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and
readied, and pallets stuffed with straw and sweet herbs to receive some noble
head.
    Joan watched her feet and quickened her pace that she might
not attract the attention of the many strangers about. She headed for the wash
house and her good friend, Edwina.
    Edwina was not to be seen. The moist heat from the many
boiling pots made sweat break out on Joan’s brow.
    “Where is Edwina?” she asked Del, the young man who kept the
wood fires going. He was tall, strong, blond and good-natured.
    “Come for some gossip, have ye?” he asked with a grin.
“Folks have been in and out all day after ‘er. She knows everythin’ about
everybody out there.” Del pointed with a length of wood to the many tents.
“Edwina’s eyes are as sharp as ‘er nose. She’ll know what ye want about yon
suitors.”
    Joan’s cheeks heated. “I’ve just brought a gown that has
blood on the skirt.”
    Del took it, but his grin remained in place. “Aye, well,
ever’one else just has somethin’ they need washed, too. If ye want her, she’s
out there. Some squire, Douglas by name, methinks, had some bloody garments as
needs cleaning. As if a body needs no sleep.” Del shook his head with disgust.
    Joan thanked Del and turned away. The air in the bailey felt
cold after the wash house, but her cheeks still burned. She headed toward home.
    Joan and the mice had the dark perimeter of the castle wall
to themselves save for the sentries who stood high overhead on the ramparts.
The evening air was almost balmy.
    She heard Edwina’s voice before she saw her. The tiny woman
stood at the magnificent black pavilion, her hands on her hips. She was as
round as she was tall. Her full cheeks were permanently red from her years bent
over boiling pots. Her graying hair hid under her linen headcovering. Joan’s step
slowed, and she peered from behind the low branches of an old chestnut tree.
    Edwina looked like a child next to the taller figure of Adam
Quintin.
    “Ye’ll hand that bloody tunic over as well, sir,” the
laundress said. “I’ve seen the like ‘o ye before, and will no’ blush at the
sight, so give it here.”
    Edwina shook her finger in Adam Quintin’s face. Joan took a
quick step forward to interfere, should the warrior take umbrage.
    Instead, he smiled. “I’ll wager you can do nothing about
this blood, mistress. But as you’re so sure of yourself, I’ll give you ten
pence if you’re right and I’m wrong.”
    Edwina wriggled like one of Nat’s pups. “Ten pence! T’would
pay a laundress for weeks of service. I’ll see it perfect, sir, doubt it not.
Now off with yon tunic. I’ve work to do.”
    Joan stood in place, one hand to her throat as he complied
with Edwina’s tart order and pulled his tunic over his head. He tossed it into
Edwina’s waiting arms. Next, he peeled off the long black linen shirt he wore
beneath it.
    Joan sucked in her breath. The knight was nearly naked in
the light of two torches that flanked his tent. The flickering flames gleamed
on the long, lean muscles of his torso and arms. It was a body whose perfection
was marred with scars and abrasions—the marks of a warrior. Heat, like that of
the fires in the wash house, ran over her skin.
    “And yer braies,” Edwina ordered.
    The rush of heat became a flush of something else, something
that snatched her breath.
    The man spread his arms wide, displaying the length of his
grasp and the wings of black hair that stretched out across his chest. This man
could swing the heavy battle ax that hung beside the keep’s hearth, said to
have been captured during a Viking raid.
    “You would take my braies and leave me naked?” Adam Quintin
teased the laundress.
    Edwina sniffed. “I’m sure I’ve seen better—and
bigger—before. Give ‘em over. And if yer so poor ye’ve but one pair o’ braies,
ye’ll no have my ten pence, now, will ye?” She snapped her fingers in his face.
    He tipped his head back and laughed. It was a low and joyful
sound. It