“A matter of which you know naught.”
“I – I am sorry,” she whispered, appalled at her impudence for she knew memories of his time in Palestine pained him.
“Aye, as am I.”
She watched him walk towards Citadel, watched as he burrowed his face in that majestic neck. His last words had been cryptic and she puzzled over them. Sorry for what – for meeting her? For saving her life? Or mayhap he yet referred to his time on Crusade. Again she glimpsed a dark side to him. One that baffled her yet intrigued her nonetheless.
Minutes crept by before Warin turned back to her, nostrils flared, eyes chips of ice. “As much as I want to, courtesy dictates I can’t leave you here alone. Once your clothing is dry, we’ll continue on our way.”
And then? The unspoken question hovered on Alyna’s tongue. “I would be grateful if you could take me to the next village,” she offered hesitantly. “I don’t wish to be a burden to you any longer than is necessary.”
He nodded, once. “I’ll take you as far as Paris. From there, you should be able to find a group travelling to England.”
His stony demeanor and harsh eyes frightened her. Shades of the despair she had felt over David’s death crept over her again. Doubt slithered in – could she trust him to keep her safe, even if only for a few days more?
Nonsense, she told herself firmly. If Warin wanted to do away with her, he would have done so already. Or let the river take her. He had pledged that he wouldn’t leave her alone and he would keep his pledge. For that, she would repay him. How, she didn’t know, but she vowed she would.
Somehow.
*****
The sun shone brightly, driving away the rain and making their journey much easier as the muddy road dried. Wildflowers sprang to life and lined the road such that Alyna felt the pixies had sprinkled magic dust to guide their way.
Fanciful thoughts, but at least they stopped her from dwelling on Warin.
Riding pillion behind him placed her in closer proximity than she would have liked. Now that he knew her identity, for comfort’s sake she had loosened the bindings over her chest. Pressed up against him, her breasts rubbed against his back, a not unpleasant sensation but disconcerting on occasion as the blood would begin to pound in the apex between her legs.
They traveled several days in relative silence. She wondered at his thoughts, for conversation would have helped the time pass, but dared not ask. However, he was a considerate travelling companion, stopping frequently so she could stretch her legs. Too, he was unfailingly polite though his pale blue eyes remained cold, fathomless, his mouth set firmly with nary the ghost of a smile.
The hunger that had constantly cramped her belly became a distant memory. Warin proved proficient at hunting and so there was always a rabbit or squirrel spitted over the fire at night.
Too, Ada had been generous with her food. Dried fruit, black bread and goat cheese, along with several flasks of ale had been stuffed into Warin’s bags. Once, as they passed a sizeable walled town, Warin had bartered several peppercorns for a squab, a turnip, garlic and leeks and that night they feasted on stew.
It was while they sat eating the stewed squab that Warin spoke, a hint of excitement lining his voice.
“There is a joust tomorrow, in the meadow outside of the town. I plan to participate.”
Alyna glanced at him. After his prolonged silence, his comment struck her as odd. As if he asked for her approval. “It’s not my concern if you wish to joust or not.”
“Do you wish to accompany me?” He dipped a chunk of black bread into the stew and stuffed it in his mouth before turning his gaze to her.
She swallowed a chunk of turnip. “Aye, jousting is a rare event. I’d be honored to attend with you, only I fear I may embarrass you.” She gestured at her clothing. “What I wear isn’t seemly for a young woman.”
He gazed at her, at the ill-fitting hose and tunic ragged at the edges. “Too much time away from the comfort of a castle has dulled my sensibilities,” he admitted wryly.
Alyna wasn’t sure if that had been an apology, actually wasn’t sure about anything for the icy stranger of the past few days appeared to be melting. She suspected the same would happen soon to her heart.
“The jousting doesn’t begin until the sun is high,” he continued without waiting for a response. “We’ll have time to find you suitable clothing.”
“But,” she lifted her hands to him. “How am I to pay?”
