Free Knight's Blood by Julianne Lee Page A

for the jug, if you would have it all.” The men seemed fairly scruffy, even for guys that were probably out on campaign. They looked like mercenaries. This one wore his hair long, to his shoulders, and though he had a beard along his jaw, chin, and lip in the English fashion, he also had heavy stubble where he hadn’t shaved elsewhere in what appeared to be at least a week. Such a hairy face wasn’t the way among Scottish nobility. The others were less scraggly, but not by much.
     
    “And for just the cup?”
     
    “Leave nothing, and Himself will come to you once you’ve had enough.”
     
    Lindsay figured she’d end up paying the entire penny that way in any case, so she went to the counter for the clay jug and wooden cup, and dug a silver penny from the pouch tied at her waist. One of the other knights kicked out an empty chair for her to sit, an amiable gesture, even if it was the only chair left in the room and she would have sat in it in any case. She brought the jug and sat, leaning back like the others in the rickety wooden furniture. Her skin was still sore, and she couldn’t get over the concern she might have a reddish color they would see. But her hands showed nothing, and the fire made everything in the room orange regardless, so she put it from her mind. The heat from the fire heightened the pain just a notch, like wearing a hair shirt.
     
    She poured from the jug and took a draught from the cup. Grape wine. English. Her nose wanted to wrinkle at it, but she kept a straight face. Even mead, made from honey and gagging her with its sweetness, would have been better than this. She was certain there were very good reasons French imports would one day kill the production of English wine. She drank it anyway, for it was all there was. Then she cleared her throat and took a chance to introduce herself.
     
    “I’m Sir Lindsay Pawlowski from distant Hungary, until recently household knight to Sir Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil of Eilean Aonarach, near Barra.”
     
    “Should we have heard of ye?”
     
    Good question. She had no idea what year this was, whether Bannockburn had been fought yet, or if the battle was so far in the past she couldn’t possibly have fought there. But the mention of Alex and his island didn’t seem to give them any trouble, so she ventured, “King Robert knows my name, for I was knighted by him.”
     
    That brought grins to the knights and relief to Lindsay when another of them said, “And we all ken the name of Robert, now that he’s stood against the English crown and prevailed.”
     
    Oh, good. After Bannockburn. Not too long after, either, by the use of present tense in the comment. It was beginning to look as if she’d been returned to a time very close to when she’d left. The knight continued. “We still fight for Scotland and Robert. How do you do yourself?”
     
    “I’m pledged to nobody. One fight is as good as another for me. I’m in search of a situation in need of a paid sword, for I’ve no use for land and taxes. Give me a bedroll for sleeping, a good fight on waking, and some mead afterward to wash down the blood and return me to the sleeping.”
     
    That brought a laugh and some nods of agreement. Tension in the room dissipated, and a platter of meat was shoved across the table in her direction. Chunks of beef lay beside pieces of roast fowl, and she took a greasy bit of bird. Not that she felt hungry, but she should be and knew it was best she ate. Food in these times was often hard to find even when one was blessed with a pocketful of cash, which she was not. The few coins she’d brought with her, left over from her last stay in this century, would cover her for a short while, but she would need gainful employment to survive long. It was good she was being questioned by these guys, for in the questions she smelled a job offer.
     
    To nurture it, she said, “I’ve tired of living on so remote an island as Eilean Aonarach, and wish to find a more