A Knight for Love (9 page)

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.

A
gain, 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 sh
ining 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.

H
er 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.

“Aye
.” She nodded her thanks, smiling prettily at him. “It will be welcome indeed to ride alone.”

War
in fair glowed with pride. Did she imagine it or could it be that he stood a little taller, his chest a little broader than when they set out this morning from their little camp?

And
pride she felt, as well, to be in the company of such an accomplished jouster. All about them shouted their congratulations, jostling around her to get a closer glimpse of today’s victor.

She
hung back, silent, gazing at him, and letting the adoration she had been attempting to suppress over the past days show openly on her face.

Their gazes met, and quickly she dropped her eyes for a moment to hide the emotion she had no right to feel but that nudg
ed firmly, unbidden, at her heart. She hoped he would attribute the sudden flush bathing her cheeks to the heat of the day and naught else.

Slowly, the crowd of well wishers dispersed, off to partake in the merriment that still enveloped the town, and later, the feast that
would be the crowning event of the day.

They
stood, gazing at each other, Alyna’s face carefully schooled as to be blank and Warin’s with a trace of a smile. Shyness began to creep over her, leaving her tongue-tied and feeling a bit gauche.

“Ahhh,” he sighed. “A fruitful day.”
He placed the swords on the ground beside him and kicked at the bags piled up on the ground. They resounded with a satisfying ‘clink’.

“You have won yourself much acclaim,” Alyna finally managed to stammer.

“Aye.” Warin nodded his head. “My benefactor will be well rewarded for the loan of his equipage. Even so, the riches earned today should carry us both through to Paris, and you on to Caperun Keep.”

Caperun Keep. Alyna had all but forgotten about it in the excitement of the day but now that he had mentioned it, she pictured it in her mind. The homesickness that always overwhelmed her at the thought of home did not smite her with as much intensity. Mayhap because
of Warin’s company. Mayhap because home to her, increasingly, was at his side.

She shook that thought aside. Hoping for something that would never be was useless. Warin
had said he would take her safely to Paris and she could expect nothing more. From there he would be on his way to the monastery and out of her life forever.

“It would seem he comes now
.” She pointed to the man hurrying towards them. The chestnut and gray streaked beard that shrouded most of the man’s face couldn’t hide the obvious signs of delight, mainly the grin splitting the furry mop somewhere between his nose and his chest. He slid to a bandy-legged stop some three feet away, saluting as he did so.

“Warin
de Taillur, your display today impressed me. I’m honored to share in your success.”

“Alyna Caperun,” Warin said, “may I present Bennet Lambert. Bennet, my sister, Alyna.”

“My Lady Alyna, you grace us with your beauty.” Bennet swept a courtly bow, so low his beard almost touched the ground.

Alyna inclined her head and clasped her hands demurely.
What a droll little man, she thought, and a smile curved her lips at the merriment twinkling in Bennet’s eyes. Deeply set in his face, she found it difficult to determine the exact color. Brown, she decided. His eyes were a soft brown.

“Your brother is fearsome on the jousting lists. Skill such as his is rare to see.”

“Aye,” she replied. “He is the pride of Caperun Keep.” The statement spilled easily from her lips as if it were the truth.

“Enough,” Warin interrupted. “Fortune smiled on me, for my foes were equally as skilled as I.”

“Nay.” Bennet shook his head. “Verily, my lance has never equaled the numbers overcome by you this day. It’s fitting that it shattered with your last victory for none who would hold it again can surpass you.”