her gaze away, pretending great interest in the prickly cones littering the ground around her. Then she lifted her gaze beyond the shelter of the overhanging branches to watch Citadel, hobbled and grazing a short distance away. Her feeble attempts at diverting her attention away from the man at her side came to naught.

  She swung her eyes around again. Her knight protector ignored her as he rummaged through a sack he had procured from the saddle bags.

  He was dark of skin, whether naturally or because of the sun, or even because of the shadows beneath the tree, she couldn’t tell. The beginnings of a charcoal beard sprinkled the resolute jaw. Beneath the high planes of his cheekbones, his hollowed cheeks gave him the look of one who hadn’t eaten a decent meal in quite some time.

  He must have felt her gaze for he turned to her. His icy blue eyes regarded her mildly and the streaks of navy blue and gold radiating from his pupils bemused her by their resemblance to the sun’s rays on a misty morning.

  Her gaze wandered over his broad forehead and she spotted a thin, white scar that started in the hairline just over his left temple and curved its way around to end just in front of his left ear. It had been stitched with much precision so as not to leave too much puckering or buildup of tissue. Someone at one time had cared very well for the man.

  Seeing her glance, he shrugged and said, “An errant blow,” giving no other explanation, nothing, leaving her to wonder whether it had happened on the battle field or on the jousting field.

  Aye, he was sore handsome, she concluded, but in an exotic way that made him seem foreign and mysterious.

  Warin handed her a piece of dried eel and ripped off a chunk of flat bread from the loaf in his sack. She ate with relish, alternating bites of the salty, greasy fish with the bread. By the time she had finished, Warin had pulled out a wrinkled apple, which he cut in two before handing her half.

  Nervousness made her clumsy and she dropped her piece as he passed it to her. They both leaned over at the same time to pick it up and their hands collided in mid-air.

  She jerked back at the contact, an exaggerated movement that embarrassed her, for Warin gave her a quizzical glance, cocking an eyebrow at her obvious discomfort. Thankfully, he said nothing and this time, Alyna leaned forward to pick up the piece, brushing off the needles clinging to it.

  She could still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers, an odd feeling, as if stung by a nettle. Trying to ease the sensation, she brushed her hand furtively, or so she thought, against her thigh.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked. He peered at her intent
ly as if trying to see the veracity of her answer.

  “N-no,” she stammered in return, angry with herself for appearing such a fool. Hoping to change the subject, she gestured at the apple in her hand. “Where did you find this? It’s not the season.”

  Smiling at her transparent ploy, he merely said, “A gift from a grateful one.”

  “Oh.” She nodded before popping the apple in her mouth.

  He watched her. His scrutiny disconcerted her and her throat tightened around the dry, mealy fruit. Finally, with great effort, she swallowed.

  “The apple is agreeable to you?” Warin asked with much amusement in his voice.

  “Aye, thank you.” She lowered her gaze to the ground, not wishing to be the object of his regard much longer.

  She heard him shuffling about his sack and then a disembodied hand holding a corked flask appeared in her field of vision.

  “Ale,” he said simply. “Drink.”

  She nodded her thanks and took the flask from him, fumbling with the cork before it finally came free to spill some of the foamy contents on the ground at her feet. The flush that had finally subsided arose again and her face grew hot. What ailed her? She acted like a simpleton.

  Alyna took several long draughts of the bitter, amber brown liquid before cradling the flask in her hands to savor the smooth feel of the glass. She took one last quick swig before handing it back to Warin.

  He took it from her and as he leaned his head back to drink, she seized the opportunity to steal another glance of him. His Adam’s apple bobbled as the liquid cascaded down his throat, the most intriguing sight she had ever seen. Her gaze must have been too obvious, for he lowered the flask to turn around and scowl at her yet again.

  “I find your stare disconcerting, Alan. If you please, could you place your regard elsewhere?”

  Caught staring, Alyna stammered, “Uh, ummm, of course, my lord, er, that is….” Her words trailed away and she bowed her head in embarrassment, shifting her eyes to the ground beside her. What ailed her, she wondered again, to become such a simpering idiot, a besotted fool. Many handsome men had passed through Caperun Keep over the years but why did this one affect her so?

  Maybe because he’d rescued her, she decided, and treated her with kindness. More kindness than she’d been shown in weeks.

  She blinked back tears to focus on the rusty colored fir needles littering the ground around her. Using her index finger, she began to trace a nonsensical pattern, scraping the needles aside to expose the dank, dark soil beneath.

  Warin watched the lad play in the soil beneath the tree, noting the delicate, slender fingers as they disappeared beneath the grubby sleeve that hung down to the knuckles. The downy cheeks were yet reddened, but his flush was beginning to dissipate, revealing soft ivory skin. If he didn’t know otherwise, he could almost be persuaded that his young companion was female.

  Mentally, he shook his head. Something wasn’t quite right about the lad. He simply didn’t project the strength and confidence needed to succeed on the long road to manhood.

  Where could he take the boy? Obviously, Alan wished to return home to England but Warin didn’t have the wherewithal to take him. He meant to sell Citadel in order to secure a position in the monastery at Mont St. Michel. Although a destrier of Citadel’s caliber had value, there wouldn’t be enough to enable Warin to travel to England and back to France. True, he could enter a monastery in England but he had no desire to return there. England’s cool, rainy skies held no appeal for him.

  Or mayhap the monastery would have a place for Alan, to help out with the chores.

