A Knight for Love

by A. M. Westerling

She sat behind him now, rolling easily with the destrier’s even gait, holding her hands lightly to Warin’s waist, feeling the ridged texture of the mail beneath her palms and basking in the warmth emanating from his body. Today he had left his head bare, the helmet presumably stuffed in one of the saddle bags. Constantly he scanned the area around them. His wariness reassured her. Warin would not be taken by surprise.

  “You are in need of respite?” His voice pierced her thoughts.

  His question startled her. And bemused her. Again, he showed consideration for her needs, even though he thought her to be a boy. “No, my lord,” she managed to choke out past the sudden lump in her throat.

  “You need not address me so,” he replied, amusement tingeing his words. “I’m no lord, merely a humble knight.”

  “Then how am I to call you?”

  “Warin,” he said simply. “That’s my name. I hold no illusions over my station in life.”

  She waited for him to say more and when he didn’t, dared to ask, “Then what is your station in life?” As soon as she said it, she was aghast at her boldness. Truly, she had no business to pry.

  “I only seek a peaceful place in the world.” He shrugged his shoulders as if in resignation.

  Alyna puzzled at what he left unsaid, for his demeanor suggested to her that the subject pained him greatly. Then it struck her – her fierce knight protector needed reassurance and comfort. At this moment, whether he realized it or not, she had glimpsed into his soul and found him wanting. Wanting of what, she knew not, but she was determined to find out.

  “You have been on Crusade,” she stated firmly. “Your station in the Kingdom of Heaven is assured.”

  “Is it? I’ve performed atrocities in the name of our Lord, atrocities that are supposedly excused in the name of Christian duty. Yet I cannot escape the fact I’ve killed many men. Infidel men, to be sure, yet men nonetheless. How is that right? Did they not have wives and sons, mothers and daughters, people who loved them? Did they not have the right to complete the rhythm of their natural born days, to see the sunrise and sunset again, to watch the first tottering steps of a grandchild? How is it that they died yet I live?”

  His sudden outburst startled her and she thought for a moment, trying to find words to comfort him. “You were spared for it wasn’t your time to die. You’re not to blame, you did as you were commanded. Isn’t that your knightly duty?”

  “This conversation wearies me, Alan.” The sentence was abrupt, the voice cold. They had obviously trespassed into emotional territory Warin didn’t wish to pursue.

  “I am sorry.” Alyna bowed her head and minded her tongue, although questions milled through her mind. What memories wounded him? Where was the peaceful place he sought? And what of her – how long would he protect her?

  Chapter Three

  By late afternoon, they reached the edge of the forest and as they left the shelter of the woods, the sun’s rays slanted before them like honeyed arrows, piercing the ground and gilding the track they followed. It led them towards a small village situated at a crossroads beside a river. Fields of barley and oats surrounded the scattered huts and down by the river’s edge, a crude pen contained sheep and goats.

  Prosperous and peaceful, much like the village at Caperun Keep had been at one time. But there, the crops had failed over several cold winters, and invaders had attacked, leaving Alyna’s father, Hugh Caperun, no choice but to join the Crusades in search of riches to regain the keep’s former glory. One day, God willing, he would return to Caperun Keep. And God willing, so would she.

  When that day arrived, her father would set things right with her Aunt Philippa. Her aunt, who had usurped Alyna’s position and driven her away, now held the keep in her father’s absence. The bitter realization was, no matter how much Alyna wished to return to England, and home, Philippa would not welcome her, not until Alyna had Hugh’s protection.

  Alyna shook her head to bring her jumbled thoughts out of the past. Yes, one day, both she and her father would return to Caperun Keep but in the meantime, she found herself in an unknown country and in the company of a stranger with the goodness of heart to rescue her.

  A stranger who looked over his shoulder at her even now as they halted at the last hut, a little larger and set slightly apart from the rest. “We stop here,” he informed her. “My cousin Ada will shelter us.”

  At Warin’s hail, a tall, strong-featured woman with gray hair hanging below her head scarf opened the door. Dressed in serviceable clothing, Ada was a no-nonsense kind of person, one who would brook no foolishness from whence it came. Alyna liked her immediately.

