Geoffrey had no such trouble, of course. He met the girl's gaze and grinned slowly.
Alain turned red and cleared his throat. "Aye! You may give the monster burial! A score of your men, with shovels and picks!"
"We shall, we shall straightaway!" cried a man. "But what wouldst thou have for thyselves, good sirs?"
Alain glanced at Geoffrey, saw he was still eyeing the peasant wench, and sighed. If his father's party caught up with them, well, they would, and that was that. "I would have a bath," he told the man, "and food, and strong clothes fit for travelling. Then, though, we must be on our way."
"Must we truly?" Geoffrey said, gaze still on the wench: "Might we not stay the night? There will be few real beds for us in the weeks to come, Alain."
The girl's smile broadened; then she dropped her gaze demurely.
"Why, as you will," Alain sighed—but he found himself eyeing the peasant lass, too, and forced his gaze away. It did no good; the sensations she had raised still shuddered through him. He did his best to ignore the feelings and said, "Still, my companion, let us first bathe."
The village didn't have a bathhouse, of course—such an item would have counted as a major technological breakthrough in the Medieval Europe after which Gramarye's society had been modeled. Such whole-body washing as was done occurred in the local mill pond. The villagers didn't seem to have all that elaborate an idea of privacy, but fortunately, there was a screen of brush around the pond that the miller hadn't gotten around to clearing for several years. On the other hand, from the smothered titters and giggling that rose from the scrawny leaves, Geoffrey guessed that the brush didn't screen them all that thoroughly. He grinned, enjoying the attention of the unseen audience as he languorously caressed his muscles with a cake of soap—but Alain turned magenta with embarrassment, all over, and made sure he didn't let anything more than his torso appear above the waterline. That did inhibit the bath, of course, but it was an improvement over the sweat-and-grime coating with which he had climbed into the pool.
Then, though, there was the problem of climbing out. It didn't bother Geoffrey in the slightest—he just waded ashore, though he did catch up the makeshift towel so quickly that his nudity was only revealed for a second. However, that was long enough to still the giggling chorus. It began again as a series of hushed murmurs as he turned his back, tucking the towel around his waist as an improvised kilt, then holding another out to Alain.
"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Geoffrey," the Prince muttered as he stepped out of the pool into the cover of the towel.
"Well, from your bottom, anyway." Geoffrey grinned. "You look quite well in that sacking the miller provided us, Alain."
The Prince gave him a murderous look and caught up another towel, rubbing himself dry with furious haste. Geoffrey grinned, taking his time about towelling, playing to his hidden watchers. The murmuring voices were properly appreciative.
Alain caught up his clothes and went quickly toward the cover of the mill. Geoffrey caught up with him, and they went through the door together.
"You are quite shameless," Alain grumbled as they dressed in the safety of the millhouse. "How can you enjoy displaying yourself like a joint of beef?"
"Why, I find it quite stimulating." Geoffrey was still grinning. "My blood tickles through me when I know that lasses do watch and admire me—tingling in every limb, at the hint of the pleasures that may follow, if they find enough to admire."
"Shameless, as I said," Alain growled. "Surely you are too chivalrous to seek after such pleasures as you mention!"
"To seek after, no," Geoffrey said, "though if they are offered freely, I am delighted to accept."
"Have you no decency, no regard for others' feelings?" Geoffrey blinked, surprised at Alain's vehemence. Then he said slowly, "Well, some regard, surely. I would never think to force my attentions on a wench who did not want them, nor on a virgin, no matter if she did wish it, nor how greatly. I seek to give only pleasure, Alain. never hurtand if there is reason to think the lass wants more than the sheer fun of it, I'll not come near her, for then is there chance indeed of hurting her heart."
"But all women believe, in their hearts, that there will be more than a night's sport—that the man will then take care of them forever after! They do, Geoffrey, even if they admit it not, not even unto themselves!"
Geoffrey took his time framing the reply, choosing his words carefully. "They want something more than the pleasure of their senses, that is true. But marriage? Nay! No peasant woman truly believes a lord will wed her, Alainno woman of sound mind, at least. In this instance, what they want is a night with a hero, that his glory may adhere to them afterward."
"Aye, and expect him to adhere to them, too, for all their lives!"
"Hope for it secretly, mayhap—so secretly that they admit it not, even unto themselves. If they see him again, they will hope for at least a nod, a few tender words, a half-hour's intimate talk. But, `expect'? Nay. Unless she is mad, no peasant wench would truly expect a lord to marry her."
"Still, secret or not, expectant or not, there will be mayhem done to her heart, whether she knows it or not!"
"Or will admit it or not?" Geoffrey shrugged. "There, I cannot say without reading her mind far below her surface thoughts—and even I shudder at so profound an invasion of privacy. If she knows it not, neither do L I can only judge by her actions, by the deeds and the farewell smiles of those I have seen, by the boasting, covert or overt, among her friends."
"Surely a woman would not boast of being used by a man, even a hero!"
"Well, I have never heard a woman boast of a bedding," Geoffrey admitted, "though I have seen them cluster about a hero, and hint most plainly to be admitted to his bedchamber."
"Mayhap." Alain scowled. "I cannot deny it. But does not each lass hope that he will cleave unto her forevermore, no matter how plain it is that he will not—that to him, she is only one among many?"
"Mayhap," Geoffrey sighed. "I cannot say. There is no accounting for the daydreams women may spin for themselves, nor may men truly comprehend them. I only know that I count it no shame to take what is offered freely, and think that if it is so offered, I give no pain."
But Alain only shook his head as he buttoned his doublet, muttering, "I cannot believe it!"
As he followed the Prince out of the mill and back toward the village common, Geoffrey reflected that Alain's attitude paid credit to his upbringing, but not to his understanding of the world as it really was.
The village common was decked with streamers of cloth and bunches of flowers around trestle tables. The village girls, decked in bright skirts, dark bodices, and white blouses, were just finishing putting up the decorations, chattering and exclaiming to one another. The village youths and men raised a cheer as the two young men came in sight.
"Hail the slayers of the monster!"
"Hail the saviors of the child!"
"Hail the courageous and mighty knights, who have saved our village from peril!"
Alain looked about as they closed in, applauding and cheering him. He was dazzled by all the adulation. He, who was used to the deference and flattery of the court, had never received so much heartfelt praise due only to his deeds, not to his station. He turned from one to another with an incredulous, widening smile ...
And a village wench planted a kiss on his lips, firm and deep.
He jerked his head back, shocked, but she was turning away herself by that time, and another was taking her place. Alain looked up to Geoffrey for help, saw him with a girl in his arms, mouth to mouth, and mentally shrugged. What harm could a kiss do? And would not the girls be insulted if he refused? Surely, he did not want to hurt their feelings! He turned back to give the peasant lass a courteous peck on the cheek—but she had other ideas, ones that took a bit longer. So did the next girl, and the next.