Free Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion by Glynnis Campbell

gesturing to the cloth draped about the booth.
    The girls gasped and giggled again. Then, either too shy or muddled of wit to pursue further conversation, they scurried off, fluttering their eyelashes in farewell.
    Linet gave him a withering glare. “You’re interfering with my trade.”
    He bowed and retreated to a less obvious post beside the counter. “My apologies.” But he didn’t feel apologetic in the least. He was enjoying himself.
    “ You may have no need of coin, beggar, but I depend upon it.”
    He snorted. “After what you took from the de Ware coffers, I should think you could live comfortably the rest of your years. Though that may be a short time for one who traffics with sea reivers.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “Lady Alyce was charged fairly for her cloth,” she huffed defensively. “As far as sea reivers—”
    “Sea reivers?” a fat woman with red cheeks aped as she picked up a piece of green broadcloth. “Are these stolen goods?”
    “Nay,” Linet hastened to assure the lady, giving Duncan a warning glare. He obediently returned to the far side of the lane, but not before flashing his most charming grin. He heard her continue. “Everything here is come by honestly, my lady, and what a clever woman you are to have spotted that green.”
    It was going to be a long day, he thought, leaning back against an elm and folding his arms across his chest. And it was going to be a Herculean task to keep troublemakers away from her—his angel with the dancing eyes, the dazzling smile, the heavenly curves.
    A smile touched one corner of his mouth. It would be hell all right. But he supposed somebody had to guard angels here on earth.

 
CHAPTER 4
     
    Linet had been so certain the beggar would leave by day’s end. Surely by then he’d have tired of his game, seeing how intently she focused on her work and how seldom she paid him any heed. But still he remained, standing across from the stall with his arms crossed, watching the merchants, watching the passing crowds, but mostly watching her. It seemed as if every time she glanced up, he was watching her.
    It had affected her business. She’d sold only ten ells of cloth today, and there was little hope of selling more. Already the sun sank in the half-wooded copse, dancing in dappled patterns across her fabric. The acrid smells of the dying fair hung on the air—rusting apple cores, horse dung, stale beer.
    Soon a great fire would blaze in the nearby clearing. All were welcome to roast their own meat and apples over it or perhaps purchase a joint or a pork pie from a vendor. Some of the merchants packed up their wares and carted them home. But the village of Avedon, where Linet kept her mesnage and warehouse, was too far away for the daily trip, so she’d bed down in her pavilion.
    “What will you have for supper tonight, my lady?”
    Linet pressed a startled hand to her heart. She hadn’t even seen the beggar cross the lane.
    “A pasty? Mutton mortrews?” he asked.
    “Nay. I have a little salted cod and—”
    The beggar made a face. “Salted cod?” He shook his head. “That’s not food. That’s punishment. You must have a proper meal.”
    She opened her mouth to stop him, but he snagged a passing squire, mumbled some instructions to him and pressed several silver coins into the boy’s hand before she could speak. God alone knew where he’d come by the money, but she doubted he’d see it or the boy again.
    Thus it was a complete surprise when, even before she and Harold had finished folding the cloth away, the lad returned, juggling a veritable feast. The beggar must have purchased a half dozen pasties and fruit coffyns. There was a great joint of beef, a wedge of hard cheese and even a jack of ale. Her mouth was still agape when the beggar shoved a pasty into it.
    “I hope you like lamb,” he said.
    Before she could reply, he called out, “Harold! Give those old bones a rest. I’ve got supper.”
    Harold dropped the cloth he’d