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Griffin had forbid it. She clasped her hands in her lap tightly. Not one touch.
    But she could look. She forced herself to stay where she was and just look at the weapons. These were either winnings from recent melees, or Griffin was wealthy and these were his personal collection. They were not like the swords her brothers had. These were beautiful with finely etched details in the hilt. They were works of art. Perfect. Much like their owner. She brushed that last thought away lest it start to really take hold of her senses. The man was far from perfect. His body, though, was truly a work of art. Stop it, Laynie.
    She glanced around the tent, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. It was so different from the Fletcher tent. Here, everything had a place. There was no clutter. In her family’s tent, her brothers were not so…meticulous. They threw blankets and bags everywhere. Clothing was scattered over the inside of the tent. Here, the blankets were folded neatly on the bed. Granted, the tent was larger than hers, but that made it seem all the more organized.
    She stood and slowly moved about the tent, familiarizing herself with the layout. The area closest to the door was where Griffin’s armor was laid out. Layne bent down and inspected the small dent in Griffin’s breast plate. This was where her lance struck him, giving him the wound she had just tended. She reached out and ran her fingers over the indent. She had not meant to hurt him. She had never really thought she would unhorse him.
    She continued on. Next was a pile of clothing that Layne was sure was the clothing Griffin wore beneath his armor. It would have to be cleaned. That was her duty. She would get back to it. She continued to survey the tent.
    Next came cleaning supplies, candles, kindling for a fire, as well as Adonis’s comb. Then Carlton’s bed, then Griffin’s. She wondered briefly where she would sleep, but that didn’t concern her as much as starting her duties. At least it would give her something to do!
    Layne picked up the pile of clothing and the soap she found near the supplies, and left the tent.
    “Where do you think you’re going?”
    Layne whirled to find Carlton sitting on the ground, running a stone against the edge of a sword.
    “To the stream. To wash clothes. My chores.” She turned to head toward the stream. Carlton stood and followed her. She stopped and turned to him. “I am more than capable of washing clothes.”
    “I’m sure you are. My orders are to make sure you are safe.”
    Layne looked back at the tent. “Where is Sir Griffin?”
    “Practicing.”
    Layne turned and walked toward the stream. “Does he always practice this late?”
    “No. But he’s never been unhorsed before.”

    The last rays of the sun were fading from the sky when Layne finished washing the clothing and began to carry them back to the tent. Carlton advised her to go around the tents of the other knights to avoid any unwanted confrontation. She silently agreed. She knew the other knights were not pleased with what she had done.
    The path around the tents led her close to the field of honor. She heard a smash of wood against wood and wondered if Griffin was still practicing. Layne glanced at the field and saw one rider. As night took over the sky, she saw he wore no armor. His horse thundered toward the quintain, the long lance pointed straight toward the wooden structure. His form was perfect, his concentration fierce. Tingles danced across the nape of her neck and she took a step closer, hugging the wet clothing to her chest.
    The lance struck the quintain and it spun. For a moment, she thought it was going to strike Griffin, but he ducked and rode past. She found herself grinning. He was spectacular. The ease at which he moved made it look easy. He lifted the lance and reined his white stallion into a canter.
    He threw the lance down as he maneuvered his horse around the field. Griffin and Adonis moved together as one. They were elegant and