“It’s a gift.”
“It’s not right for me to accept a gift from you,” she protested, dismayed and knowing she would be further beholden to him.
“Not right? I think it’s past time to worry about what’s right or not right.” Laughter tinged his voice.
“Maybe it’s the thought of being in the company of gentle people that has reminded me of where and who I am.” She crossed her arms.
“Don’t worry. No one knows us. I’ll introduce you as my sister.”
Satisfied with his solution, he went back to the stew, spearing a wing from the cooking pot. He offered it to her and, when she declined, attacked it with relish.
She watched him eat, marveled at the change in him. The callous face of the past several days had come to life, anticipation lightening his eyes and softening the stern mouth. Evidently the prospect of tomorrow’s joust had lifted his spirits, lifted the pensiveness that appeared to be his constant companion, lifted, even, the mantle of responsibility he carried for her.
Another thought struck her. “Warin?”
“Aye?” He regarded her through eyes half closed.
“How can you joust with no saddle and lance?”
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before replying. “I intend to borrow them.”
“Borrow them?” she asked dubiously. A precarious solution at best.
As if he could read her thoughts, he held up his hand to silence her. “Alyna,” he responded, “don’t worry. I’ll share a portion of my winnings with the man who lends them to me.”
Questions churned through Alyna’s mind, starting with “How do you know you will win?” but she kept her doubts to herself. Who was she to examine Warin’s abilities on the jousting field?
Instead, she busied herself with setting to rights their little campsite, trying to ignore the small bubble of excitement at the thought of watching Warin joust.
Trying too, to ignore the matching bubble of fear at the thought of Warin being injured.
Or worse, killed.
*****
Long after Alyna slept, Warin studied the stars piercing the blackness above him. The moon had not yet risen and campfires flickered in the dark forest, doubtless more participants in tomorrow’s festivities.
The idea of jousting tomorrow thrilled him. The tournament would be the perfect antidote to the melancholy that had beset him since leaving Ada’s hut.
In truth, it had beset him since leaving the Holy Land.
Nay, it had been much longer than that.
Melancholy had beset him the day of the death of his parents and brother seven years previous, when he had been a young man of eighteen years. Their small holding had been the target of attack and he had not been there when it happened.
The guilt consumed him yet. If only he had been home that day instead of going to the smithy to fetch his sword and shield. If only his family had come with him. If only he had come home sooner to lend aid in battle.
Instead, when he returned, he found a charred, smoldering pile of rubble and bloodied bodies strewn about. To this day, he remembered the acrid stench of desolation and discarded dreams which never failed to bring forth a surge of nausea if he dwelled too long on it.
He’d left England and never looked back. He didn’t know who lived there now, and didn’t care. That part of his life was over.
But not the guilt for failing his family when they needed him most.
His participation in the seventh Crusade was meant to be an absolution for him. Instead, he had c
ome back with an even greater burden and the decision to change his life.
An owl hooted nearby, raising the hairs on his arms. A shiver ran down his back for it seemed as if the bird of prey shared Warin’s mood. He shook his head at the fanciful notion and funneled his thoughts to tomorrow and the impending joust. Anything not to brood on the past.
For a few brief hours, he could concentrate on something else. It had been too long since he had felt Citadel thundering beneath him as he raced to face an opponent head on, too long since he had felt the satisfying crack of lance to body, too long since he had lifted his sword in jousting play. If he could earn some spoils, so much the better.
And you mean to serve the Almighty by laying down your sword and entering a monastery? Yet you look forward to jousting? He shoved away the ironic thought.
The truth was, Alyna needed her own horse because it disturbed him to have her clinging to his back. It disturbed him to feel her softness jostling into him, to smell her sweetness, to hear her gasps of awe at the beauty of the land they rode through.
And the easiest way to get another horse was to win one in a tourney.
