A Dishonorable Knight

Chapter 15

In the small living area downstairs, Elena watched groups of men come through the door in the corner. They invariably started when they spotted her and she nodded as regally as she could to each of them, trying to act like she belonged here. None of the men spoke to her as they scurried down the hall to the front room or ducked out the back door into a narrow alley. Finally, Bryant was among the men coming downstairs and he hurried over to her, a delighted grin on his face.

"Now that is over with, shall we get you something to eat?"

Elena nodded, but looked at the small kitchen across the room apprehensively. Although it was as spotless as the living area, she could see no evidence of prepared food. She knew absolutely nothing about cooking, and having eaten Bryant's cooking on the road, she decided she would rather listen to her stomach growl all night than eat anything they could concoct. She turned back to Bryant with such a resigned look on her face that he burst out laughing.

"I promise, no more dried beef. There is a marketplace just around the corner and there is sure to be food as this town has festivals and fairs constantly during the summer."

"Thank God and every one of his saints," said Elena gratefully. "Lead the way."

They waited out in the cloth shop until the men preceding them had disappeared inconspicuously down the street. While she waited, Elena fingered the rich textures of the cloth stacked on shelves along the walls. She came across one at the bottom of a stack she couldn't resist pulling out. It was a finely woven wool, soft as any Italian cotton, and it was a warm cranberry color, slightly faded, but a rich color, rich as a young girl's lips after her first kiss. Elena shook out the folds of the cloth and held it up against her, admiring the drap as she flared it at her feet.

"Lady Elena?" Bryant interrupted her play. "We can go now."

Elena nodded and folded the cloth as neatly as she could. For some reason, it was nowhere near as small a package as it had been when she pulled it out. Bryant waited patiently as Elena shoved the untidy roll of fabric on top of the neat stack. Half of the piece hung off the shelf, loose threads from the end dangling, but it seemed in no danger of falling to the floor so Elena turned to Bryant with an over-bright smile, took his arm, and steered him away from the heap of fabric.

"Now, what are we going to eat? I'm starving," she said.

Bryant's chest swelled as he covered her hand on his arm with his other hand. "Whatever my lady desires, so shall she eat," he said with a flourish as they left the shop.

The market was indeed just around the corner and it was as boisterous and crowded as any Elena had seen in her travels with Richard's court. As they pushed their way through the crowds, Elena was bombarded with scents and sites. Old men sold fresh-caught fish from blue wooden carts, the unmistakably fishy smell wrinkling Elena's nose. A young boy of eleven or twelve walked on his hands for the amusement of a group of young girls. Everywhere women of all ages, bargained with merchants for this bolt of cloth or those rounds of cheese. As Bryant led her past a row of open-front shops, Elena heard a young pregnant woman convince the baker to give her a dozen rolls for free since she was buying two large loaves of bread anyway. "'Tis just so hard for me to bake. This babe," she said pointing to her protruding belly, "is causing me no end of misery." Elena laughed as the man looked nervously at her roundness before agreeing to her plea.

As they made their way to the center of the large square where the food merchants were set up, a tall man brushed past her, his long hair streaked by the sun, his well-muscled shoulders rippling under his thin linen shirt, his forearms tanned below rolled up shirt sleeves. Elena turned to watch as the man paused to talk to one of the merchants. From the side, she watched him as he burst into laughter, his teeth startlingly white against the tanned skin of his weather-grooved face. Someone stepped in front of Elena, blocking her view and she pushed him aside. As if feeling her gaze on him, the tall man turned his head. When he saw Elena, he smiled broadly and cocked his right eyebrow in a movement that could only be described as suggestive. Elena's eyes widened and she spun around, nearly colliding with Bryant.

"There you are! I though you were following me, but when I turned around, you were gone. It wouldn't be wise to become separated here," he said, firmly clasping her hand in his own. As he pulled her towards another vendor, Elena craned her head around and discovered the well-built stranger staring at a point somewhere below her face. When he raised his eyes and grinned wickedly, Elena realized he must have been watching her hips as she walked away. She gasped and quickly turned around.

There were no men that rudely bold in Richard's court! No nobleman would dare look at a lady like that while she was cognizant of his attention. Elena paused in mid-thought. Of course, no men in Richard's court seemed so...virile, either. There was a confident power in that tanned face that did not stem from a title. Elena could remember no man who held himself so in Richard's court. No man except maybe...Gareth.

