Page 16 of A Knight in Tarnished Armor

She had moved to stand close to him and tugged on his arm. He looked down. She reached up and placed her hand on his forehead, then frowned. "Your brow is cool."

"There is a God," he muttered.

"You're not fevered?"

"No," he said more sharply than he intended, then softened it with, "I am tired."

She smiled and patted his chest. "I have just what you need." She spun around and rushed over to a pile of sacks, a large pile of sacks.

"You unpacked."

"Aye," she said and dumped out one of the sacks, then grinned. "Velvet pillows. For our comfort." She dumped out another sack. "More pillows." She dumped out another. "And a feather coverlet . . ."

He leaned against the tree and watched her dump out sack after sack until the small clearing looked like the inside of a harem. Any moment he was certain she would unpack silk hangings for the tree limbs.

"I know it is here somewhere," she mumbled, and two more pillows sailed over her head to land at his feet. "Ah-ha!" She turned and held up a large yellow and red striped cloth. "Look!"

He stared at the cloth, frowning.

"You cannot see? This is a tent."

"I know what it is." It looked to be the type of tent used in a tourney. He could see four bright yellow pennants still lying on the ground behind her.

"I brought it to sleep in. Here." She handed it to him, then stood there looking very pleased with herself. "Now we have everything we need."

"Except the poles and stakes."

"What poles?"

"The tent poles."

She began to chew on her lip.

"Poles that hold up the tent," he explained.

She snapped her fingers. "So that's what those sticks were for."

He began to laugh. And he laughed loud and hard.

She laughed too then said with a giggle, "What a shame we cannot merely use the pickled eel."

He shook his head and his laughter faded, his smile remaining for another moment.

She touched his arm again. "I like it when you laugh," she admitted with that honesty that still jarred him. Then she foolishly smiled back at him.

He stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a taste of his own honesty. "That's a sure way to find yourself well kissed."

She blinked, somewhat surprised, then she said, "I always wondered how that was done."

He laughed, more at himself than at her. "So my lady has never been kissed."

She shook her head and sighed. "I always thought my first kiss would be in the garden at Ardenwood." She smiled a dreamy kind of smile. "With the moon shining and the night roses and honeysuckle blooming, and me in the arms of a handsome knight who had paid court to me."

"How does a lady dream of being courted?" He tried to sound casual, not giving away how important her answer was.

"How? I'm not certain. The usual way I suppose. With flowers and sweets and romance. My sisters' husbands courted each one a different way. Michael played the lute and sang love ballads to Maude. ‘Twas truly touching. John wrote the most passionate poetry for Elizabeth."

William stifled a groan.