He stirred the embers of the fire to put it out. Tomorrow would be an early day if they were to buy her clothing first. Despite her protests at his gift, he looked forward to seeing her clothed as she deserved to be. He had seen enough to know she would be very attractive.
Again, he had to remind himself of Mont St. Michel and the monastic life he intended to pursue.
Alyna could not, would not be there with him.
A forlorn thought and one that made his heart quiver.
Chapter Six
Alyna stood awestruck before the tantalizing array of cloth and clothing spread out before her. The profusion of fabrics dazzled her eyes and brightened her spirits. Silk, velvet, fine wool, cotton, linen, satin, damask, brocade, so many that they threatened to spill out of the tent serving as shop for the little man that Warin now so earnestly haggled with.
The haggling complete, the shop’s owner, grey-haired and hunch-shouldered from many hours spent with needle and thread, attended to her.
“This one,” she whispered, stroking a peacock blue damask tunic that glowed where the light struck it. Then she shook her head regretfully. “It’s too fine for every day wear. This one.” She pointed to an emerald green wool kirtle, so finely woven as to be satin-like in texture. “This would be better. With this.” She tugged at a tan linen tunic trimmed with gold braid about the neck.
“A scarf for my lady?” The shop keeper held aloft a scrap of cream-colored silk.
She nodded. “Aye, I thank you. And these.” She grabbed a pair of green silk hose and a silk chemise. After the weeks in coarse woolens, the prospect of silk enticed her.
“There. My lady may dress there.” The little shopkeeper lifted an arm, twisting his shoulder about to gesture to a screen set against the back wall of the tent.
“I thank you,” she murmured again and fairly ran to the screen, ducking behind it. She couldn’t wait to strip herself of the tattered and dirty clothing she now wore. As she dressed, the satiny sensation of fine fabrics against her skin, fabrics she was much more accustomed to wearing, brought a smile to her lips.
Alyna emerged carrying the discarded tunic and hose distastefully in one outstretched arm. She hesitated then dropped them on the ground.
“Thank you.” Shyly, Alyna curtsied. Her father had always liked her in green. Would Warin as well? Would he find her attractive? She wanted his approval. It shouldn’t matter but it did. She wanted him to look at her as other than a bedraggled travel mate, wanted him to look at her as a man looks at a woman.
She raised her gaze. And caught her breath at the admiration shining in his eyes. It flustered her and she looked away, only to look back to discover he gazed at her still, a slight smile shading his lips. She flushed and turned her head away. Bewilderment addled her wits and held her tongue.
“You are fair of face.” He bowed, coming up slowly so he could peruse her from toe to head. “And fair of form.”
At his words, Alyna turned back to face him. “Th-thank you,” she stammered then dropped into another curtsy in response to his bow.
Her heart fluttered beneath his continued frank perusal. Her breath came in little gasps and her knees wobbled. Joy filled her at the realization the clothing had had the desired effect – Warin regarded her as a man regarded a woman.
“Dispose of these, if you will,” Warin commanded to the shop keeper, indicating the dirty clothing piled at his feet.
“Wait.” Alyna reached into the pocket of the tunic and pulled out a small corked vial and an amber velvet ribbon.
Warin quirked an eyebrow, an endearing gesture becoming very familiar to her.
“This belonged to my mother,” she explained, stroking the small glass object tenderly. “Lily of the valley. It was her favorite scent and now it’s mine too. And this is a gift from my brother.” She held aloft the ribbon. “He bought it for me in Vezelay.”
After paying the little tailor, they ventured out again into the make shift market that had been set up with the advent of the joust. Tents and awnings of all sizes and colors surrounded them, selling everything from fragrant meat pies to wine to copper pots to skeins of thread to caged doves. They had to battle their way through the crowd, for the upcoming festivities had brought many people to the town.