"How about some grilled lamb, my lady?" Bryant's voice pulled her from her thoughts, but she did not hear his question. When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he explained. "They skewer pieces of lamb and roast it over a fire. It's quite tasty."

Suddenly Elena's hunger replaced all thoughts of virile soldiers and Gareth's appeal. "That sounds wonderful. Buy me two."

Bryant smiled and turned to the old man behind the table. "How much for each stick?"

"Two pence," the toothless mouth replied.

Bryant stared open mouthed at the old man. "Two pence? But the cart just over there is only charging a penny!"

The old man broke into a wheezing laugh. "That is because he serves mutton so dry and tough it takes you a week to digest it! Besides, I flavor mine with a very expensive spice my son has just brought me from the land of the barbarians. Try it," he said, handing a stick to Elena. "It's very spicy."

Elena bit into the tender meat, its juices running down her chin. The strange spice tickled her nose and burned the tip of her tongue but it was wonderfully pungent and she loved it.

"What is this spice called?" she asked, wiping her chin with her hand as delicately as she could.

"Tis some strange foreign name, but I believe my son said it sounded like cory. Or was it curry? My son has sailed the seas for twelve years and each time he returns, he brings me something unusual."

Bryant turned to Elena. "Is it acceptable, my lady?"

Elena nodded her head, her mouth full. When Bryant paid for only two, she prodded him with her elbow. "I'm absolutely famished," she said as soon as she swallowed. Bryant ordered a third.

With their meals in hand, Bryant led her to a rickety bench on the edge of a small clearing in the market. As they sat, Elena noticed two small, short tree stumps protruding from the ground. "What are those for?" she asked.

Bryant turned to look and said, "Oh, those are Viking stumps. Actually, no one knows what they're really called, but the Vikings introduced this game to the Welsh hundreds of years ago when they were constantly raiding our coast."

"How kind of them. How is it played?"

"A person will stand on each stump, a long rope held between them. When the game is begun, they both pull on the rope. The object is to force your opponent off his stump or pull the rope out of his hands. I imagine someone will begin playing soon enough and we can watch.

"But how simple--doesn't the biggest person always win?"

"Actually, no. There is a great deal of strategy and dexterity in the more skilled players."

As Elena ate, she wondered if women were allowed to play.

***

"Samuel, I would speak business with you a moment," Gareth said nervously.

The middle-aged weaver turned away from the small group of men talking in one corner of his shop. "Business, eh? I'm always willing to talk business, especially if it concerns you giving me money!" He laughed heartily and slapped Gareth on the shoulder. Seeing that Gareth was not laughing, he quickly sobered and asked, "What can I do for you?"

Gareth cleared his throat and began, "I need to purchase some cloth."

"Cloth, eh? I'm not sure if I can help you there." Again bursting into laughter--laughter that reminded Gareth of a braying mule--he turned to the wall of stacked bolts. Spying a mangled piece of crimson fabric, his laughter turned to sputters of outrage. "Look at this! People have no respect for a man's merchandise!" Pulling out the fabric, he shook it vigorously, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Now what type of fabric do you want and how much are you willing to spend?"

As he continued to shake the cranberry-colored fabric, Gareth had a sudden vision of Elena in the rich color, full skirts swirling around her feet, the soft fabric clinging to her hips.

"Is there enough of that fabric to make a lady's gown?"

"Oh, ho! A gown is it? Let me see." Carefully measuring the fabric from the end of one outstretched hand to the middle of his chest, he said, "There are eight lengths here, plus a little I won't charge you for."

"How much does it cost?" asked Gareth, pulling out the leather money pouch Morgan had given him.

Samuel gave his price, but before Gareth could naively hand over the money, Cynan bellowed, "That's highway robbery, old man! Don't pay it, Gareth, I'll take you to a much cheaper shop a couple of streets over."

Confused, Gareth looked back and forth between the two men, Samuel looking worried despite his smooth merchant's mask, and Cynan looking smug and slightly challenging. Suddenly distracted, Gareth asked his friend, "Where did you come from?"

"I just got off watch and came to find out the news."

Quietly, Gareth asked, "Is that really too much for the cloth?"