  “Warin,” Ada cried, advancing towards them, clearly pleased to see her guest. Alyna marveled at her smile, for her mouth did not lift at the corners, just increased in width across the face.

  “Ada.” Warin slid off Citadel and turned around to greet the woman, enveloping her in a bear hug, made clumsy by the mail hindering his every movement.

  “It’s been too long, you scoundrel.” Ada tapped Warin on the chest. “Tell me, how are you?”

  “In time, in time,” he replied. He gestured at Alyna, still sitting on Citadel. “Ada, I would like to present Alan, late of Gloucestershire.”

  Of course he still called her Alan but would Ada’s sharp eyes see through the disguise? Even now, Alyna’s skin prickled with the intensity of the woman’s gaze.

  She slid off the horse’s back, staggering slightly when she hit the ground. She leaned against Citadel briefly before turning around to greet Ada.

  “Good day.” Alyna almost bobbed into a curtsy before remembering her charade. Instead, she inclined her head in greeting.

  “Good day and well met,” replied the woman.

  “I found Alan by the side of the road,” Warin informed Ada. “The poor lad had been abandoned by his friends.”

  “Some friends,” Ada snorted. She peered curiously at Alyna, rubbing her hand across her lips as if to stop the words from spewing forth. She looked her up and down before her welcoming smile grew to include Alyna as well.

  “Alan, welcome to my home. What is mine is yours to share as well.”

  “I thank you,” murmured Alyna. Unsure of herself, she remained by Citadel, twisting her fingers awkwardly.

  Ada noticed her discomfort for she waved Alyna immediately towards the door leading into her home. “In, in, Alan, I have a fine stew just waiting to be eaten.”

  The woman turned around to face Warin, suddenly chattering like a giddy young girl. “You and your young charge are well received, Warin, for not many travelers have passed through. The winter has been long and hard. Yet, I felt in my bones that I would have company this evening for normally I wouldn’t put on a rich pot for only me. I butchered a goat just yesterday, so the meat is fresh. And the onions are the first of the season.”

  She poked again at Warin’s chest. “Shall we wait for you to care for your mount before we sup and will you want a bath? Your attire bespeaks of great hardship.”

  Warin shook his head. “Nay, no hardship, only that of travel. And a bath would be welcome indeed.”

  He gestured at Alyna. “Come, aid with Citadel for that way we’ll eat sooner.”

  “Let the young lad rest inside, he’s almost asleep on his feet,” Ada interjected. “I’ll help you in his stead.”

  “You’ll coddle the lad,” Warin muttered but he didn’t argue. “Wait for us, Alan.”

  Alyna nodded then turned and walked toward the door. Ada’s voice, telling Warin of the twin lambs born earlier that spring to her favorite ewe, receded in the distance behind her,.

  As she entered, her mouth began to water at the delicious scents swirling throughout the room: drying herbs, the stew pot simmering on the hearth and another, full-bodied malty odor. It took her a few seconds to realize it was ale brewing and she looked about before finding the tell-tale copper cauldron in one corner. Two barrels full of fermenting brew stood beside it with several sieves of varying sizes stacked on
top of one of them. To strain the mash, Alyna supposed.

  In the center of the hut, a stone hearth glowed with coals that heated the stew pot as well as warmed another bucket filled with water. Warm and cosy, the sparsely furnished room contained only a trestle table, several stools, and a pallet on the dirt floor.

  Ada had a frivolous side for on top of the scrubbed trestle table stood a clay pot filled with jonquils, a cheerful spot in an otherwise utilitarian space. It drew Alyna and she moved towards it, stepping gingerly in the gloom of the hut. Just then, Warin and Ada returned and the next thing Alyna knew, she sat at the table.

  “Eat, Alan, starveling that you are.” Ada shoved a stew filled trencher of bread in her hands then patted Alyna’s shoulder “I have ale at the ready.” And she scurried over to the barrels, dipping in first one mug, then another, then a third. All of these were set, still dripping, on the table.

