“As you wish.” She lowered her head to hide the grin on her lips. Sew, of course she could sew, and better than most, thanks to hours spent with needle and thread. However, she couldn’t tell him without revealing herself. How disturbing to realize his approval of her skill was important to her.
“It is not only that which I wish, Alan, you must wish to learn as well.” Irritation colored Warin’s words.
“Of course,” she blurted.
“Never mind,” he sighed. “I am weary as no doubt are you and to stand here in dispute at this moment accomplishes naught.”
He stripped off his clothing, leaving it in a pile at his feet and stepped into the tub, lowering himself carefully as if the movements pained him. Another sigh escaped him, this one of pleasure and not of exasperation as the previous one had been.
“More hot water, Alan,” he commanded, hunching his shoulders over his knees to allow the water to cascade unhindered over his back.
Alyna, who had kept her gaze lowered for the past few moments as he disrobed, scurried around the hearth to pick up one of the pots. She averted her eyes until she stood behind him then forced her gaze down so she could tip the pot. The liquid cascaded over his shoulders and down his back, silver rivulets that fascinated her as it flowed over the skin, smooth and still carrying traces of the Palestinian sun.
“Again, if you please,” he murmured, eyes half closed.
Alyna obliged, upending the pot to empty it before sidling round the tub to grab another one from the hearth. Warin lifted his shoulders in pleasure as more scented water whispered over his skin then hung his head forward.
“A cloth, Alan.” One muscled arm lifted languidly and pointed towards the stool. “And the soap.”
“Aye.” Alyna pawed for the items behind her while keeping her face twisted away from Warin. Her neck began to spasm in protest but she ignored it. As much as she wanted to look, it was better if she, an unmarried maiden in a compromising situation, avoided the tempting sight.
“You may begin.” Warin rested his chin on his knees again, obviously intending Alyna to start with his back.
“As you wish, my lord, that is, of course, Warin,” stammered Alyna.
She lathered up the cloth with the soap and smoothed it over his shoulders. A thick scar, white and puckered, crossed his lower back. She resisted the urge to follow its path as it disappeared around his left side, concentrating instead on rubbing along his spine.
“Now the front.” Warin leaned back against the lip of the tub.
His eyes were shut, a blissful expression curved his lips. Alyna frowned. How could he be so relaxed when her nerves made a jumbled mass in her stomach and made her feel faint?
Annoyed at herself, she again lathered up the cloth until it frothed with bubbles before tackling the broad chest. Red welts sprinkled the skin, evidence of an uncomfortable night recently spent. Mayhap the water would ease the itch somewhat and she scrubbed the offending spots.
“Aahhhhhh.” His heartfelt sigh mingled with the lavender-scented steam swirling from the bath water until both disappeared in the thatched murk above.
“ ‘Tis to your liking?” Alyna choked out the words. She had no desire to talk however she feared he might find her continued silence strange.
“Indeed,” came the heartfelt reply. Then he added, in an apparent fit of generosity, “You may bathe afterwards, Alan.”
“No!” The single syllable pierced the gloom.
Warin furrowed his brow in obvious puzzlement at the vehement response, although his eyes remained closed. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought perhaps you would wish to wash the journey from your bones.”
“I beg your understanding but I cannot accept your kind offer because….” Alyna thought frantically for a reasonable explanation. “…er, because I bathed two weeks past.”
“The citizens of the Holy Land bathe frequently,” he observed. “Truly, it’s a habit to be admired and emulated, not reviled.”
“Not for me,” she muttered.
“Very well,” Warin shrugged. He opened his eyes and tapped her arm. “Your sleeves are wet, you may wish to roll them up.”
Alyna twitched away from him, dropping the soap into the cloudy water of the tub. “No, I’m fine, truly.”
Warin cocked his head. “What plagues you, Alan? Have you not been in the company of other men? There’s naught here to shame you.”
“N-Naught plagues me. I’m simply not used to washing another.”
