A Knight for Love (6 page)

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 evening’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 ro
se 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.

H
e 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 tos
sed 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.”

T
he 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 shalt not kill,” he murmured. His eyes strayed to the small crucifix h
anging 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.”

“You
r 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.”

He scoured her features as she
nodded. Compassion lined her face and understanding filled her eyes. He relaxed then, looking heavenward for an instant before slumping against the table. She didn’t condemn him for changing his path. She understood. Now if only he could.

“
You could bring Alan with you.” Ada cocked her head.

“I don’t know.
” He pursed his lips. “If the abbot doesn’t accept him, what then? Besides, no matter how much money I scrape together, they may not accept me either. As I already told you, I’m not French.”

“
So why not go back to England then?”

“Because there’s nothing for me
in England anymore. You know full well what happened there.”

A knock sounded and the door swung open to reveal Alan. Warin groaned inwardly at the sight of the youngster holding several bedraggled blooms in one slender hand. How odd of the boy – thoughtful mayhap, but what boy would bring flowers?

Ada
, however, took one look at the exhausted face and drooping body of her young guest and pointed towards the jumbled sacks of grain in one corner but not before taking the flowers and jamming them into the pot of jonquils. “Thank you, Alan, how kind. And sleep now, you need to rest. Pay no heed to us. We’re friends of long standing and wish to converse before you make way on the morrow.”

They both watched as Al
an settled in.

“Good night,”
the boy rasped.

“Good night
,” Warin and Ada responded in unison.

They sat silent until Al
an’s breathing was deep and even, before Warin continued with his discourse. The pause in their conversation for the return of young Alan had made him realize that he had no desire to dwell on the painful aspects any longer. He changed the tone of his words.

“Not all was bad, Ada, there are wondrous sights to see. Men of black skin, so black you could swear it was fine ebony. And women of incredible beauty, so it is told, for they are unseen, swathed from head to toe in dull, colorless robes so that all that is visible is their eyes. The places of worship are majestic, soaring domes colored with pieces of glass that pierce the eyes with the intensity and brightness.” Warin’s face turned to the darkening window slit, a distant look in his eyes as if the astonishing things of which he spoke lay just outside.