Excerpt: Fire of the Covenant
Day 34: Man-at-Arms
Willoe continued to walk and turned toward the old farmer. “Allow us to help you, ancient father.” Willoe spoke in a kind voice with an intentionally friendly expression of respect.
Only four days on the road and Willoe had already learned that the life of a man-at-arms didn’t quite live up to the glamorous world she had envisioned. Even without the hulking armor, the lighter gambeson and surcoat, the hefty leather belt, heavy cotton cloak, and other gear were a lot heavier than her normal raiment. Most of the dresses she usually wore, even in layers, were made of lightweight fabrics like silk or linen. Even in the Winter, the heavier combed wool dresses and furred capes were worn for short times when she would need to be outside, which was seldom.
But she had never had to wear any of her dresses on a horse from nearly dawn to dusk.
She shifted in her saddle and Aeron leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But even though she denied it she couldn’t sit still.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Aeron moved his horse closer so he could whisper.
“My thighs.” She hated to have to explain, but she was at straw’s end. “They are chapped. From all the riding.”
“That is strange.” Aeron looked thoughtful. “The breeks should prevent that from happening.”
“The breeks?” Willoe snapped her head and glanced over. “They were too thick and baggy.”
Aeron roared with laughter, which only made Willoe angry.
She had tried on Rowyn’s breeks before leaving Westhedge, but they were heavy and hung to her knees. She much preferred her tighter cotton undergarments. She had figured no one would see what she wore under her leggings, so it made no difference.
In between bursts of laughter, he told her, “They are baggy and thick for a reason.” Aeron shook his head. “The breeks are loose, so they adjust as you move with the rhythm of the horse, and they are thick to pad your thighs to help prevent chapping.”
Willoe mumbled unhappily, defeated by her own logic.
“Here, try these on.” They were in their tent and Aeron was handing her a pair of his breeks. She wasn’t thoroughly convinced, but the rash was becoming unbearable.
She took the smallclothes, holding them out with both hands and crunching up her nose. She motioned for him to turn around. “Don’t look.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He turned his back to her.
“I know, you only have eyes for a certain raven-haired lady.” Willoe quipped as she removed her breeches so she could put on the undergarments.
“I do not—” Aeron began to turn back.
“Aery!” she screamed.
He stopped and turned away. “I find her entertaining, but I have no interest in her.”
“Why then, every time Captain Harte calls for a break you happen to find yourself by her carriage? And where do you disappear to after supper?”
“I—” he began to disagree, then changed the subject. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.” He turned and lifted the tent flap, then walked out.
She tagged along behind him as they approached the supply tent. Supply Sergeant Trystan stood in the light of a lamp, going through a crate.
“Sergeant Trystan.” Aeron spoke as they came up to the sergeant. “I was wondering if you had any of that ointment for rashes?”
“That I do, Lord Aeron.” The sergeant started to go through another crate.
“Do we really need the ointment?” Willoe whispered from behind Aeron.
“Do you want to get rid of the rash?”
She nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see.
“Here you go.” The sergeant pulled a small jar out of the crate he had been rummaging through. “Just what you are looking for. Marigold petals prepared with clarified fat. My mother’s own recipe.”
He handed it to Aeron, who thanked the sergeant and headed back to the tent.
That night, when Aeron went off after supper, Willoe applied the ointment. She sighed as soon as she put it on. She was glad she had listened to him about the balm. Grudgingly she admitted to herself that in some things he was just wiser than she, but when it came to the Franchon woman, she was sure he had lost his senses. What was going to happen if Mael found out?