  Warin lifted a mug to his mouth with great expectation and took a long swallow with eyes closed. “Ah, Ada, your ale is unparalleled.” He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he tackled his trencher with great gusto, nodding his appreciation when Ada handed him another one.

  “The stew suits me well,” complimented Warin. “No one can equal your skill with seasoning.”

  “Your praise is welcome.” Ada flushed with pleasure at Warin’s observation.

  Alyna, having devoured her trencher in the meanwhile, nodded her agreement and accepted a second serving. It disappeared as quickly as the first. “Thank you, it has been many days since I have feasted on anything finer.” She patted her stomach and sagged forward, elbows on the table propping up her head. Her eyes closed and her head began to droop.

  Warin poked her. “I need help with my bath.”

  Bone tired, Alyna scarcely felt his finger jabbing her ribs.

  “Don’t bother the lad, he’s weary and needs his bed,” Ada exclaimed. “I’ll help you.”

  “You have other chores to tend to. We must all share the load. Alan will help me.”

  His sharp voice tugged Alyna out of her lethargy and she sat up arrow straight before turning her head to look at him. Help Warin? With his bath? How could she? But how could she not, after his rescue of her? And yes, they must all share the work. But bathe a man she hardly knew? Surely she could perform other tasks, like haul firewood or scrub the stew pot.

  She gripped the edge of the table as she pondered her response. Maybe, in the safety of Ada’s presence, she could put an end to her deception. Then there would be no question of her, an unmarried maiden, aiding a knight not her husband.

  “Alan?” Warin waited for her response, head cocked to one side.

  She gathered her courage and began, “Why, my lord, er, Warin, that would be—” She was about to say impossible, but he interrupted her.

  “You may be small but it’s not a heavy task. Assist me with my mail, fetch the water and drying cloths.”

  She shook her head.

  Anger narrowed his eyes. “Come, Alan, it’s a simple enough request.”

  She shook her head again and opened her mouth to speak.

  He held up a hand to silence her. “I don’t understand your refusal. It’s the least you can do.” After all I’ve done for you. He didn’t say it, but he implied it.

  The moment to reveal herself had passed. Alyna stared at him. “Very well,” she whispered. All of a sudden, the stew didn’t sit so well in her stomach. Stop it, she warned herself sternly. You can wash him without compromising your modesty. Somehow.

  “Good, it’s decided.” Warin stood up and planted his fists to push himself off the table against the weight of his mail. “I wish to see to Citadel. Upon my return, we begin. By the Virgin Mary, the relief to be rid of this will be great.”

  Ada, until now a silent bystander in the conversation, stood and walked over to the corner. “All will be ready, Warin.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement, throwing Ada a quick smile that would have melted Alyna’s heart if it had been directed her way before turning on his heel and walking out of the hut.

  Ada hauled out a round tub from behind the cauldron and manhandled it across to floor until it came to rest beside the hearth. Then she grabbed two buckets and gave them to Alyna.

  “Fetch the water,” she ordered, grey eyes kindly.

  When Alyna had made enough trips to fill the assorted pots and buckets warming on the hearth, Ada finally spoke.

  “Tell me of yourself, young Alan.” Her voice was smooth and soothing.

  Alyna screwed her mouth to one side and shrugged her shoulders. “There is naught to tell.”

  “Naught to tell? I know you hail from Gloucestershire but how you came to be in France in the company of a Crusader would be an interesting tale to me.”

  Alyna hesitated before answering. “We met as we traveled.” She didn’t want to speak too much, afraid her girlish voice would give her away. Besides, as she became more submerged in her role as Alan, it became increasingly difficult to pull herself out. Would Ada take offense at her deception? Although to be fair, Alyna reminded herself, Warin had made the wrong assumption about her. Still, she hated to deceive the caring woman. And Warin.

  “Aye? You’ve been in Warin’s company for some time then?”

  Alyna shook her head. “Only since yesterday.” Barely one day had passed in his company. It seemed much longer. She followed Ada’s lead and poured a pot of warmed water into the tub.

