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

warrior.”
    The man seemed unnerved by her comment, but nodded. Mayhap he wasn’t comfortable speaking on it. “Come. I assume you want to review our looms and confirm we’re providing good services? We’re pleased to have members of your guild in our fine town to give their blessings. Last fair, we increased our revenue by twofold. Next fair, we’ll have blue wool. Your percentage will be impressive.”
    Her arms pointed north and south where the hills were dotted with white. “We’ve run out of room for any more sheep. Our lands are fully grazed. I’ve no means for more land, but we can still become more profitable with the guild’s help. It’s so fortunate that you’ve come today. Walk with me to the weaver’s loom house.”
    The stranger’s stride was long and confident. His black hair blew carelessly across his perfect features. Even his scars emphasized, rather than diminished, his good looks. He reminded her of a mosaic of Marcus Antonius, tiled on the wall of the bathhouse. Except that this man’s hair was curly. And his eyes were very much alive and intelligent. They darted as if waiting for attack from any corner. His hand, too, seemed to be constantly twitching as if grabbing for a missing sword.
    “What was it like?”
    The weaver stared at her and moved a bit closer. “Forgive me. The emeralds in your sparkling eyes have me distracted.”
    Her cheeks warmed as she tried to ignore his comment. In truth? He sent shivers up and down her body. The feeling was utterly new to any she’d ever known. “I meant, to be in battle. What was that like?”
    “It’s not something a lady as refined as yourself should hear of.” He got a bit surly and increased his pace toward the center of town.
    “Wait. Hold up. I’m sorry to have offended, but you must see that I’m no fine lady. I wear, but a simple wool tunic with leather belt.” Stopping, she opened her arms and displayed her form to the handsome weaver.
    “But why? Your lands are rich and your profits are much, are they not? Surely, you could have anything your heart desires.” His eyes roved up and down her body.
    Suddenly, it was important that he understand. She pointed to her town. “This is what my heart desires. Here. To see my people profitable and happy. To see the babes chubby, warm, and round. To watch them grow, not as serfs and slaves, but as guildsmen. This is my treasure. Right here in this village.”
    She paused at a small stone building, a bit embarrassed at her outburst. He’d think her daft and take away the guild’s favor. She frowned and gave a more serious tone to her voice. “Forgive me. I’ve said too much, haven’t I? This is the weaver’s cottage. I’ll show you our labors and mayhap you can give us some advice? Follow me.”
    The weaver’s hard body rubbed her from behind as they entered the tiny room. He whispered into her ear, “Do you not wish for babes of your own?”
    Should she slap him? Certainly this wasn’t a conversation to have with the audacious trader. He gave her a wicked smile and slipped away. The clacking of the looms prevented further discussion.
    He stood for a long while, watching her two sweating weavers pull and push with both arms and legs. Walking around and around the loom, he touched wood levers, the spools, and the tautness of the warp.
    Finally, he motioned that he wanted to speak outside, strode away from the building, and beyond the din. “They work far too hard. When I was in the Far East, the effort of weaving was considered gentle woman’s work. The loom could be carted away by a child, not housed in the whole of a building.”
    She lifted her tunic to keep up with his gait. “Why have you not recommended it? For all in your guild? That would be quite a boon.”
    Pausing as if he had not heard her, and lost in a memory, he smirked at some internal jest. “Indeed. Had I been able to foresee my future, I’d have paid more attention to the Sultans daughters’ weaving,