  He would sleep on it. A night of rest should clear his mind and he could decide in the morning what to do.

  Satisfied, he hunkered down, leaning back into the solid bulk of the tree behind him, wiggling his shoulders about until he had them wedged comfortably. The only problem being, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were a pair of brilliant blue green eyes gazing mournfully up at him.

  With a groan, he sat up and watched the ghostly form of Citadel move slowly through the gloom.

  *****

  Alyna awoke the next morning to find her back tightly pressed against Warin’s leg. The warmth of him soothed her and that, coupled with the early sunlight slanting through the forest around them, gave her a decidedly different outlook on her predicament. True, hunger grasped her belly like so many clawing fingers but she couldn’t deny the feeling of well being that filled her.

  Behind her, Warin stirred and so she sat, slowly pushing her stiff body up with her hands, turning slightly to sit on her bottom, legs extended. She brushed away the needles sticking to her cheek.

  “Good morrow.” Warin greeted her as seated, hands on hips, he stretched side to side, then forward. He appeared refreshed, as if he had just spent the night in fine accommodation and not beneath a tree by the side of the road.

  She turned her head to reply and a fit of coughing overtook her. Warin began to pound her back. The fierce blows added to her discomfort yet the gesture showed consideration and she allowed him to continue until finally she could draw a full breath.

  “Good morrow,” she croaked. She spent the next few minutes trying to clear her throat as the cool damp air of another night spent outdoors played havoc with the lingering congestion in her lungs.

  “Are you fit to travel?”

  She nodded. “It’s nothing.”

  “Let’s be on our way, then. I’ll fetch Citadel.”

  He crawled out from beneath the low hanging branches and disappeared from her sight. She took advantage of his absence to yank off her cap, smoothing her hair awkwardly with stiff fingers before pulling it back onto her head. She scrambled out and waited for Warin, tucking her hands beneath her armpits to warm them.

  A minute or two later, man and beast ambled to a stop in front of her. By the Virgin Mary, he stood tall. Tall and with a powerful build. His upper arms strained against the fabric of his sleeves and she wondered what it would feel like to rest her head against his firm chest, engulfed in his embrace. Solid, she decided, sheltered. A haven.

  She raised her eyes to his to find he watched her. It caught her by surprise.

  “Oh,” she squeaked, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring at his chest. “You have Citadel.” She pointed to the reins in his hand.

  Warin gestured at the sun overhead. “Our prayers have been answered.” His relaxed, calm manner put her at ease – he hadn’t noticed her stare.

  “Aye,” Alyna agreed. “The warmth will be welcome indeed.”

  “You’re cold?” he asked suddenly, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that his young companion could have been chilled during the night.

  “Only my hands,” she replied. “The woolens in my bliaut and hose keep me as finely as they did their previous owner.” A smile curved her lips. The first time she’d smiled in days, she realized with a jolt.

  Because of Warin. Even David hadn’t given her the same sense of security and strength that Warin gave her in the short time they’d been together. She could rely on the knight to see her safe for the next day or two and beyond that she wouldn’t worry. Yet.

  She smiled again. “Aye, my clothing serves me equally as well as—”

  “The previous owner?” Warin interrupted. “Explain yourself.” He scowled at Alan, at the impish grin. Had the lad stolen his clothing? Did he have a thief on his hands?

  “Sheep,” his companion chuckled. “My mother used to sing as she carded the wool. As a young child, I sat at her side and I remember the silly rhymes and verses for she loved nothing better than to make a jest on the words.” The boy’s face softened at the memory. “The one I remember the most is about thanking sheep for sharing their clothing with us. When I recall the words exactly, I shall recite them for you.”

  “Oh,” grunted Warin. What a strange lad. Most boys would be mortified beyond belief to admit their memories of being at their mother’s side, listening to nonsensical rhyme
s. He seemed too, too – Warin grasped for the word. Effeminate. Yes, that was it – effeminate. That didn’t bode well for the lad, in this age of chivalry and battle.

  However, Alan’s future wasn’t Warin’s immediate concern. His concern at the moment was to resume their travels, for his intention before meeting Alan had been to visit his cousin Ada prior to entering the monastery.

  He valued Ada’s counsel; she could tell him what to do with the boy.

  Warin dropped the reins and pawed through one of the bags, pulling forth the last chunk of bread. Not enough for two, he handed it over to the youngster.

  Let Alan eat, he thought, he appears in need of sustenance much more than I. Instead, Warin quenched his thirst and dampened his own hunger pangs with the ale.

  The youngster grabbed the bread and pulled off a piece, popping it into his mouth. He swallowed hastily, managing to spit out a quick “Thank you” before attacking the rest.

  Warin tipped his head in acknowledgement. If nothing else, the lad was courteous.

  *****

  Silver fingers of mist drifted through the woods as the sun began to dry the earth, giving the forest an ethereal air. Where the sun’s rays broke through the canopy, they illuminated the crystalline glory of spider webs that had somehow survived the rain.

  Safe on Citadel and in the company of her knight protector, Alyna drank in the beauty. He was kind, she thought as they plodded along in silence, giving her the last bread this morning to break her fast while he went without. He had also given her the ale to finish and it washed away the last few bread crumbs that had become stuck in her throat. Then, he had assisted her to mount, leaning down from Citadel’s great height to lend her an arm, swinging her up when he could have quite easily insisted that she walk.