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see him naked, wanted to trail her fingers on the burnished skin, wanted to caress the muscles that bulged against his clothing.
    Warin didn’t seem to notice her silence. “Aye, I’m sore and weary from the mail for one never entirely becomes accustomed to wearing it. We begin here.” He motioned her over to stand beside him. “Grab the back at the bottom edge and at the neck and pull.” He twisted around and pointed. “Here, you grab here.” He put his arms up, leaned over from the waist and hopped forward. “Now, pull.”
    B y the time Alyna realized what Warin had requested of her, he had hopped several more times across the floor with the mail sliding off a little more each time further down his arms and over his head. She sidled over to him and managed to grab the neck and hem of the hauberk, wrestling with it a bit then staggering back a few steps with the weight before losing her balance and plopping down unceremoniously on her behind.
    “Ooof!” she grunted. The mail lay on her lap, spilling over onto the floor beside her.
    Warin scowled at her. “You must take care – the links can easily be damaged.”
    And what of me , fumed Alyna, bottom stinging with her abrupt contact with the ground. She glared at him before scrabbling to her feet, hauberk cradled awkwardly in her arms. She stood there feeling somewhat useless until Warin plucked it from her and laid it on the table.
    “I will show you how to clean it another time.”
    Wonderful, Alyna thought caustically, rubbing her injured backside. She held her silence, watching as Warin rubbed his neck and shoulders before stretching up as far as the shallow ceiling would allow.
    He stood before her in his stained underclothing. The padding over the shoulders that held the mail away from his skin had compressed and he fingered it ruefully.
    “ It’s difficult to replace. For me, that is,” he corrected himself hastily.
    “One skilled with thread and needle would find it no hardship,” replied Alyna.
    “What am I to know of such arts?” He glanced at her face, then down at her fingers. “You, Alan, could be taught to sew, for your fingers are slender and supple and would wield a needle as easily as I wield a sword.”
    “As you wish.” She lowered her head to hide the grin on her lips. Sew, of course she could sew, and better than most, thanks to hours spent with needle and thread. However, she couldn’t tell him without revealing herself. How disturbing to realize his approval of her skill was important to her.
    “It is not only that which I wish, Alan, you must wish to learn as well.” Irritation colored Warin’s words.
    “Of course,” she blurted.
    “Never mind,” he sighed. “I am weary as no doubt are you and to stand here in dispute at this moment accomplishes naught.”
    He stripped off his clothing, leaving it in a pile at his feet and stepped into the tub, lowering himself carefully as if the movements pained him. Another sigh escaped him, this one of pleasure and not of exasperation as the previous one had been.
    “More hot water, Alan,” he commanded, hunching his shoulders over his knees to allow the water to cascade unhindered over his back.
    Alyna, who had kept her gaze lowered for the past few moments as he disrobed, scurried around the hearth to pick up one of the pots. She averted her eyes until she stood behind him then forced her gaze down so she could tip the pot. The liquid cascaded over his shoulders and down his back, silver rivulets that fascinated her as it flowed over the skin, smooth and still carrying traces of the Palestinian sun.
    “Again, if you please ,” he murmured, eyes half closed.
    A lyna obliged, upending the pot to empty it before sidling round the tub to grab another one from the hearth. Warin lifted his shoulders in pleasure as more scented water whispered over his skin then hung his head forward.
    “A cloth, Alan.” One muscled arm lifted languidly and pointed towards the stool. “And the