"I've no idea," Cynan responded in a whisper. "But one thing I've learned from Enid is that you never agree to a merchant's first price."

Gareth nodded, beginning to understand. In a louder voice, he said, "Perhaps I should look at this other shop. I need money for a chemise as well and this fabric would take all I have."

"Now, now," Samuel said as he rushed to block their exit. "You didn't let me finish. When I told you the price, I didn't get a chance to let you know that includes an equal length of this fine linen that would make a beautiful chemise.

"Linen?" Gareth asked, thinking quickly and getting into the negotiations. "Aren't chemises usually made of Italian cotton?" He remembered Elena bragging about that at some point in their journey.

Samuel laughed. “Only very expensive chemises for very grand ladies."

"Precisely," said Gareth and moved to leave.

"Alright, alright. You are stealing more from me than your father did this morning. Here," he said, pulling down a bolt of creamy cotton. "I'll give you five lengths--that's more than enough to make a chemise."

As Samuel measured out the cotton, Gareth fingered the soft wool. "Cynan? Do you think this color will look good on Elena?"

Cynan's eyebrows shot up. A smirk crossed his face and he looked like he was about to say something, but paused with his mouth open, studying Gareth's face. He must have seen something in his friend that made his own face soften as he gently said, "I think that is an excellent choice. Lady Elena will look beautiful in it."

Relieved, Gareth turned back to Samuel and counted out the money. Cynan looked down the hall. "Speaking of your lady, where is she?"

Gareth did not remember seeing Elena in the back room or the kitchen. Just a little worried, he said, "I'm not sure." His purchase in hand, he turned to go back to Samuel's living quarters, thinking she may have been cleaning up.

"Are you talking about that bonny redhead?" Gareth turned to see a short wiry man who'd been in the meeting upstairs.

"Yes, have you seen her?"

His arms full of bolts of cloth, the man gestured with his chin towards the door. "She left with some young man to the market."

"What young man? To the market? Why?"

"I think they were going to get something to eat. The man was upstairs. Your friend, I think."

"Bryant?" Gareth asked.

"I didn't catch his name."

"Food sounds like a wonderful idea to me," Cynan interrupted. "Let's join them."

Gareth nodded, suddenly aware of his own hunger. Turning, he tucked his package behind Samuel's counter. "Don't you dare sell that."

"What kind of merchant do you think I am?" Samuel asked indignantly. Gareth laughed and followed Cynan towards the door. As they left the small shop, they heard the wiry man say, "I'll take ten lengths of that brown if I get the same amount of linen for free, too."

Gareth and Cynan's laughter prevented them from hearing Samuel's sputtered response as they headed down the street.

Coming into the crowded marketplace, Cynan said, "I want three sticks of lamb and a huge tankard of ale!"

Gareth laughed. "Control your hunger for a moment. Let's find Elena and Bryant first."

"Find them in this crowd? We'll never eat!" Cynan wailed.

"Some mighty warrior you are!"

"I'm no warrior. I'm a simple shepherd who's used to eating regularly."

"Of course you are," Gareth said.

As they made their way through the crowds of people, Gareth wondered how Elena would react to his gift. Truly, clothing was a rather personal gift, but after all they had been through together, Gareth couldn't see how Elena would think him too forward. Then again, she could fling his gift back in his face. Perhaps, an insidious voice in his head said, what he feared was that she would reject him, not his gift. Gareth shook his head. Reject him? As if he was even offering himself!

"Gareth, what are we going to do with Elena?"

Glad to have something to get his mind off his feelings for Elena, Gareth looked over his shoulder and said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when you return to England, is she going with you?"

"Well, of course. That is her home."

"I know, but what will she tell Richard?"

"Tell him? Why should she tell him anything?"

"Come on, Gareth," Cynan paused as he ducked under a low-hanging sign offering repairs to saddles and bridles. "She's part of his court. You don't think he's going to have worried about her and wonder what she's been through?"

"She can tell him we were simply lost in the forest and made our way back with difficulty," Gareth said.

"Why should she?"

Cynan's question made Gareth stop and look at his friend, forcing people to walk around them. "Why should she? Why shouldn't she?"

Cynan looked uncomfortable. "Look, Gareth, I like Elena as much as you and Bryant do. But our lives are on the line here. Elena still considers herself one of Richard's ladies-in-waiting. She hasn't asked to remain here. We can only assume that she still considers Richard the true king of England."