  “Warin must be greatly taken with you if he has taken you into his protection. He’s a good man.” Ada finished pouring her bucket of water into the tub and gestured to Alyna. “Come, Alan, it’s only half full. We’re not finished.”

  Alyna trailed behind Ada as they tromped their way back and forth to the river several times more to refill their buckets. The other woman said no more, and for that Alyna was grateful. Apparently Ada respected her reticence and had chosen not to pursue her questioning any further.

  Finally, all was in readiness. A stack of linens and a chunk of lye soap had been laid out on the stool beside the wash tub, the coals stoked, and a handful of dried lavender sprinkled in the tub before Ada took herself from the room.

  “I shall fetch Warin,” Ada said as she left. “You may begin adding hot water. Not too quickly, mind, for it must be to his liking.”

  Alyna watched her go with a sinking heart. She’d had time with Ada, she could have told her the truth but instead, she’d decided to stick to her charade. Now she had no choice but to help Warin.

  Her heart began to beat a little faster, her breath quickened. She had never seen a naked man. Nay, untrue, she had spotted her father several times whilst a young girl, but that was her father. Warin was a young man, virile and vibrant, a warrior in his prime. It wasn’t proper for her to be here alone in his company but how could she free herself from the situation?

  Before she could come up with anything, he walked in the door carrying his saddlebags. He tossed them off to one side.

  The door swung shut behind him, trapping Alyna. She threw a frantic glance towards the window slit, too narrow for even her slender frame. Defeated, she turned to face him. She pasted a flimsy smile on her face and squared her shoulders, girding herself for the coming ordeal.

  He was relaxed, smiling from the last jest he had tossed over his shoulder to Ada. So tall that his head almost brushed the thatching, his presence dominated the room, spilling into the corners until it seemed even the shadows there took on his aura. Of his eyes she saw naught but the fire gave enough light to see the planed cheeks that gave him such a mysterious air.

  Her heart began to race, the beats chasing one another in a panicked flurry leaving her breathless. Nerves tickled her belly and she hoped she wouldn’t lose her supper. She wanted to say something, some jest, anything to lighten the air but her mouth refused to work.

  And deep down inside, some part of her wanted to see him naked, wanted to trail her fingers on the burnished skin, wanted to caress the muscles that
bulged against his clothing.

  Warin didn’t seem to notice her silence. “Aye, I’m sore and weary from the mail for one never entirely becomes accustomed to wearing it. We begin here.” He motioned her over to stand beside him. “Grab the back at the bottom edge and at the neck and pull.” He twisted around and pointed. “Here, you grab here.” He put his arms up, leaned over from the waist and hopped forward. “Now, pull.”

  By the time Alyna realized what Warin had requested of her, he had hopped several more times across the floor with the mail sliding off a little more each time further down his arms and over his head. She sidled over to him and managed to grab the neck and hem of the hauberk, wrestling with it a bit then staggering back a few steps with the weight before losing her balance and plopping down unceremoniously on her behind.

  “Ooof!” she grunted. The mail lay on her lap, spilling over onto the floor beside her.

  Warin scowled at her. “You must take care – the links can easily be damaged.”

  And what of me, fumed Alyna, bottom stinging with her abrupt contact with the ground. She glared at him before scrabbling to her feet, hauberk cradled awkwardly in her arms. She stood there feeling somewhat useless until Warin plucked it from her and laid it on the table.

  “I will show you how to clean it another time.”

  Wonderful, Alyna thought caustically, rubbing her injured backside. She held her silence, watching as Warin rubbed his neck and shoulders before stretching up as far as the shallow ceiling would allow.

  He stood before her in his stained underclothing. The padding over the shoulders that held the mail away from his skin had compressed and he fingered it ruefully.

  “It’s difficult to replace. For me, that is,” he corrected himself hastily.

  “One skilled with thread and needle would find it no hardship,” replied Alyna.

  “What am I to know of such arts?” He glanced at her face, then down at her fingers. “You, Alan, could be taught to sew, for your fingers are slender and supple and would wield a needle as easily as I wield a sword.”