His Fair Lady by Kathleen Kirkwood

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nuns. She urgently appealed to the others for help as the fowls
were meant for their poor convent in Rouen.
    The subsequent hours were spent collecting
the chickens and recaging them in hastily repaired coops, putting
the group sorely behind schedule. They’d anticipated reaching a
Benedictine hostel outside Le Mans and stopping there overnight.
Now, they were forced to camp along the roadside. Fortunately, they
located a small clearing just off the main path, one backing to a
stream.
    Juliana’s improved humor continued and no
sharp words passed between them. They shared a meal in
companionable silence, a simple affair of hard biscuits, dried
meat, and cheese, plus a bladder of wine, which she instantly
pronounced unfit for even Hannibal. Her foster father’s beer and
ale, she declared, were far superior.
    As she nibbled a strip of venison, she
glanced his way from time to time. Still, not even a hint of
recognition appeared in her eyes. It pricked his pride. Why,
exactly, he was unsure. ‘Twas reasonable she wouldn’t associate the
scrawny lad he’d been with the man he’d grown to be, a decade older
at that.
    He studied her profile as she turned to gaze
toward the neighboring campfire. There, Piperel, the juggler who
traveled in their company, entertained the others, deftly tossing
apples and pears in the air, keeping them in constant motion.
    Royce tugged his beard. Perhaps now was an
agreeable time to reveal his identity to Juliana. She deserved to
know he was the squire who’d found her in Vaux long ago. ‘Twould
further lay to rest questions of her identity.
    He set aside the chunk of cheese he’d been
slicing and started to speak. But when he looked up again, he found
she’d risen and now strode toward the others, fascinated as the
juggler exchanged knives for the fruit, manipulating them with
great dexterity. Ending with a flourish, Piperel bowed deeply and
held out his ragged hat. Juliana smiled then stepped off to join
Mother Agnes’s little troop. Together the women headed into the
woods, presumably to see to their personal needs.
    Royce vented a breath. Another time would
serve as well to speak with Juliana on his role in Vaux. Many days
of travel still lay ahead of them.
    He rose and gathered the remnants of his
meal and returned them to the leather pouch that rested on the
ground beside his new saddle. He next set aside his sword and
scabbard, then stripped away his surcoat, hauberk, and undertunic,
baring his arms and upper torso.
    Royce caught up the skin of water he’d
filled earlier from the stream and doused his hair and chest,
rinsing away the sweat and dust gained in the day’s travels. As he
toweled himself dry, he moved toward Hannibal to groom him as he
did each night. At his approach, the stallion nickered a greeting.
Royce grinned.
    “Here we are again at eventide, old friend.
Tell me, have you any advice for dealing with mettlesome
maidens?”
    Hannibal bobbed his head then nuzzled
Royce’s hand, then his pantleg, seeking a treat.
    “An apple? ‘Twill take more than that to win
Juliana’s cooperation.”
    Royce took up a cloth and began rubbing down
Hannibal with long, rhythmic strokes. When the women did not soon
reappear, he glanced toward the point where they’d entered the
forest. Diverting his gaze to the men in their small encampment, he
studied them closely, counting their number, but noted none to be
missing.
    Royce turned back to the stallion. Perhaps
the women lingered by the stream to refresh themselves or rinse
their clothes.
    One thing for certain. They wouldn’t have
ventured far. The sun descended quickly now, dipping behind the
trees. ‘Twould soon be dark.
    »«
    Ana quickened her pace, anxious to place
more distance between herself and the nuns. Thankfully, she’d been
able to slip away unnoticed when the sisters settled themselves
beside the stream to say their evening Office.
    Pressing through the underbrush, Ana
hastened deeper into the forest. When