disliked sleep, though he acknowledged its necessity. It made him too vulnerable. Shivering from the cold, Günter wondered if he had ever spoken Alonsa’s name aloud in his sleep. It might explain Martin’s certainty about Günter’s feelings for his intended.
Nay, he decided, drying himself off quickly. Likely not. Surely, Günter would have awoken with a blade at his throat if that had been the case, friendship or no.
Günter donned his clothes. It grew late, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep again tonight. He left his tent, and after waving to Rutger as he patrolled on sentry duty, Günter padded quietly over to the side of the camp where Alonsa slept. He stayed in the shadows, watching her tent, imagining what she must look like in her bed as she slumbered.
Did she sleep naked? With her hair unbound? Would all her rich, dark-brown hair flow like silk over his body while he loved her?
She would have to be on top for him to find out, of course. The second time. Her head thrown back as she rode him, the tips of her hair teasing his thighs. He would slide the strands forward with his fingers, cover, and then reveal her breasts with it. Or mayhap he could convince her to put her mouth upon him. Then her heavy curtain of hair would drape over him of its own accord, spreading like Saracen chocolate over his body as she slid her way down.
He held his breath at the image and then let it out with a shaky laugh.
Pathetic.
Someone approached in the dark, and Günter had his Katzbalger out and at the man’s throat before he recognized him. Blue eyes stared back at him, but this time they were not afraid—only surprised.
“Günter?”
Fritz. Dammit, he had let Fritz creep up on him while he fantasized about Alonsa. What kind of mercenary was he? If he kept this up, he would soon be a dead one.
“What is it?” Günter snapped, angrier with himself than with the young man. He thrust his blade back into its scabbard and tried again. “Report.”
Fritz cleared his throat and ran a hand through his floppy hair before he came to attention.
“As you instructed, I have watched the tent for the past few hours. The Señora retired at nightfall, and there has been no unusual activity since then.”
Günter glared at him. “You have not fallen asleep at your post?”
Fritz’s cheeks flushed, but he shook his head.
“Nay, I have paced continuously, as you showed me, to stay awake. And drunk plenty of cider, though I care little for it, and pissed it all behind that tree.” His eyes flickered to a giant cypress nearby. “I think it will be withered by morn.”
Günter tried desperately to keep his lips from quivering.
“Good soldiers make sacrifices,” he finally managed. “She has not left her tent since nightfall? Nor packed up any of her belongings?”
“Nay,” Fritz confirmed.
“So, it will not be today, then,” Günter murmured, grateful for that at least. “Well done, young Fritz. I’ll relieve you now.”
Fritz looked taken aback.
“But … I still have several hours left. Have I done something wrong?”
Günter looked at the young man, so eager to serve, so anxious to do well. He might make a fine soldier after all. Pity he had no noble blood, or funds with which to buy weapons or horse.
“You’ve done well today, son. But I find I cannot sleep, and without employment I am restless. I’ll take over here for tonight. Come back at dawn, after a good night’s sleep.”
Fritz looked as though he might protest, but Günter held up a hand to silence him.
“First rule of soldiering … sleep when you can. You never know what the morrow may bring.”
Fritz nodded his head, absorbing this tidbit of knowledge with a serious expression. Günter half expected him to reach into the willow pack around his waist for something on which to scribble it down.
“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Nay. Except—” he hesitated for a moment, for effect.
“Yes?” Fritz asked, eyes
Nay, he decided, drying himself off quickly. Likely not. Surely, Günter would have awoken with a blade at his throat if that had been the case, friendship or no.
Günter donned his clothes. It grew late, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep again tonight. He left his tent, and after waving to Rutger as he patrolled on sentry duty, Günter padded quietly over to the side of the camp where Alonsa slept. He stayed in the shadows, watching her tent, imagining what she must look like in her bed as she slumbered.
Did she sleep naked? With her hair unbound? Would all her rich, dark-brown hair flow like silk over his body while he loved her?
She would have to be on top for him to find out, of course. The second time. Her head thrown back as she rode him, the tips of her hair teasing his thighs. He would slide the strands forward with his fingers, cover, and then reveal her breasts with it. Or mayhap he could convince her to put her mouth upon him. Then her heavy curtain of hair would drape over him of its own accord, spreading like Saracen chocolate over his body as she slid her way down.
He held his breath at the image and then let it out with a shaky laugh.
Pathetic.
Someone approached in the dark, and Günter had his Katzbalger out and at the man’s throat before he recognized him. Blue eyes stared back at him, but this time they were not afraid—only surprised.
“Günter?”
Fritz. Dammit, he had let Fritz creep up on him while he fantasized about Alonsa. What kind of mercenary was he? If he kept this up, he would soon be a dead one.
“What is it?” Günter snapped, angrier with himself than with the young man. He thrust his blade back into its scabbard and tried again. “Report.”
Fritz cleared his throat and ran a hand through his floppy hair before he came to attention.
“As you instructed, I have watched the tent for the past few hours. The Señora retired at nightfall, and there has been no unusual activity since then.”
Günter glared at him. “You have not fallen asleep at your post?”
Fritz’s cheeks flushed, but he shook his head.
“Nay, I have paced continuously, as you showed me, to stay awake. And drunk plenty of cider, though I care little for it, and pissed it all behind that tree.” His eyes flickered to a giant cypress nearby. “I think it will be withered by morn.”
Günter tried desperately to keep his lips from quivering.
“Good soldiers make sacrifices,” he finally managed. “She has not left her tent since nightfall? Nor packed up any of her belongings?”
“Nay,” Fritz confirmed.
“So, it will not be today, then,” Günter murmured, grateful for that at least. “Well done, young Fritz. I’ll relieve you now.”
Fritz looked taken aback.
“But … I still have several hours left. Have I done something wrong?”
Günter looked at the young man, so eager to serve, so anxious to do well. He might make a fine soldier after all. Pity he had no noble blood, or funds with which to buy weapons or horse.
“You’ve done well today, son. But I find I cannot sleep, and without employment I am restless. I’ll take over here for tonight. Come back at dawn, after a good night’s sleep.”
Fritz looked as though he might protest, but Günter held up a hand to silence him.
“First rule of soldiering … sleep when you can. You never know what the morrow may bring.”
Fritz nodded his head, absorbing this tidbit of knowledge with a serious expression. Günter half expected him to reach into the willow pack around his waist for something on which to scribble it down.
“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Nay. Except—” he hesitated for a moment, for effect.
“Yes?” Fritz asked, eyes
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