"But she nearly died trying to warn us of the English soldiers!" Gareth protested.

"I know, I know."

"Then why are you doubting that she will continue to protect us?"

Cynan ran his hand through his hair and then let it drop by his side. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Gareth, Enid is pregnant."

Gareth grinned broadly and said, "Cynan, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"No, listen to me. I must be around to be a father to this child. I can't be running off to each new adventure like I've been doing since we were kids. Enid has put up with it these three years we've been married, but I won't put her through it anymore--not with a babe on the way. This next battle I will fight because I have to and Enid agrees with me. But I will be more cautious than I ever have been. And if wondering about Elena's true loyalties makes me suspicious, then I'm sorry."

Gareth stared in open-mouthed surprise at Cynan. Never had he heard his usually buoyant friend so serious or so earnest. And though he thought Cynan was wrong about Elena, he could understand the motive behind his worry.

"I think Da said I was not to leave for three days. I promise you I will discover whether Elena's rose be white or red and we will deal with her accordingly, alright?"

Cynan nodded. "Thank you."

Trying to lighten the mood, Gareth said, "Now let's find those two--I could eat an entire flock!"

***

Elena looked around furtively and when she saw no one was looking, she licked her fingers, leaned over, and wiped her mouth on the hem of her dress. Turning to Bryant, she took the second skewer of meat and went to work on it.

"Look, my lady," Bryant said. "The game is going to start." Elena looked up from her meal to see a young brawny man step up onto one of the stumps, a stout rope in hand.

"Who's foolish enough to think they can pull me off the Viking stump?" he called out.

The crowd, which had quickly gathered, looked around at each other. Within seconds, a wiry man with an unruly shock of black hair pushed his way through.

"You know your boasting always gets you in trouble, Aldred," the wiry man said.

"I doubt there's any trouble you could give me, Owain," the brawny man shot back with a laugh.

Owain bent to pick up the other end of the rope before climbing on the opposite stump. A third man stepped out of the crowd and appointed himself the marshal.

"Are you good men ready?" he asked.

Both men nodded, looks of anticipation on their faces. "Very well, then. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

Hand over hand, the opponents pulled the slack of the rope in quickly until it was taut between them. Then the tug of war began. Aldred pulled so hard his opponent was forced to give up some slack or be pulled off his stump. He gave up several feet of rope so quickly that Owain, still pulling, nearly fell off the back of the stump. The crowd shouted encouragement to both contestants as Owain struggled to maintain his balance and then laughed as he tottered and fell off.

"See?" Bryant whispered in Elena's ear. "That is strategy."

Elena nodded understandingly. She was intrigued by this simple game. Again she wondered if women ever played it, if they would play it this evening.

Aldred defeated two more opponents, one by pulling the rope clean out of his opponent's hands, the other by simply jerking the rope, and the man on the other end, forward.

"Now if he had given up some rope," Bryant explained. "He could have stayed on the stump longer. Some men just hate to give an inch, though."

Aldred flexed and bent his fingers while he waited for another challenger.

Finally, a man stepped out. Elena's eyes widened and she fervently hoped he would not notice her sitting on the edge of the crowd.

The tall blonde sailor grabbed up his end of the rope and leapt onto the stump. As soon as the count was called, he snatched up most of the slack and began giving short, sharp tugs to the rope. Within seconds, he toppled his brawny opponent and was calling for another.

Elena forgot to eat as she watched the muscles in his arms and back flex and release as he pulled man after man off his stump. Sweat made his thin shirt cling to his ribs and Elena could not tear her eyes away.

"There you are!" Gareth shouted. Elena jumped and dropped the stick of lamb in her lap. With a disgusted sigh, she quickly snatched up the stick and rubbed at the grease spot on her skirt. Wonderful, she thought. Each day away from court and courtly manners was taking its toll on her. Soon she would look and act like a common scullery maid. Before too long she'd have snarled hair and a toothless grin. Turning to glare at Gareth, she was further surprised by his exuberant grin and sparkling eyes. She could not remember seeing him so relaxed or happy before.

"You're certainly in high spirits this evening," she said.

