She flushed, so much that he wondered if no one ever spoke courteous words to her anymore. A shame, if so. Perhaps Hugo kept all men away from her. He depended on her more than most men would.
“We will find a looking glass if you don’t have one,” he said, giving her hand a little pat of friendship. “You will see I am right.” Then, since she did not object, he left his palm resting on the warmth of her hand.
She did not move her hand. The kiss, almost chaste in its sweet beauty, had caused nostalgia to drench her, and she still dwelled in poignant memories. She wished they were back then, maid and squire, with one foot still in childhood while the other ventured toward grown-up duties. How easy their friendship had been then. How harmless that kiss in the garden had been.
Nothing seemed simple now. Nothing was harmless. Even as she basked in a connection deep and old, she remained alert for someone coming along the river-bank or sounds within the reeds. She did not want talk that would encourage her father in his plans of vengeance against Zander.
“Why do they call you The Devil’s Blade?” she asked. “I have heard it several times now. It is an odd name for a crusader. One would expect such a knight to be celebrated as The Angel’s Blade, or The Savior’s Blade instead.”
“The name was not attached to me by other crusaders, but by an enemy army.”
“In the Holy Land?”
“Before that.” He did not appear inclined to explain. When she waited long enough, he shrugged. “We first landed in Sicily, to right a wrong the king’s sister had suffered there when she was widowed. We took Messina. In the battle, once we were inside the wall, I was attacked by three men. I fought them all.” He smiled ruefully. “The next thing I know I am being praised by the king. I am also being avoided, and feared, because the enemy has given me that title. Richard said it was because I fought like a man possessed would.”
“Do you not mind?”
“No one uses it to my face. At least, no friend does. It followed me, however. And at times I hear it being whispered. It serves a purpose sometimes.”
“By making men fear you?”
“That. And by tempting men to challenge me at tournaments like this one. A bit of fame comes to a man who defeats The Devil’s Blade.”
The more who challenged him, the more he could defeat. Knights often amassed wealth from the forfeitures that tournament victories brought.
She eyed her wash. The sun had dried it fast, and now it stretched atop the grass, the edges fluttering in the light breeze. It was time to go. She held back a few moments more, savoring the feel of his hand on hers.
“How did you get him home?” he asked.
She knew what the question truly asked. What does your family have left?
Nothing. A sad answer, but the only honest one.
“We had some land, as you know. Not much, but—I sold it, except for one-half hectare with a cottage, along with most everything else of value. Lord Morris arranged for the silver to be brought to the knight in France who held him. My father returned two months later, so sick that I nursed him for another two months until he could walk. Lord Morris, out of charity, gave him a post at one of the town gates. It pays barely enough to keep us.”
“So you began sewing.”
“I had always sewed, like most ladies. I just sell my labor now. That is what is different.” That reminded her that, among others, she sewed for Zander. A crimson veil. A gift for a lady. Perhaps he courted his future wife at the meals she did not attend now.
Suddenly, her nostalgia felt foolish and childish. Of course, he would be looking for a wife. The right marriage into an important family would change his life all for the better. He possessed enough beauty and strength to catch a good wife if he sought one, which of course he must do.
She pictured him gifting that veil to his lady, and perhaps helping her drape it over her head and fix it in place with a diadem. She could not see the woman’s face but Elinor assumed she was attractive enough for Zander’s purposes. More importantly, she had a rich dowry, to be certain. Zander would never be so stupid as to marry a poor woman.
“I must go back.” She scrambled to her feet and began throwing the laundry into the big basket.
“I will do that. Go into the river and wash. You will not have the chance again soon. I will turn my back and stand guard, so your modesty is not violated.”
Bathing would be heavenly. One could only do so much with rags and bowls of water. “You promise that you will not watch?”
“I promise, and I’ll make sure no one else does either.” To prove his point, he walked into the reeds.
She looked up and down the riverbank to make sure she would not be seen. Then she dropped her dress down her body and entered the water in her chemise, her laundry soap in hand. Once up to her thighs, she lifted the chemise’s hem and walked deeper until she submerged her lower body.
The water enlivened her with its cold contrast to the day’s heat. She made quick use of the soap on her body and hair, then plunged down to rinse her long locks.
She stood and climbed back out of the river and let her chemise drop. It stuck to her body and legs, but with the heat today it would dry soon. She pulled on her gown and reached for the basket.
“You will not carry it. I will tie it on my horse.” Zander spoke from the edge of the reeds. He looked different. Altered somehow. A compelling power came
