He winked at his niece and, plunging his head into the trough, re-emerged scattering bright droplets. He squatted down on his haunches before Ned. ‘Get on with it, Fletcher,’ he said.
Ned grasped Waldin’s head and began shaving the crown.
‘What are you doing?’ Gwenn demanded, as handfuls of thick brown hair dropped to the ground.
Waldin squinted up at her. ‘What does it look like?’
‘Keep your head braced, sir,’ Ned advised, ‘or my hand might slip.’
‘What are you doing?’ Gwenn repeated.
Ned’s hands stopped their work and ardent blue eyes met hers. Gwenn felt her cheeks warm. He ought not to look at her like that in front of her uncle, especially after what her father had said.
‘I’m shaving his hair off,’ Ned said, and his burning eyes came to rest on her mouth.
His naked longing was too much for Gwenn. She looked away. ‘I...I can see that. But why?’
‘It’s an old habit of mine,’ Waldin explained, as Ned reapplied himself to his task. ‘I let it grow to see how I liked it, but I prefer it shaved. I found it convenient when on the tourney circuit, and I see no reason for changing my habits because I have retired. In high summer, when you spend most of your waking hours crowned with a metal pot, you work up a fair sweat. It’s easier to wash a bald pate.’
‘It looks odd. It’s all white,’ Gwenn observed, intrigued.
Her uncle’s lips twitched. ‘You’d be surprised how quickly it browns.’
‘Even when crowned with your helmet?’
‘I don’t spend every second in a helm.’
Ned had worked round to the back of Waldin’s skull, and as the hair there fell away, Gwenn gasped. ‘You’ve cut him, Ned!’
Dismayed, Ned snatched back his hands. ‘Cut him? No, I’m sure I have not.’ But, staring at the jagged red mark which was emerging from under the champion’s hair, Ned felt a twinge of doubt. ‘Sir?’
Sir Waldin ran his hand over the back of his head. ‘You’re alright, lad. It’s nought but an old scar you are uncovering. The consequences of my preference for a lighter helm. Pray continue.’
Ned resumed shaving, and when he had done, the full extent of the scar was revealed. Purple in places, the skin was shiny and puckered up.
Waldin stood up, flexed his knees, and ran an appraising hand over Ned Fletcher’s handiwork. ‘Not bad.’
‘It will need doing again,’ Ned said, rinsing the razor in a bucket.
Waldin gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘Aye. I reckon on once a month.’ A bushy brow rose. ‘You volunteering, lad?’
‘If you’re content to trust me, I’d be glad to do it for you, sir.’
‘Good lad. I’d rather you than that dozy bunch in the hall.’ Waldin nodded his thanks, and Ned, with one last glance in Gwenn’s direction, saluted and walked off. The tourney champion hadn’t missed the way his niece had recoiled on first seeing his scar. Dismay? Or disgust? ‘I’m told it’s not pretty,’ he said. He had not made up his mind what to think of his niece, but he felt duty bound to try and like her. Waldin had the feeling she had been disappointed in him though she had never said as much.
Gwenn stared a moment longer at the mark on his skull and then said in a very matter-of-fact manner, ‘It is quite repellent. I hope, sir, that it no longer pains you.’
Her blunt honesty warmed him and he laughed. ‘I don’t feel a thing.’ His clothes were lying in an untidy jumble by the side of the trough. He picked them up, shrugged himself into his tunic, and in doing so noticed Ned Fletcher’s fair hair shining in the strengthening sun as the young sergeant looked down from the battlements. A silver-helmed guard came to stand at his side and then Ned Fletcher clapped his own helmet on, and Waldin could not mark the difference between them. Poor lad, Waldin thought sympathetically. He’s got it badly. He could ruin himself over her. Waldin had heard his brother and Yolande speaking in disparaging terms of their English sergeant’s infatuation with their daughter. Apparently the lad had been warned off, and if something were not done soon, he was heading for dismissal. A shame, Waldin reckoned, when of the dozen men currently manning his brother’s tower, the sergeant showed most promise. The two men withdrew from his sight, gone into the guardhouse, no doubt.
Waldin considered Gwenn. He had seen spoilt knights’ daughters by the waggonload on his travels, and most of them had their heads stuffed so full of their own consequence that they only counted the hearts they had broken. Had his brother bred another of these? He wanted to think there was more to his pretty niece than that.
Waldin did not view the Saxon’s lowly birth as being an impediment in the way his brother did. Waldin was no snob, far from it. He had seen many a low-born lad start life as a servant and work his way up to squire. A select few attained the dizzy heights of knighthood, and Waldin saw nothing wrong in that. Tested men often made better knights than those born to it. However, it was becoming clear that Ned Fletcher was unsuitable for his niece, although it was for none of the reasons Yolande and Jean had put forward.
‘I don’t believe in hiding things, you see,’ he said, rubbing his disfigurement as though it were a badge of honour. ‘I like them out in the open.’
A frown nicked Gwenn’s brow. ‘What do you mean, Uncle? You sound as though you’re trying to score a hit. Are you?’
Waldin grinned. He liked people who were quick off the mark. A swift glance assured him that Ned Fletcher had not reappeared on the battlements, and he plunged straight in. ‘What do you intend to do with Sergeant Fletcher?’
‘Do? Do I have to do anything?’
‘Aye. I think so.’
She looked puzzled.
‘I’m taking the liberty of telling you this, my dear, because I like you. But the way you have that young man on a leading rein man on is nothing less than a scandal.’
‘L...leading rein?’ Her mouth fell open. ‘But, Uncle, I’ve done nothing!’
Waldin impaled her with his hard gaze. ‘That’s not quite true, my dear, and if you give it but a moment’s thought, I think you’ll agree.’ Gwenn spluttered, but Waldin took no heed and thrust his point home. ‘I know you are young, and I know you are innocent. But unlike your parents, whose love blinds them to your faults, I see you clearly.’ Once more he ran his hand over the back of his head and gave her a wry grin. ‘As I said, I like things out in the open. And fortunately God blessed me with a few brains as well as brawn. That’s why I survived so long on the circuit. That’s why I see you so clearly. It’s no use your using your youth as a shield and hiding behind it.’
‘But, Uncle!’ Gwenn’s small bosom heaved, indignantly. ‘I am innocent, I swear.’
‘Not so innocent that you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re playing with that lad. Leave Sergeant Fletcher alone. He’s not for you.’
Her eyes smouldered. Her lips formed a resentful pout. ‘You’re beginning to sound like my father.’
‘I’ve not done, my girl. When I’ve had my say, you can have yours.’
She subsided, simmering.
‘Sergeant Fletcher’s not for you,’ Waldin allowed an understanding smile to lift one side of his mouth, ‘and the reason has nothing to do with his birth, and everything to do with the fact that you would swallow him up in one bite. Forget your pride, Gwenn. Let the lad go. Let him find someone more suited.’
‘Hell’s Teeth!’ Gwenn borrowed one of her brother’s curses. ‘What has pride to do with it?’
The smile reached the champion’s brown eyes, warming them to a rich mahogany. ‘Don’t swear, Gwenn. It doesn’t look pretty on you.’
‘Because I’m a girl,’ she said, nettled, ‘and girls mustn’t swear.’
Waldin was not tempted to go skirmishing down that blind alley. ‘It doesn’t look pretty on you. Think, Gwenn. Pride has a lot to do with it. Admit it. You love Ned Fletcher–’