Alyna screwed up her courage and started fishing around the bony shins for the soap. Nothing.
She reluctantly slid her hand along the bottom of the tub, towards Warin’s firm buttocks. Her hand brushed his hip and the contact sent a surge of fire up her arm. She jerked her hand away, bumping her elbow in the process.
Still nothing. Changing direction, she moved her hand back towards his ankles. Her face grew hotter and sweat prickled her forehead. By the Virgin Mary, where was it?
“Here.” Warin grabbed her elbow and placed the slippery chunk in her hand. He had evidently taken pity on her discomfort and sought to aid her.
“I thank you.” She closed her fingers around the soap, too quickly, too firmly, and it squirted out of her hands, cart-wheeling across the floor to land under the table.
“Oh!” She scuttled after it on hands and feet. She clasped it in her hand and as she began to rise, cracked her head firmly on the edge of the table with a solid ‘thunk’ that reverberated through the hut. By the Virgin Mary, could things get any worse?
Apparently, they could.
She turned to find Warin standing in the tub, facing her, his masculine glory standing erect in its bed of wet curls.
Alyna could take no more. She tossed the soap and cloth in his general direction, flung herself about and ran to the door, heaving it open with such force that the leather hinges were well-nigh torn in two. She darted out into the gathering darkness.
“Alan!”
Warin’s cry made her stumble and slow but she pretended she hadn’t heard it. She couldn’t finish the task, couldn’t face his nakedness, couldn’t face her undeniable attraction to him.
An attraction leading to nothing for in a day or two, she and Warin would part. He’d already told her that, that he couldn’t take her with him.
Alyna ran as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. However, several weeks of near starvation had taken its toll and that, coupled with a belly full of stew and bread, soon slowed her frantic pace to a walk. She wandered beside the river until she found a grassy spot to sit. The cool night air soothed the fevered skin of her cheeks while she watched the murky brown water.
Swollen with the recent rainfall, the river seethed and spiraled, eddied and ebbed, hissed and hummed against a logjam on the opposite shore. If her emotions could be seen, she thought sourly, that’s how they would look.
Alyna closed her eyes, clenching them shut, willing her mind to calmness. It was futile. Her thoughts burst free.
How had she got herself into this? What imp had taken control of her tongue so that she had remained silent? Warin appeared a reasonable, kind man, a knight raised to the code of chivalry. Surely, he would have guarded her virtue if she had divulged her identity. Yet, she hadn’t and events had come to such a pass that the scandal that would doubtless ensue if it was discovered that she had aided a man un-chaperoned, daunted her. She must avoid that at all costs. As difficult as it would be, she must leave Warin and continue on her own.
A shame, for Warin would have provided safe passage for a time at least. The thought of being alone again wasn’t appealing. As well, there still remained the problem of finding her way home to England. Warin had indicated that he couldn’t help her on her journey, but somehow she sensed that he wouldn’t just abandon her.
And when she returned home? That was an eventuality that she hadn’t even considered yet. Would she be welcomed? Or turned away?
Mayhap she should be less worried about this eveni
ng’s incident and more worried about what would be said, in fact, had been said, over her hasty, unplanned departure from Caperun Keep. Her Aunt Philippa could be cruel.
Alyna shook her head. That could not be foreseen. Better to concentrate on the present, on Warin. Truly, she could see no way to ease herself out of her predicament. To reveal herself now would be too embarrassing.
Nay, she would creep out early on the morrow, completing her charade as Alan.
To be sure, she could leave at this very moment, but the prospect of one night beneath the welcome shelter of a roof was too irresistible. As was the prospect of one more night in Warin’s company.
She rose and walked back to Ada’s hut, stopping only to pick a few late primroses to join the daffodils on Ada’s table. It was the only thanks she could think of.
*****
Warin watched his young companion charge out into the evening leaving the door swinging open back and forth. Bemused, he glanced down in time to see the soap sink and disappear into the murky grey bathwater.