Flags and kerchiefs fluttered everywhere Alyna looked. Bold knights strode about with purposeful looks on their faces and pretty ladies on their arms and squires on their heels. A jongleur tossed knives high in the air, flicking the blades so quickly that naught could be seen but a blur of silver. Three acrobats had claimed a space beside the tent selling Venetian glassware and their tumbling antics were reflected a multitude of times in the glistening wares.
How enjoyable to be part of the hubbub and stroll about with Warin at her side. The unpleasantness of the past weeks faded away until the only thing that mattered to her was the gaiety of the day, a gaiety made more so by the company she shared.
Several stalls down they found a cobbler and Warin bartered several peppercorns for a pair of soft brown leather boots for her.
“My lord.” She curtsied again and poked her foot forward to expose a newly shod foot. She straightened and stood in front of him, smiling shyly.
Warin sucked in his breath, totally captivated by the young woman and the delight shining from her eyes. She was beautiful – how had he not seen it before, dirty tunic or no dirty tunic?
With her slender figure and cropped hair covered by the scarf, she appeared every inch the young lady. He could easily lose himself in her emerald eyes, made more so by the green kirtle. Enticing, mysterious, her gaze beckoned to his heart and promised much. A few strands of tawny blonde hair had escaped her scarf to curl about her face and his fingers tingled with the urge to brush them away.
He sucked in another deep breath, this time inhaling her essence. Lily of the valley. Now he knew why that scent had tickled his nostrils so much over the past days. He took one last, lingering look at her, searing her image on his brain so he could remember later how she looked now.
“Come,” he commanded, changing at once from the light hearted companion to a man with a purpose. “They draw up the lists shortly. I must be in attendance.”
“Aye,” Alyna nodded, knowing he was here to joust but loath to give up the agreeable morning that had just passed.
Stifling a sigh of disappointment, she followed him to the jousting field. She found a spot beside the makeshift barrier dividing the spectators from the tournament and leaned her elbows on the top railing. As a foal follows its dam, her gaze followed the tall, dark-haired figure striding past the striped pavilion holding the lord and his favored guests before disappearing in the throng of participants at the far end of the field.
Then, Warin stood in front of her, helm tucked under one arm, and lance and Citadel’s reins in the other. Sometime in their travels together
he had managed to clean and repair his mail and he looked much more reputable than on the day they had met.
“Were they troublesome to borrow?” she asked, pointing to the saddle and lance.
“Nay,” Warin shook his head. “A late comer, too late to join the day’s events but more than happy to share in the promised spoils, however earned.”
“Your token.” She pulled the amber ribbon out of her pocket and smiled at him. “Every knight must tie a token to his helmet.” It wasn’t much but it was the least she could do for the clothes he had bought for her this day. She hoped the gesture would please him.
Warin held out his helm so she could tie on the ribbon. “I won’t disappoint you.” He saluted her. “Your ribbon will give me success.” He flashed a quick grin before he turned away.
Her heart squeezed as she watched him stride off. How would he fare?
*****
That order could be wrought from such chaos crossed Alyna’s mind more than once that afternoon and a myriad of images flickered through her mind whenever she thought upon that day.
Clods of dirt flung up by pounding hooves. The sun beating on her head. The cheers of the crowd. The smells – unwashed bodies, steaming earth, sweating horses, roasting meat from the nearby stalls. Her mounting excitement as Warin won match after match, culminating in the final of the day. The fear as Warin’s lance splintered, but not before shoving his opponent to the ground. The swordplay, vicious and mighty, until Warin stood, victorious, sword tip pointed to the throat of the vanquished knight lying prone on the ground.
And finally, how her heart swelled when Warin came for her. Tired, dirty but happy, leading Citadel and his opponent’s horse in one hand, carrying swords in the other, daggers tucked in his belt, and extra bags draped over his shoulder. He stopped in front of her.
“Alyna,” he bowed. “My lady. I wager our journey will be much more to your liking now.” He pointed to the smaller horse. “For you.” The bags slid off his shoulder with a metallic clank signifying it had been a profitable day for him.
A Knight for Love Page 6