A Knight to Remember Read Free

stopped him. “Give him this.” From the shelf above her head, she brought down a bottle and uncorked it, then poured a cup full and handed it to Wharton.
    He sniffed it suspiciously, then wrinkled his nose.
    Anticipating his question, she said, “’Tis spring tonic. It will give him strength.”
    With a grimace, Wharton carried it back to his master.
    Half turning, Edlyn glanced at the prone figure as she tested the warmth of the herbs on her wrist. Even without his helm, he was unrecognizable. Of course, how could he be otherwise? Beneath the hollow metal headgear he wore a chain-mail coif that swathed his neck and head and revealed only the dim oval of his face. She watched Wharton slide his arm under the knight’s head and lift it with the greatest of care. The warrior drank, and Wharton seemed to know without being told when his master was satisfied.
    They’d been together a long time, Edlyn realized, and Wharton’s devotion was nothing less than complete.
    As Wharton lowered his master back onto the floor, he shot her an infuriated glare, and she spun back to her work. Sorting through the basket that held her clean rags, she selected a soft linen to use as a pad and returned to the outstretched figure of the warrior. She kept her gaze down, hoping Wharton read humble submission in her stance, and knelt at the warrior’s side. With her fingers, she smeared the green paste across the pad, then placed it over the wound. Only then did she risk a closer glance at the warrior’s face.
    Sweat, dirt, and blood had mixed and congealed on his skin, creating a mask of battle horrors. Edlyn released her pent-up breath in a rush. “Look at him! His own mother couldn’t recognize him.”
    Wharton grinned, cheered by the news.
    “Wash my face,” the warrior said. “It itches.”
    The grin disappeared, but Wharton reached for the wet cloth without question.
    Edlyn caught his wrist. “First he needs to have his armor removed, and most of the aketon.” She ducked under the table and brought out a pallet, stuffed with straw and covered with tightly woven wool. “If we could undress him, then roll him onto the pallet and pull him into the corner by the oven, he’d remain warmer.”
    Wharton stared at her, patently unconvinced.
    “’Twould be easier to conceal him,” she added.
    Wharton glanced at the corner by the oven. “There’s a table.”
    “We’ll move it.” Wharton still seemed unconvinced, and she said impatiently, “There’s nowhere else in here to hide him.”
    “Keep everyone out,” Wharton answered.
    “I can’t do that. I dispense the herbs and potions for the infirmary.”
    Wharton stared, recalcitrant.
    “Men will die if I don’t!”
    Wharton might have been made of stone. “I don’t care about th’ other men.”
    The warrior again interrupted. “I do.”
    Wharton’s indignation subsided, and Edlyn sighed in relief. “Besides,” she added, “if I try to keep the nuns out, they’ll be suspicious. Now let’s remove the armor—”
    “The coif first,” the warrior said. “Remove it.”
    His lips tightened as Wharton eased off the chain-mail headgear. Each movement pained him, Edlyn realized, and the links caught in his lank blond hair and tugged at his scalp. Wharton muttered apologies as he worked, but the warrior uttered no reproach to his servant. He simply lay still and panted softly, and when he could he said, “Now my face. Wash it.” Wharton took up the wet cloth again, but the warrior said, “Nay. Her.”
    Startled, Edlyn found herself the recipient of a scowl from Wharton and a damp washing cloth.
    She didn’t understand it. The two men had been so protective of the warrior’s identity, and now the warrior took the chance she would identify him by demanding she clean his face.
    And the possibility existed she would recognize him. When she had been the countess of Jagger, legions of knights and noblemen had visited, seeking favors and offering support. They’d all