"It's the market. Fairs, crowds of people, food, the atmosphere is contagious. I can't help but enjoy myself." Reaching down, he plucked the stick of meat right out of her hand and began devouring it. Although she was outraged, Elena couldn't bring herself to dress him down for his impertinence. She was still too fascinated at seeing him in such a good mood. It made his entire countenance change; the lines of worry disappeared and his infections grin made his face look boyish and innocent. The shock of hair which was constantly in his eyes now seemed appropriate, giving him a reckless air that was further enhanced by his next words.

"Ho ho! Viking stumps!" Looking down at Elena, he said, "Did I ever tell you I was an expert at this game?" Elena shook her head as Gareth bolted up to the recently vacated stump opposite the blond sailor. Surely for all his strength he could not defeat the much larger man. Her eyes darted back and forth from the tall, well-muscled man to Gareth, compact and sinewy. Although the sailor was even more appealing now that his face, neck and V of his chest were glistening with exertion, for some reason, Elena found herself watching Gareth. His knees bent, he was crouched down, his feet planted firmly on the stump, the ornery shock of hair temporarily pushed off his forehead. His eyes narrowed in concentration as the count was called and a wicked grin touched his lips.

The smile never left his face as he tugged on the rope. He was not strong enough to gain rope from his adversary, but neither did he give any up. After several minutes of gaining not an inch, the sailor grew impatient and gave a tremendous heave. At the same time, Gareth let his excess rope slide easily through his hands. The sailor tottered on the edge of the stump before losing his balance and hopping to the ground. The crowd went wild, hooting and clapping and Elena joined in. She felt a strange sense of pride that Gareth had won, but did not stop to wonder why. The crowd grew even rowdier as man after man stepped forward to challenge Gareth only to be forced off his stump. Gareth grew sweaty and began breathing hard, but the devilish grin never left his mouth. Finally, he straightened and tossed down the rope. The crowd roared and clapped as he executed a mock bow. Returning to his friends, he threw himself down on the bench.

"I would give my horse for a mug of ale," he said, wiping the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Then consider Isrid mine," Cynan said. Elena turned and saw him approaching with two heavy pewter mugs in one hand and an enormous roasted goose leg in the other.

"You are a saint, Cynan," Gareth said, relieving his friend of one of the mugs.

"Flattery won't get you out of giving me your horse."

Gareth gestured to the stumps with his chin. "You pull me off an he's yours."

Cynan looked apprehensively at the Viking stumps. " It would be too cruel for me to battle a winded man."

Gareth took a large swallow of ale and leaned close to Elena. "Cynan's never been able to best me on Viking stumps." Looking past her, he said, "Ho, Bryant! Be you ill?"

Elena turned to her forgotten dinner companion who was staring moodily out into the crowd. When Gareth called him, he glanced up and shrugged. "I was only marveling at some people's rudeness." Elena looked out into the crowd to see whom he was referring to, but she saw nothing unusual. Turning back to Gareth, she saw him exchange confused glances with Cynan.

Bryant suddenly stood and said, "I am retiring. Shall I walk you back to the house, Lady Elena?"

"So soon? It isn't even dark yet."

"No, but it will be in minutes."

Elena looked to Gareth who said, "Cynan and I are staying to see the sights. You can remain with us if you like." Elena turned back to Bryant in time to see his mouth tighten. Glancing at Elena, he gave her a weak smile and bent to kiss her hand. "Very well, my lady, I bid you good night." Elena nodded graciously and gave him one of her best smiles. Bryant was the only one who had ever shown respect to her rank. As he disappeared into the throng of people, Elena noticed two young children--a boy and a girl--playing on the Viking stumps.

"Gareth," she said, smoothing her voice to make it appear as if the question she was about to ask was completely ladylike and appropriate. "Do women ever play this game?"

"Do you jest?" Elena experienced a moment of mortification. "This is Wales. Women do as they please and that includes this game." His eyebrows raised. "Would you like to try?"

"Oh, no," Elena protested weakly.

"Come on, you'll enjoy it. You enjoy knocking people off their pedestals enough, you ought to be great at this!"

Elena was torn between being indignant and grabbing up the rope. Gareth seemed to sense how she felt because he leaned closer and touched her elbow.

"This is Wales, Elena. You can do whatever you want and not worry about what people will think."

Elena wavered a mere second. "I would like to try it."

