"Do you not remember me, my lord? It is I, Gwyndolyn. Your men stayed at my father's farm on your way north, to battle..."

Erec blinked again. now that he had surrendered, fatigue was woe to let him free of its grasp. The great amount of wine the baron foisted upon him fogged his head and did nothing to help his struggle to recall the young woman.

his conscience whispered.

With a shake of his head, he tried to clear the fog from his mind even as he tried to rub the fog from his bleary eyes with a calloused hand. Blinking once...and again...he finally focused.

"The farmer's daughter." His words were slurred and he found he was incapable of further speech—or even a thought beyond that simple recognition.

"Yes, my lord. Gwyndolyn. I am the dau—" She sopped suddenly and corrected "was—I was the daughter of the farmer." She offered him a sad smile as she reached for him.

"Let me help you, milord." She said as she reached for the clasp that held his cloak.

Her nimble fingers made short work of removing his weapons and slipped the belt smoothly away. It took her a little longer to figure out the buckles for the armor pieces, but she managed rather well, he thought.

In his current state, he could only manage to bend forward and lift his arms so she could pull the Surcoat over his head. A small hand pressed on gently on his shoulder as he moved to stand up again.

"Nay, my lord. Stay. You are much too tall. You must stay seated if I am to remove the chainmail and doublet for you."

Even in his drunken state he noticed that she said nothing of the stockings or the under garments. And though he was too drunk to do anything about it, he thought about it. Even as he had thought about it that day they sat together by the hearth. He was a knight...

But he was no monk! She was a beautiful woman; soft and warm.

...and she smelled of honey.

Gwyndolyn still could not believe that out of the two score and ten soldiers staying at Brecken Moors Hall, she was assigned to HIM. But if it seemed a dream, the weight of his chainmail was real enough. With a groan he finally tugged his wrists free and she took the full weight of it.

At last, there was reason to be glad of all the physical labors she was forced into, or she would not have been able. Even so, it was rather bulky and there was no convenient place to grab hold as she lifted the awkward mound of metal mesh and moved it off to the side.

Seeing no place to set it, she dropped it near the wall with a thud and turned to see him swaying on his feet.

"My Lord." She hurried back and placed a steadying hand on his elbow. "I told you to remain seated, but alas...now you shall have to bend so that I may reach."

He swayed and stumbled back a half-step. Quickly she grabbed a fist full of his doublet to steady him.

"Please do be careful, my lord. You are very close to the bed. If you step too far back, you shall fall upon it and I should never be able to free you of this doublet."

He did not reply, but he grabbed her elbow and held fast until he stopped swaying. He did not release her until she moved to tug at the doublet ties near his throat.

Her sweet voice reached out and soothed his weary soul. Her soft hands gently tugged at the ties. Erec sighed, closing his eyes as he thought of the woman attached to those hands. With his eyes closed against reality, his hands grabbed her hips and pulled her against him. But he pulled too hard and she stumbled into him.

Gwyndolyn was not sure why he tugged at her, but as she warned that he would, he hit the edge of the bed and sat down hard. She managed to keep her feet, but he also kept his grip upon her hips.

She blew hair from her face, as her hands were on his shoulders, trying to keep her balance whilst putting some much-needed space between them. Gwyndolyn blushed several shades of crimson as she realized she stood betwixt his legs with his head resting upon her breasts.

She felt his fingers flex against her hips and stood quickly, attempting once more to extricate herself.

Erec groaned. The woman smelled like honey and he wondered if she tasted of it also. Palming her bottom, he pulled her close. Gwyndolyn squeaked in horror as she twisted and tried to step away.

"My lord..." She tried as she pushed against his shoulders, "Erec, please..."

his conscience pricked.

With far more force than necessary, he pushed her away.

Gwyndolyn managed half a step back when he pushed her so suddenly that she barely managed to keep her feet. Stumbling backward several steps, her arms flailed until inevitably her heel caught her hem and she fell gracelessly into the washstand.

The ewer tipped, spilling water all over. She desperately tried to catch the slippery thing as she fell to the stone floor. She landed upon her back with a hard thud, her breath escaping in a very unbecoming grunt.

Slowly she opened her eyes. The washstand and bowl were fine though the bowl teetered far too near the edge for her comfort. Reaching her foot up, she nudged it back.

Taking inventory, she decided she would have a headache and probably a small bump from where her head hit the floor, but otherwise her pride was injured more than her person.

As she relaxed, she realized she still hugged the empty ewer tightly to her chest. Standing slowly, she returned the ewer and wiped her hands on her dress—her very wet dress—as she turned.

What had he done? A woman was fallen...by his hand!

He cursed his hand. And then he cursed the rest of his wine-numbed body as he struggled to gain his feet so that he might offer her some assistance.

Her soft laughter stilled him and he realized that he must look the veriest of fools. Cursing again, he resumed his struggle to gain his feet. His hands tangled in the furs.

For a moment his drunken mind imagined the furs were yet alive and the beasts held him back from...

"Be still, my lord." Her touch was gentle and warm upon his shoulder. "My feet tangled in my skirts and I stumbled. I am unharmed."

He stilled the instant she touched him and like a boy in the first bloom of youth, lust coursed through him.

Of course, THAT part of him would not be stupid with drink!

He stifled an embarrassed groan not wanting to offend the maiden, for a maiden he knew her to be. He was grateful as she gently tugged his hand and helped him to sit up.

He jerked his chin down and set the room spinning but not before he saw that his doublet was bunched in large folds about his hips.

His relief over his modesty was short lived as the urge to lose the contents of his stomach suddenly overwhelmed him. Choking bile back, he gagged as he struggled to gain his feet.

