Free How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel by Stella Marie Alden

However, I can’t be sure that I’ll never cause her grief. I fear that may be our lot in life. I can promise that I’ll try to create an agreeable arrangement.”
    “Thank you, sir. That’ll be more than the poor lass has ever known. By God, I believe I shall help you. Wait here, but a moment.” She stood, squeezed behind the astonished three girls, and passed through a small door he hadn’t noticed before. She reentered with an old cloak and tunic befitting of a tradesman of means.
    “Take this. It were my husband’s, God rest his soul. Tell her that thou art from the Weaving Guild of London. He’s expected any day now. Keep the cloak low around your face. I can’t guarantee that the rest of town might not recognize you, but I shall send word for them to hold their tongues.”
    “Let it be known there’ll be reward for all should I accomplish this ruse. Tell them, too, if they help, they’ll be helping me to stay her execution.”
    “You wouldn’t really kill her, would you?”
    Would he? He stood awkwardly at the kitchen door, facing the baths, wishing he could escape the cook’s inquisition. “The king’s law must be upheld and I gave him my word. However, I’m hoping when the truth is known, she’ll be safe. So you see, I must have time to speak with her.”
    Her deep frown indicated she wasn’t overly pleased with his answer. “Very well. I’ll see that the word gets out. You best be getting to the church. Morning prayers will be finishing. You can catch up with her there.”
    He took the thin path through a brick arch, separating the manor from the bathhouse. Once out front, the bright sun in the east sparkled on the dew. He passed the well and waited at the church stairs. When the bells gonged, the faithful filed out. His regal beauty was the first, after the priest. She greeted his finely-clothed serfs, giving each a smile and kind word.
    When they were the only two left, the rest having moved to break their fast, she turned to him and said, “Who are you? What’s your business in my town?”
    His mind went blank as he tried to remember the part he was playing. Even though she was in a plain muslin tunic, this was the first time he had seen her face up close. Somewhere, her ancestry lay in the south, for her skin wasn’t alabaster, but tinted with olive and the spring sun had already toasted it. Bright, intelligent green eyes, with the slightest of slants, were lined by the thickest of lashes he’d ever encountered. And when she smiled, it was as if heaven stopped for a moment to enjoy the view.
    Bowing as a merchant would do when facing nobility, he said with a gravelly voice, “I . . . I’m Whitely, sent to you from the Weaving Guild of London.”
    She searched for his face under his hood. “Do I know you? You seem familiar.”
    He cleared his throat, looked to his boots, and tried again to disguise his voice. “I’m just newly made to this guild.”
    “Ah, then. Mayhap you know the two apprentices, Josh and Mark, we have most recently sent to London to learn the trade?”
    How much should he say? He coughed in discomfort, his throat already sore. Damn. I’m going to be discovered too soon . “I’ve oft been traveling on the road as of late. I know them not.”
    She tried to guess the age of the handsome man. Maybe three times ten? He had the breadth of a warrior, and the cloak could barely hide the size of his forearms. In fact, none of his clothes fit his large frame. He had a strong, almost Roman nose, and hazel eyes that commanded attention with an intensity that made her shiver.
    He must be from a royal family. Maybe one whose fates were as bad as her own; for he, too, had not lost his proud bearing. Something like that couldn’t be passed off under shabby clothes. She felt kinship for him and tried to ease his discomfort. “Worry not. It’s good you’ve found a solid guild to work with. You may find that you enjoy the peace more than your former life as a