Pleased with the results once she had wrung out each piece, she stood and returned to the hearth, pulling up a second chair on which to hang her things.
Satisfied with her work, she rearranged the fur pelt on the floor before the fireplace and sat down cross-legged to finish drying her hair. It felt wonderful to be clean and warm again and even the howling wind outside the window did not seem to bother her overmuch. Freeing one corner of the linen wrap, she began to blot her hair with it as a soft smile deepened her dimple.
If Dawn could see me now, she thought with a slight shake of her head. Had she been here in my stead, she would have demanded more suitable lodgings than these. Jewel sighed. But Dawn would have not fallen from her horse. She is more practiced with an animal than I.
A noise in the corridor outside her room caught Jewel's attention and she looked up at the door. The din in the great hall below had not lessened and she strained to hear the sound again. But when it did not come, she shrugged off its significance as simply someone else's seeking a place to rest further down the passageway. She returned to the task of wiping the moisture from her thick mane. Leaning forward, she flipped the heavy mass of curls over her head to dry the underside, her slender fingers ruffling the many layers, then bolted upright when she heard the door of her room open. Auburn locks fell in wild disarray about her face and shoulders and her pale brown eyes were wide with alarm as she frantically pushed stray tendrils from her brow and clutched the linen wrap beneath her chin. A knot of panic lodged in her throat, for standing haloed in the framework of the entryway as bold as any man, a stranger calmly stared back at her.
Jewel could not find the words to speak but only stared, certain this too must be a vision of her nightmare. Yet the size and strength he radiated loomed out vividly to claim him true. He stood feet apart, one arm at his side, the helm he carried nestled in the crook of the other, gauntlets clutched in his fist, and Jewel knew him to be a knight to King Richard by the raiment he wore. Chausses covered his feet and muscular calves, and disappeared from view beneath the hauberk he wore. Pushed back from his head, the coif, a hood made of similar tiny chain mail, lay in folds against his neck. From one hip hung a sword, a weapon Jewel doubted she could lift with both hands. Although her years numbered seven and ten, she had yet to see a man of greater build, one whose mere presence demanded respect, and she trembled from worry for the reason he found himself here. Willing her body to move, she awkwardly reached out for her mantle and pulled it from the chair, hastily covering herself with it. She remained crouched on the fur pelt before the hearth, afraid her knees would not hold her if she stood.
"I... I fear, good sir, an error has been made," she said weakly, looking at his face for the first time.
Green eyes shadowed by tawny brows seemed to pierce her through. Light brown hair streaked golden by the sun framed a strong face, square jaw, and cleft chin. A scar gleamed white against the bronze complexion of his cheek and the thin, straight nose drew her attention to a full, almost sensuous, mouth, now unsmiling and set in a hard line. She had deemed Radolf handsome, but in comparison to this knight, he fell to second place. Had she seen this man at court dressed in full armor and mounted on a mighty charger, she doubted she could have kept herself from staring open mouthed, form all of England, no other man could claim such perfection both in face and stature. But this small space was not the royal palace and Jewel did not hide among the crowd. They were alone and she unclothed, and Jewel sensed he had no intention of leaving at her command. The frantic beating of her heart pounded in her ears.
"If thou wouldst summon the keeper," she began, her words barely more than a whisper, "he would set the matter
Satisfied with her work, she rearranged the fur pelt on the floor before the fireplace and sat down cross-legged to finish drying her hair. It felt wonderful to be clean and warm again and even the howling wind outside the window did not seem to bother her overmuch. Freeing one corner of the linen wrap, she began to blot her hair with it as a soft smile deepened her dimple.
If Dawn could see me now, she thought with a slight shake of her head. Had she been here in my stead, she would have demanded more suitable lodgings than these. Jewel sighed. But Dawn would have not fallen from her horse. She is more practiced with an animal than I.
A noise in the corridor outside her room caught Jewel's attention and she looked up at the door. The din in the great hall below had not lessened and she strained to hear the sound again. But when it did not come, she shrugged off its significance as simply someone else's seeking a place to rest further down the passageway. She returned to the task of wiping the moisture from her thick mane. Leaning forward, she flipped the heavy mass of curls over her head to dry the underside, her slender fingers ruffling the many layers, then bolted upright when she heard the door of her room open. Auburn locks fell in wild disarray about her face and shoulders and her pale brown eyes were wide with alarm as she frantically pushed stray tendrils from her brow and clutched the linen wrap beneath her chin. A knot of panic lodged in her throat, for standing haloed in the framework of the entryway as bold as any man, a stranger calmly stared back at her.
Jewel could not find the words to speak but only stared, certain this too must be a vision of her nightmare. Yet the size and strength he radiated loomed out vividly to claim him true. He stood feet apart, one arm at his side, the helm he carried nestled in the crook of the other, gauntlets clutched in his fist, and Jewel knew him to be a knight to King Richard by the raiment he wore. Chausses covered his feet and muscular calves, and disappeared from view beneath the hauberk he wore. Pushed back from his head, the coif, a hood made of similar tiny chain mail, lay in folds against his neck. From one hip hung a sword, a weapon Jewel doubted she could lift with both hands. Although her years numbered seven and ten, she had yet to see a man of greater build, one whose mere presence demanded respect, and she trembled from worry for the reason he found himself here. Willing her body to move, she awkwardly reached out for her mantle and pulled it from the chair, hastily covering herself with it. She remained crouched on the fur pelt before the hearth, afraid her knees would not hold her if she stood.
"I... I fear, good sir, an error has been made," she said weakly, looking at his face for the first time.
Green eyes shadowed by tawny brows seemed to pierce her through. Light brown hair streaked golden by the sun framed a strong face, square jaw, and cleft chin. A scar gleamed white against the bronze complexion of his cheek and the thin, straight nose drew her attention to a full, almost sensuous, mouth, now unsmiling and set in a hard line. She had deemed Radolf handsome, but in comparison to this knight, he fell to second place. Had she seen this man at court dressed in full armor and mounted on a mighty charger, she doubted she could have kept herself from staring open mouthed, form all of England, no other man could claim such perfection both in face and stature. But this small space was not the royal palace and Jewel did not hide among the crowd. They were alone and she unclothed, and Jewel sensed he had no intention of leaving at her command. The frantic beating of her heart pounded in her ears.
"If thou wouldst summon the keeper," she began, her words barely more than a whisper, "he would set the matter
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