A True and Perfect Knight Read Online Free PDF

need a moment or two alone, Rebecca. I will be there soon. Would you see to Thomas for me? He is with Bergen.”
    “Yes, sister. Marie and I will watch Thomas.”
    Haven did not want the women to know they had been observed. They were close enough to camp to be safe without his protective eye watching them every step of the way. He faded back into the forest, uncomfortable with the picture he had just been given of the widow Dreyford. Her patience, generosity and good humor did not fit the image of a greedy, power-hungry traitor that he had carried in his mind for so long. Deep in thought, he made his solitary way back to camp.
     
     
    When the other women disappeared from view, Gennie let her head drop and her shoulders slump. She was so very tired. Only one clean gown remained in the small chests that she had rescued from her belongings at the Dreyford keep. Rebecca would have the clean clothing. Gennie did not know if she had the strength to wash her own long tunic. Even if she did, it would be damp on the morrow. Of course, she had been rain-soaked for days; what would a little dampness matter?
    The thought occurred to her to walk into the stream with her clothes on and let the rushing water do the work. But the water was cold, and Gennie was relatively warm beneath her coating of muck.
    She would ask Therese to clean the gown. The maid would complain, of course, but that was nothing Gennie had not put up with before. Therese would do the work, and tomorrow, Gennie would be damp but clean. The arrogant Sir Haven de Sessions would not have to soil his cloak when he took her pillion again.
    Gennie turned away from the river and limped toward camp. What she would not give for a bath and a long, hot soak for her maltreated feet.
     
     
    Haven watched Rebecca and the nurse return to camp muddy and laughing as if they had not a care in the world. They took Thomas from Bergen and disappeared into the relocated shelter without a word.
    He paused near the fire, undecided as to whether he should still confront the widow over her tendency to forget that he was in charge. Since she was not available, Haven started for the bluff to check on the guard there, when a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. It approached from the direction of the river. As Haven turned to investigate, he realized it was the widow hobbling into the clearing.
    What was wrong with her? Whatever had happened, she was clearly in pain. Deciding to get the details later, when he questioned her about Roger, Haven strode forward, grasped the woman about the waist and hoisted her into his arms. Her body was sodden, cold and covered with mud. Part of her kirtle had been torn away. Had someone attacked her? Haven felt anger chase fear through his belly, until he remembered that she had sacrificed her own clothing to rescue Rebecca.
    “Put me down.”
    “No.”
    “Why, you…you…you pompous, arrogant goat.” The fist she smacked onto his chest hurt less than a fleabite. He ignored her outrage and shouted for Watley, who had been feeding the horses.
    The squire came at a run. “Aye, sir?”
    With a jerk of his head, Haven indicated a nearby log. “Drag that log close to the fire. Then go and get my woolen cloak.”
    Haven waited. When the log was in place, he set the widow down gently. Now he would have answers.
    As her feet touched the ground, Haven heard pain whimper from her cold lips. He saw agony shudder through her thin frame. She raised her knees toward her chest and wrapped her rag-covered toes in the remnants of her skirt.
    Toes! Haven remembered the quick flash of long limbs as she had pulled herself onto his horse that morning. He hunkered down beside her and grasped her hand. Firmly, he pried her fingers from around her feet. The skirt fell away. Her feet lay revealed in his hands. Frayed, mud stained strips of cloth wrapped her from ankle to toe. He pulled his knife from his belt, intent on cutting away the offensive rags.
    “ Non. ”