Free A Knight for Love by A.M. Westerling Page 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