Gareth grinned and pulled her up. "Well, come on then. Here Cynan," he said, handing over his mug. "Elena's going to see if she has any Viking blood in her."

"No, I'm going to test my balance. There are no Norse in my family."

Cynan laughed. "With as much raiding, looting and ra--er, uh, pillaging as they did, everyone has a little Viking blood!"

Elena's eyes widened at his reference, but Gareth quickly distracted her by pulling her towards one of the stumps and putting the rope end in her hand. He shooed off the children who were clambering on the stumps. Lifting her skirts, Elena climbed up on the nearest stump.

"Be there any lass who'd like to try her hand at the rope?" he called out.

Aldred, the first man Elena had watched was leaning against a nearby booth. "Are you so tired you can't best a man? You must now take on the women?" he yelled mockingly.

"More like he's found no worthy challenger amongst you men and he knows a woman will give him more fight!" said a sassy young woman of fifteen or sixteen as she climbed up on the opposite stump. The nearby crowd laughed at her remark and Aldred flushed, but laughed as well.

"No, no," Gareth jokingly admonished. "We've a newcomer who'd like to learn," he said as he handed the girl her end of the rope. "Are you ready, Elena?"

"I guess so."

"Crouch down. There you go. Now remember to use your arms, not your whole body. Are you ready?" he asked the girl who nodded and smiled encouragingly at Elena. "Very well. One, two, three, pull!"

Elena felt the rope being pulled out of her hands and when she grabbed it tightly, she found herself being pulled neatly off the stump. The crowd laughed good-naturedly, but Elena was embarrassed nonetheless.

"Don't worry," Gareth reassured. "That was only your first time. Here, try it again," he said as he retrieved her end of the rope. "Do you mind?" he asked the girl.

"Of course not." Calling to Elena, she said, "Don't think about your rope, miss. Just think on sticking like pitch to the log."

Elena nodded and stepped back up on her stump. Crouching down, she stared at a point on the ground and thought, Stay on the stump! Stay on the stump! When Gareth called out the count, she grabbed up as much of the excess rope as she could and began tugging, all the while staring at the point on the ground and concentrating on keeping her feet on the stump. Within a minute, she had pulled down her opponent and the gained the cheers of the crowd. The girl skipped over to Elena and said, "Well met! You're a natural!"

"Thank you," Elena said awkwardly as she started to step down.

"Not so fast," said Gareth. "You've got another challenger." Surprised, Elena looked up to see a young woman a year or two older than herself climb on the stump.

She easily defeated her second and third challengers, but by then her arms, unaccustomed to such vigorous play, were shaking with exhaustion and the forth opponent bested her.

"Excellent job!" said Gareth as she sat down. He handed her his mug of ale and when she had caught her breath, she took several ladylike sips of the sharp-tasting but cold brew. "Well, what do you think of our game?" he asked when she handed his mug back to him.

"I think the girls back at court would love it!" Seeing Cynan look sharply at Gareth and misunderstanding its meaning, she hastened to explain. "We are not always proper and stuffy, you know. We play games and have fun, too. Why, even Lady Elizabeth plays tag with us."

"Of course," said Gareth, shaking his head at Cynan.

The trio sat in silence for several minutes just watching the crush of people who were milling about the square. The sun had set and torches were being lit at each merchant booth. Their flickering light gave everything a dreamlike quality. The smoke from the pitch torches mingled with the scent of food cooking, the smell of hard-earned sweat, and the salty tang of the nearby sea. Somewhere in one of the enclosed taverns, a lute and recorder played a lively tune to the accompanying beat of an Irish bohdrin.

Elena inhaled deeply and sighed with contentment. She felt utterly comfortable and happy. Happy? she thought with a start. What was there here to make her happy? There certainly were no grand feasts of state with adoring men to flatter and cajole her. She had none of her beautiful gowns or precious jewelry give to her by her mother. There were no waiting maids to brush out her long hair or help her bathe. In fact, Elena could not remember the last time she had really bathed. Splashing around in a stream could not replace a barrel full of hot water and scented soap. Why she should be happy at this odd moment was a mystery to her, but as Elena sat on the hard wooden bench with the narrow slats of the back pressing against her ribs and Gareth's arm lightly brushing her, she decided that she was truly happy at this moment. As a matter of fact, she didn't even remember the grease stain on her skirt.