Iain looks a little lost, glancing out under his lashes at the other squires, trying to figure out what to do.
And Harry realises he’s been so busy teaching Iain how to be a knight, he forgot to teach him how to be a squire.
Iain looks down helplessly at the three-piece suit of mail, and the pile of plate armour to protect Harry’s joints. Then he looks up at Harry, and over to the other knights, their squires fitting them into their plate with quick, practised motions. A few squires look over, sensing his distress like sharks sense blood in the water.
Harry brushes his fingers against Iain’s shoulder and whispers, ‘It’s fine, Iain, I’ll do it.’
Iain flinches away, and hisses, ‘No.’
He glares down at the pile of armour like it’s personally offended him. Then he picks up a mail chausse, squinting at it.
‘There’s a wool understocking that goes on first,’ Harry murmurs out of the side of his mouth. ‘The leather straps at the top of both attach to the belt of my braies.’
Iain snorts and gets down on one knee, tapping Harry’s leg like he’s a horse with a hoof that wants cleaning. Harry lifts his foot off the ground and he holds onto the side of the cart for support. Iain’s hands are rough, yanking the wool up and the mail over it, then pulling at Harry’s belt to slip the leather straps underneath and around it. He buckles them and looks up at Harry. Harry nods, and Iain moves on to the other leg. While he’s buckling that, Harry whispers, ‘Now the padded jacket, and the hauberk atop it.’
Harry holds his arms out as Iain pulls the jacket on him and laces up the front with quick, harsh motions. Harry himself did this for Sir Simon countless times, but this is the first time anyone’s done it for him and he feels like a doll, naked and vulnerable under Iain’s touch despite the fact that the squire is covering him in armour.
Iain glances at him as he arranges the mail hood around Harry’s neck, and Harry shivers. One look from Iain’s pale eyes can still strip everything away, reduce him from being a knight in a field of other knights, squires and servants to a man who can sense nothing else in the world but the other man in front of him. Who can feel the very volume of air between them. He closes his eyes and whispers, ‘Now the plate. Spaulder, couter, poleyn and greaves. Work your way from the top to the bottom. It’s important they be tight. Don’t go by the existing wear on the straps; these were Sir Simon’s and this is the first time I’ve used them.’
Iain nods and moves to stand behind Harry. He looks out over the field as Iain fits the first spaulder. Everyone else is finished, waiting around, watching them. He wills his body to behave, as Iain braces his hand against Harry’s shoulder and tightens the first set of buckles. It’s a strange, erotic torture, having Iain’s hands on him like this, moving slowly down his body, making sure he’s protected.
He looks up at the heavens, rather than at Iain kneeling down to attach the plate to his knees and shins. He watches wispy clouds that don’t even have the good grace to form shapes against the grey sky as they scudder past.
Iain taps his right greave twice, to show he’s finished, and stands up. He looks at Harry expectantly.
‘Gauntlets. Then practice shield, blunt sword and helmet,’ Harry sighs. ‘Buckle the sword belt around me.’
Iain’s face twists in annoyance at himself and he whirls to get the weapons. Harry curses his lack of foresight. Iain hates being made to feel stupid, and Harry’s just caused him to look the fool in front of all the other knights and squires. He wants to apologise, but he knows that will just make Iain angrier.
Iain’s arms are around him briefly, to attach his knight’s belt, and it takes everything Harry has not to step back into that, to make it an embrace. ‘You’ve done well,’ he says, letting out the breath he’s been holding for what seems like forever.
‘Lyon, are you finished doing your hair yet?’ yells Rabbie.
‘I’m ready,’ Harry calls back, pulling out his sword and swinging it, loosening up his wrist and shoulder. ‘Iain, where’s my charger?’
‘Uh,’ Iain says, then looks over to the horse lines, where all the other destriers wait, saddled and bridled, spaced out at distances of twenty feet so they can’t harm each other. ‘Fuck,’ he says.
They’ve always sparred on foot, Harry thinks. Iain wouldn’t know that the real practices are on horseback. ‘Go,’ he says, giving Iain a shove towards the stables. Then he turns to the other knights. ‘Sorry! Beginning of season. Shall we warm up on foot?’
Rabbie rolls his eyes but walks towards the mêlée area, ducking underneath the fence and swinging his mace. The other knights follow.
Iain reappears ten minutes later on Nomad’s back, at a fast canter. Nomad still has straw in his mane and his tail isn’t bobbed up like it should be, but he’s saddled and bridled and his feet are wrapped. Nomad arches his neck in annoyance and bucks as they pass the other destriers. It’s not in the nature of a war-horse to like other chargers, and a bunch of stallions in one place is always asking for trouble. Iain stays on nimbly, although his feet aren’t in the stirrups – he’s crossed the irons over the pommel. As they reach the end hitching post, he slides off the huge war-horse and ties him up. Then
