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Authors: A.M. Westerling

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BOOK: A Knight for Love
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She at first thought to correct him then changed her mind
. Mayhap it would be safer for her to let him linger with his misconception of her identity a while longer.

“I am well,” she replied, her voice husky and barely more than a whisper thanks to
the chill air.

“You may ride.”
Warin pointed towards Citadel. “I can walk faster than you.”

The horse stood forlornly,
chewing on the bit. Rain dulled his normally shiny black coat, and mud clumped his tail and coated his legs up to his hocks. Like his master, the animal also needed cleaning and care.

Alyna fli
cked a dubious glance towards Warin but he ignored it and gave her a slight push towards the huge destrier.

“I will give you a leg up.”

“Thank you.” Alyna squelched through the soft mud to acquaint herself with the horse, warily scratching him behind the ears, which she could only do because the animal’s head drooped with fatigue. She ran her fingers down the white blaze between his eyes then patted him on the neck.

“What a
lovely fellow you are,” she murmured. The massive animal raised his head then turned to look at her as if in acknowledgement of the compliment.

Surely only a knight of good repute would own an animal this fine.
Besides, what choice did she have? To sit, hungry and cold, in the rain until another group came by? And even so, would they take her along? Or would they view her with suspicion and simply another mouth to feed? Or go it alone, with only her dagger for protection?

Again she stroked the horse’s nose before gathering her courage to turn and face the knight.

 

*****

 

Amazed, Warin watched the lad stroke Citadel’s nose. Many would be afraid of a steed that size. “You’re familiar with horses?” What a boon if Alan could also aid with Citadel.

“Aye.”
His new companion nodded, exposing wet curls plastered to the back of the neck. The hair along the nape was ragged, as if it had been hacked with a dull knife.

“Very well.”

Satisfied with the answer, he hoisted the boy up, watching as he confidently wriggled forward to wind grubby fingers tightly into the mane. The leather saddle bags draped over Citadel’s withers impeded the boy’s motion but with a bit of judicious wriggling and squirming, he managed to find a snug perch.

“You’re not very heavy,” Warin observed, “Citadel can carry us both.”

The lad nodded and leaned forward over the horse’s neck.

W
ith the aid of a well-placed log, Warin hauled himself up onto the horse’s back. Awkwardly, for his heavy hauberk impeded him, he shifted around to find a comfortable position then adjusted the reins so that he held one in either hand with Alan ensconced in his arms. Normally he would let the lad ride pillion behind him but he appeared to be in dire need of warming.

“Ready?” he asked and at the answering nod, he nudged Citadel.

They plodded their way through dripping trees, their progress slowed by the road’s muck and mire. Notwithstanding the steady drizzle, the unspoiled forest around them had the crisp hue of early summer, and the fresh fragrance of pine needles and crushed grasses scrubbed the lingering foul odor of death from Warin’s nostrils.

“Pray accept my apologies for the lack of saddle.”
His rueful voice split the silence, startling a thrush into flight. “I was a willing participant in a game of chance.”

He said no more.
Losing the saddle still rankled for when the time came to sell Citadel, a destrier and saddle had more value than only a horse. He had only himself to blame. Himself and the memories plaguing him that caused him to lose focus, thereby losing the match.

Alan
said nothing, merely nodded. They proceeded along in silence for some minutes more until Warin could no longer contain his curiosity.

“Tell me,” he prodded gently. “Tell me what brought you here.” He gestured to the forest around them, his motion restricted somewhat by the rein held in his hand. He knew not if Alan would talk to him but airing the horrors that had brought the blank stare to the lad’s face was the best way of ridding them.

At first he thought his words had not been heard but then he felt the body held so intimately against him draw in a deep breath in preparation of speech. He tilted his head closer to listen. Odd, was that the scent of lily of the valley? He glanced at the ground around them but couldn’t spot the spiky leaves and tell tale stalks of tiny white bells. He shook his head. He must be mistaken.

His companion
began to talk, haltingly at first, then stronger as the words tumbled out pell mell across the tongue like whirling dice.

“I hail from Caperun Keep in Gloucestershire, the holdings of Hugh Caperun, my father.”

The labored voice rasped in Warin’s ears and he had to strain to hear.

“We were four,”
the boy continued after pausing to take a breath and clear his throat, “my brother, David and two others, Simon and Baldric, loyal knights from our household. We traveled to Vezelay to meet our father, for it was his decision that our duty as a family was to fight in the Holy Land. We traveled quickly and simply. Lacking coins, we camped mostly, but it was better that way – we lost little time in trying to secure accommodation, and too, food and forage were easy to find. We crossed the Channel easily.” He paused to wipe his nose with a tattered sleeve.

“Once on French soil we continued on with good pace and all was well until we reached our destination.” Here
Alan stopped, drawing in several deep breaths in an obvious attempt to steady himself before continuing with his tale.

“Aye?” prompted Warin, enticed with the story that filled his ears. “What passed then?”

“We had sent a message to our father telling him we were on our way but he never received it. He left without us.” His head bowed with grief for a moment before he continued. “On hearing that, David decided we would all return home to England. It wasn’t a popular decision with Simon and Baldric, for both had relished the opportunity to find fortune while on Crusade. However, as leader, David’s word was final. That caused some dissent and the camaraderie we had shared began to unravel. Simon stood by his loyalty and it was not him but rather Baldric that became the traitor.” The girlish voice became bitter. “We awoke one morning to find Baldric gone, along with our horses and a few coins.”

Warin murmured sympathetically. “Aye, thievery is the curse of the innocent traveler.”

Citadel chose that moment to grab a mouthful of grass. They stopped, letting the horse eat several more mouthfuls before Warin jerked back on the reins and urged the animal on.

The rain yet fell, although lightening somewhat and Warin hoped fervently that the sun would make a welcome appearance by the morrow. He glanced longingly at the only patch of sky he could see through the trees overhead as if he could will th
e sun to appear. His companion appeared not to notice and after a while, picked up the threads of the story.

“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 prepar
ed 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 affect
ed 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.

BOOK: A Knight for Love
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