A Lily on the Heath 4 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ursula, Alynne, and the other ladies were most likely still abed, or at the least dressing for mass.  
    But Judith was no prude—after all, she’d grown up watching men train in her father’s yard, oft in various states of undress. As well, she and Gregory were betrothed for more than a year before he died, and they’d been intimate on more than one occasion. Before she came to court, Judith had even attended to visiting lords or other important men at her father’s estate, often bathing them herself as a sign of honor and hospitality.
    Thus she counted herself fortunate rather than mortified to see and admire the sleek muscles, broad, square shoulders, and dark patches of hair covering many of the bare chests of some of the king’s best warriors. Sweat gleamed, muscles bulged, and powerful arms swung swords nearly as heavy as Judith herself.
    She knew many of the men: Hugh de Rigonier, James of Revrielle, Clancy de Monfronte, and at the furthest edge of the group, Malcolm of Warwick. Judith found herself wanting to pause and watch him for a moment—simply out of curiosity, of course, for she’d oft seen the other men during their swordplay—but she dared not be noticed gawking. Still, Judith took note of Mal’s sleek bunches of muscle, rippling down his arms and over his shoulders. He moved with speed and surprising grace for one so tall, his too-long hair plastered over his eyes and across one cheek.
    As she continued past, now eyeing the lunging and spinning movements of the other warriors, she noticed a pair of younger fighters. Squires, likely, and mayhap barely fifteen years of age. They were surrounded by a small group of others of their age; not the full-grown, knighted men, but younger ones still aspiring to receive their accolade. One of the two fighters was long and gangly and overmatched by his more agile partner. As Judith approached, she was reminded of the days at Kentworth when Gregory was fostering. She’d watch him practice whenever she could, utterly besotted by his handsome face and curling blond hair. He was quick and lithe, even if he used his feet to trip his sparring partner as oft as he did his sword.
    If he had not done such foolish, dangerous things and gotten killed, she would be married. They would likely have a babe or two. And she would be home at Lilyfare, with a man who—if he did not love her, at the least he cared for her somewhat.
    A shout caught her attention, and Judith looked over in time to see the taller, slighter young fighter tumble into a heap on the muddy ground. His sword lay well out of reach, and it appeared he’d tripped on his own feet instead of being disarmed by his opponent.
    None of the other young men went so far as to laugh or even jeer at him—but mayhap that was even worse. Instead, Judith caught some laughing, slanted looks cast between them along with a few expressions of disgust.  
    Someone handed the boy his sword as he picked himself off the ground. From the amount of dirt on his tunic and chausses, it was clear it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a spill.  
    “Better luck next time, Rike,” the other boy said jovially. But even from where she stood, Judith could tell he was trying hard not to smile.
    She looked away quickly, for fear Rike would see her watching and be even more mortified. But at the same time, her mind was working. He needed someone to train with—someone who knew what he was doing and could teach him how to move his too-long legs and control his awkward arms. Mayhap she would ask Hugh to take him under his wing, or—nay. Not Hugh. Malcolm.  
    Nay, Warwick . She must remember to think of him as Lord Warwick now.
    But it was a good thought, no mater how she named the man in her mind. How many times had Mal—Warwick—ended up accidentally dropping his sword or tripping over its tip when he was younger? Judith had oft seen it happen when he was fostering with Gregory. Once, he’d tried to do a spinning lunge and ended up