At the first sounds of retching, her instincts kicked in and she tucked herself against his side. Gripping his arm over her shoulder, she heaved him to his feet. If she must clean up his mess, it would be easier if it were not in the bed!

He groaned as he held his stomach with one hand and leaned heavily upon her as he followed meekly. Gently she lowered him to the chair. With a groan, he clamped his eyes closed tight in his efforts to not become ill. He hardly noticed when she shoved a bucket into his hands.

"Just in case." She mumbled as she turned away again.

His eyes were clenched tight and she saw beads of sweat popping on his brow. He was miserable. Usually, she felt quite strongly, that if a man drank himself sick, then his misery was well deserved.

However, she had heard stories of their exploits as she tended them in the healer's room. If she could never forget what she heard, then what of the men who beheld it with their own eyes!

It was no wonder that they were want to drink to excess this night, celebrating their homecoming, alive and victorious...knowing full well that some of their numbers would never return again. Empathy tugged on her heart strings as she tried to ease his suffering.

Using what bit of water had not spilled out of the basin, she wet a cloth and wrung it free of excess. Pinching the corner between thumb and forefinger, she twirled it in the air above her head and then carried it quickly to his side, dabbing gently at his forehead.

Erec let out a startled gasp followed by a sigh of relief as he leaned into the cold cloth she pressed on his forehead. After a few moments, the rag grew warm and she repeated the gesture.

"How can you make a warm rag become cool so quickly?" He mumbled as she applied it the third time, and his shoulders sagged forward.

"It is a trick the Sisters taught to my mother...and she taught it to me." He shifted in the chair and sat a little straighter. "Are you feeling better then?"

"Nay, but in a moment or two...maybe I shall be better then."

"Here." She lifted away the bucket. "Hold up your arms."

He obeyed and felt her tug away the thick doublet. He felt suddenly light, and then he felt the chill of the air upon his skin. No doubt his undershirt was sweat-soaked and plastered to his skin. She handed him the bucket and patted his shoulder gently.

"I shall return in a few minutes. I—"

"No." Without opening his eyes, he reached out toward the sound and latched hold of her skirts.

"Do not leave me." He moaned.

He knew he was behaving like a petulant child, but damn it, she brough him comfort with her presence...

"Milord, I must—"

He held the bucket pressed betwixt his thighs so that his other hand might join the first, as he gripped her skirts tightly. "Please."

If this was to be his last day on earth— for surely, he would expire before morning— he was not above begging for her presence to comfort his last hours.

Gwyndolyn bit her lip to keep from laughing. With a longsuffering sigh she gently extricated his fingers.

"Very well. I shall stay." Erec sighed and leaned back. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head.

He was behaving the same way that Robin did when he became ill...like something from a Greek tragedy!

In a few steps she was at the door. Opening the door, she called out to one of the guards.

"Have my son bring up a bucket of water. Cold water, it must not be heated. His Lordship is unwell and I must treat him."

"Very well."

The guard turned and disappeared around a corner, no doubt to fetch one of the servants that were always close at hand. A few minutes later there was a soft knock.

"Enter."

"You sent for me, Mama?" Robin asked as he entered carrying a bucket of water that weighed nearly as much as he did.

She was surprised that he had managed, not only to carry so much, but that he did not spill.

"Yes, here." She took the bucket from him and refilled the ewer and bowl then set the bucket down. "His lordship is unwell. I shall have to stay here tonight to take care of him. I shall make up a pallet with some of the furs..." She waved her hand toward the large fireplace. "Run and fetch me some ginger tea...and have cook seep a bit of the willow bark in it as well."

"Yes, Mama." He turned and ran off to see that it was done.

Turning her attention back to Erec, she helped him out of the sweat-soaked undershirt then washed his neck and chest with cool water, all the while keeping the empty bucket close in case Erec should become ill.

Robin arrived several minutes later with ginger tea and salted flatbread. Once more she was impressed with his strength and the fact that he did not spill.

"You have done well, Robin." He beamed at her before casting a worried glance at Erec and she went on. "Once more I shall ask you to fetch something, and then you may return to bed."

"You need a dry gown." He observed. "But I will bring my pallet and sleep over there by the door in case he gets sick again and you need me to fetch something else."

"What a smart boy you are." She ruffled his hair. It was a habit of hers, and recently he had begun to dodge. But tonight, he allowed the gesture and even smiled at her before running off again.

"I know your stomach is unsettled, but this will help. Can you—"

"If it helps the way that cold bath did, I will eat or drink anything you ask." He rasped as he licked his lips.

"I am glad you are cooperating. The way you threw that tantrum earlier, I thought I may have to fetch a guard to hold you down while I poured it down your throat."

He gave her half of a smile, though he had yet to open his eyes again. She moved a stool close and balanced the tray upon it before she put a bit of the flatbread in his hand.

"Eat this first. Slowly. And then I shall have you sip at some ginger tea."

"If you please," he murmured, "I think I am getting better. The cool bath and the crusty bread are helping. I would like to drink some of that cool water though."

She looked toward the window and was surprised to see just how long she had been there. The kitchens would be rising soon to fire up the ovens and bake the daily bread.

Robin returned and sat upon his pallet facing the wall, waiting for Gwyn to give him permission to turn again.

"Keep your eyes closed, Milord. My gown is wet and I must change."

"I would not risk being sick just for a peak at your person...not even for one so...erm... not even for a peak at you." She saw his face flush and hurried to the wash basin. "Nay. You need not bring the cloth. I am well enough. Change your garments...and be quick about it, woman."