He couldn’t deny his initial instincts any longer – Alan was simply too girlish. How would the lad ever grow up and fit into the world of men? As much as he felt obligated to help the youngster, Warin had no idea what to do with him. He should cut ties with him sooner rather than later and be on his way to the monastery. Perhaps he could leave the lad here with Ada. Perhaps she needed an extra set of hands to help her with brewing of the ale.
And then there was the troubling matter of his sudden erection. The sight of Alan’s inexplicably curvaceous bottom had caused such an insistent surge to his loins that he had to stand with the intensity of it.
He shook his head. Apparently, the fates had simply been toying with him when he had crossed paths with Alan.
Chapter Four
Warin had dressed and sat on one of the stools briskly toweling his hair when Ada walked in. The partly filled tub still stood in the center of the room, surrounded by damp linens strewn about as if caught by the wind. The soiled water had cooled and judging by the ring of dirty soap scum lining the inside, it truly wasn’t fit for another to wash in. Alan had been right to deny his offer.
He cocked an eyebrow at Ada, pointing to the tub with the intention of emptying it but she waved him off.
“Later,” she said. “I’ll tend to that later.” She dragged it closer to the door. “But we will move it out of our way.”
He shrugged and sat down at the table. He tossed the final linen in the direction of the tub before running his fingers through his hair. It needed combing but for now he would leave it because what he desired most at the moment was to talk, to tap Ada’s wisdom and drink of her calm and soothing manner, to bare his soul in her non-judgmental presence.
He wasted no time, not even waiting for her to sit down before the first words erupted from his mouth.
“Ada, what do you think of young Alan?”
“How so?” she asked warily, grey eyes narrowed.
He leaned on the table, his fingers steepled.
“I’m curious. I don’t know what to do with him.” What he really wanted was her reassurance that he wasn’t wrong in his assessment about the weakness of the lad. In fairness to Alan, he was loath to voice his concerns but if Ada agreed with him, then he would act. Somehow.
She nodded her head in understanding.
“To all appearances, a fine young lad, only….” Ada’s voice trailed away as she sought the words to voice her suspicions.
“Aye?” prompted Warin, watching her face carefully. The gloom in the hut made it difficult to see and she stirred the coals prior to seating herself at the table.
The flames began to flicker, illuminating the hut’s interior, splashing a golden glow over Ada’s face that tinted her features becomingly. For one in her later years, she was still a handsome woman.
“He is slight of build and does not have strength for physical labor. I feel he’s a good soul but it will be difficult for him to find a place in this hard world.” Ada wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “There is aught strange about the lad, almost as if….”
Again, her voice trailed away. Her index finger, nail broken and dirty, tapped the table with such lightness and cadence that to Warin it sounded like a faerie hammer.
“Aye, aye, Ada, let me hear your words.” Warin could barely conceal his irritation. Ada normally spoke her mind and always came to the point.
She shrugged. “I fear Alan is no lad. Alan is a young woman. It’s there, in the bones, in the mannerisms, in the voice, if you but care to look past the unlikely façade of ragged tunic and soiled cap.”
Appalled, Warin placed his hands on the table and leaned back. “Surely you jest.”
Ada shook her head. “It’s no jest.”
He wagged his head emphatically in denial, disbelief etched on his face. “Alan? A young lady? It can’t be, Ada, for what young lady would find herself alone and far from home on a barely traveled path?”
“Did you ask?” It was a direct, simple question, so typical of Ada.
“Of course.” He made his rebuttal brusque, implying that the question just posed to him was nonsensical. “Alan recounted the entire tale to me.”
“And?” She prodded him further.
“He followed his brother to the Crusades,” he responded weakly, trying to remember more of what he had been told. “They were robbed and left with nothing and were returning to England on foot.”
She said nothing, just smiled knowingly at him.
“Nay, you are wrong,” he scoffed. “I’ve spent the last day with Alan, I would have noticed if something had been amiss with him.” He was vigorous in his dissent, unwilling to acknowledge that he could have been deceived. He couldn’t be so blind. Could he?
