the next round in a contemplative mood.

This woman really is a mystery- a guest of the Queen, wearing what is in effect her livery (another unusual thing for ladies- it’s normally knights who have to wear their lord’s colours when they’re not in armour) but a guest who hasn’t actually met her hostess yet. She wears gloves even indoors. She says she comes from the far north- well, so do I, which gives us something in common. I think my accent might slip a little as well……

I still don’t quite know what she’s doing here. Is she some kind of fugitive? That would explain her need for a new wardrobe supplied by the Queen. But why should the Queen take an interest in her? And why am I bothering so much?

That’s an easy one to answer. I’m bothering so much because I’ve never felt so strongly attracted to a woman I’ve only just met. I’m not a great believer in romances- precious few of them are put together by real knights who know what they are talking about when it comes to battle scenes or combats, and the world of King Arthur or Charlemagne they write about doesn’t match up too well with the one I inhabit. I’ve always been a bit sceptical about how their characters find themselves professing endless devotion to a woman they’ve seen once at long range and never actually talked to. Even men I’ve fought alongside who’d ride into battle with a lady’s favour stuck on their armour had usually exchanged a bit more than a “hello” with the lady in question.

But maybe, just maybe, there is such a thing as love at first meeting. And if this lady is about to take over my heart I’d like to know a little bit about her. Does she have enemies I’ll need to take care of for her? Has she a home somewhere? Or do I have to try to carve out a home for both of us by tying myself to the service of some major lord for a lot longer than I’ve ever done in the past?

I buy the ale- luckily the coin the Udinese paid me with are accepted here without a fuss with scales and money changers- and head back to join Flidhais. The sunlight coming through the tavern door catches her glossy black hair. She looks even more beautiful than I first realised- not in the conventionalised way that romance heroines always seem to look (snub nosed, small mouthed adolescent blondes) but the beauty of a real woman. Strong features, high cheekbones, straight nose, a generous mouth made for smiling- and a lovely shapely body too.

For a short moment I struggle to say anything. “Your ale, my lady.” I give her the tankard in my right hand. “Your very guid health too. Did ye say ye came frae the northlands? Sae dae I- which part are ye frae? Ah furst saw the licht in Moray, up awa’ in the north east o’ Scotland.”

Flidhais shows alarming signs of getting the giggles. I switch accents “Of course, I don’t speak like that very often these days, my lady. It isn’t regarded as respectful”