“As you wish,” she replied, a twinkle lurking in her grey eyes.
“Nay, I simply speak the truth. Alan is a lad. Mayhap not suited for fighting but there are other, gentler pursuits for him.”
The lingering smile on Ada’s lips angered Warin. Had he been fooled? He shook his head. No, absolutely not.
“Do you have use for him? Can I leave him here?” He growled.
“No.” Ada shook her head. “I can barely feed myself. The making of ale is profitable but not enough to carry two.”
“And elsewhere in your village? Is anyone in need of a hireling?”
Again Ada shook her head. “I don’t think so. The miller has several strapping sons and can barely keep them fed and clothed. Perhaps the blacksmith but—” She stopped and shrugged. “It’s hot, heavy work and we both know the lad isn’t strong enough.”
Warin dropped his chin onto his chest to gaze into the fire. His brief moment of kindness to an abandoned child had turned into a major challenge.
“Do you need to decide now what to do with the boy?”
Ada’s voice penetrated Warin’s gloom and he lifted his head to look at her. “Nay, I suppose not,” he sighed. “But sooner or later I have to do something with him. I can’t take him with me.”
Ada propped her chin on her fists then mercifully changed the subject. “Enough of Alan, tell me of yourself and your travels. I would hear tales of the Holy Land.”
Warin closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air, trying to marshal his thoughts. “If you had but seen the sights I have,” he said half aloud. “The sickness, the bloodshed, the torture, the unfortunate souls caught in a battle for which there is no victor, for is their God not as mighty as ours?”
Blasphemy, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not right with the Christian world. Wasn’t the earth a big enough place that all could coexist in peace? Couldn’t Jerusalem be shared as a holy shrine for all?
“And King Louis,” he continued, rubbing his jaw. “Undoubtedly a good man, a kindly man, but unwilling to admit that he’s in over his head with this Crusade.” He fell silent, thinking of the good king who, in Warin’s mind anyway, appeared destined for defeat.
“Thou shal
t not kill,” he murmured. His eyes strayed to the small crucifix hanging above the door of the hut. How many times had he heard that commandment and yet somehow in the heat of battle, it was not to be obeyed. “What few riches I’ve gained are of no value to me for my mind is not at ease.”
“The passage of time will heal you.” She leaned over and squeezed his hand. “The hours will flow and cleanse your spirit much as the bath water cleansed your body today.”
“Your counsel is wise but I fear the hours lack the power to free my memories.”
“Aye, Warin, it is so. You must have patience. You must let go.” She paused to shove an errant lock of hair back into her scarf, turning her head slightly to peer into the glowing coals pulsing with a life of their own. She turned back to look at Warin.
“The Holy Wars aren’t of your doing. You were a willing participant mayhap, but you journeyed for the greater good and not only for personal gain.”
Warin held up his hand to stay her words. “Nay, Ada, don’t excuse me. I fought for purely selfish reasons, to seek my fortune and assure my place in heaven. My allegiance to King Louis, leader of this the Seventh Crusade, is naught.”
“How is that selfish? You’re a man seeking only what a man deserves. Some lands, a home, a family. That isn’t wrong, Warin, on the contrary, that’s the foundation on which rests our kingdom. That’s how you aided King Louis.”
“You forget I’m not French,” he reminded her gently.
“It matters naught,” she maintained stoutly. “You fought for the good of our beliefs, our Christian beliefs, the beliefs of your King Henry III too. Besides, your king is brother-in-law to our Louis. Your spoils of war are earned and nothing to feel shameful of.”
“But I do feel shame.” He sat up straight and turned his head to look at her fully in the face. That way he could better see her reaction to what he was about to say. “I’ve decided to lay down my sword. I’ve decided I can better serve the Lord as a monk at Mont St. Michel. I can’t do it anymore, Ada. I can’t fight, not for gain, not for protection, not even in the name of our Lord.”
A Knight for Love Page 4