The first time it happens, she thinks it is funny.
Their garrison is sent to a small town on the coast - a band of ruffians has been attacking the merchants there - waiting for the ships to come in and the goods to start their way inland before swooping in and claiming them as their own. No one had been killed yet, but the king and her father suspect the items are being hoarded for the black market, and it is only a matter of time before a desperate merchant or a hired caravan guard takes matters into their own hands.
They spend the evening talking to the locals, getting a lay of the land, planning a sweep of the surrounding hills and cliffside caves. A thorough scouring of the countryside should reveal the outlaws' encampment; but their ultimate goal is not just to capture the men, but reclaim the ever-growing cache of stolen goods.
They are half-way through coordinating a sweep of the area when the outlaws attack. Disorganized and rightly afraid for their lives, the band attacks the town outright - not even waiting for the knights to fall asleep before rushing in, swords high, torches blazing.
The garrison makes short work of the men, but not before the outlaws set fire to the inn and stables; the fire spreads quickly to the surrounding buildings.
Jane and her compatriots, supported by the people they'd been sent to protect, spend the rest of the night hauling buckets, creating firebreaks, and pulling down walls to prevent the fire from spreading to the town proper.
The sun is just starting to make its way over the horizon when the last of the fires is finally extinguished. Jane is searching out their captain to deliver her report when Gunther appears from nowhere - as is his irritating habit - captures her wrist.
He frowns at the good-sized burn that is developing there; a bit of thatching had fallen to burn a hole in her sleeve before she'd been able to douse it properly. It's nothing serious, but it does hurt - and it is large and ugly against the pale, freckled skin of her arm. He sends her off to their medic, promising to make report while she gets patched up.
She's still waiting for the old knight's attentions - there are plenty of townsfolk with cuts and burns more serious than her own - when she spots Gunther weaving through the milling crowds back towards where he left her.
He's scowling at nothing and everything, ducking past the people who have stopped to gawk at the blackened inn, when he is stopped by two young ladies.
If she remembers correctly, they are the innkeeper's daughters, though it is hard to tell with their hair unbound and their general state of ...undress. It's not their fault of course, they hadn't asked to be woken up in the middle of the night so they could watch their house and livelihood burn down. Far be it for Jane to judge - it is not as if she is dressed in anything remotely proper for a lady of her standing.
Still, neither young woman is wearing more than a night rail with a shawl thrown about their shoulders, and Jane actually gasps when one wraps her arms around Gunther's waist in a hug and the other places - not one, but both - hands on his chest, rises up on her toes, and presses a kiss to the scruff on his jaw.
The action startles him, and his frown deepens before he remembers himself and his manners. His scowl is replaced by his most handsome and devastating smile - the one he saves for the wives of his father's business partners - and shakes the girls off with a courtly bow and a gentle acknowledgement of their thanks.
He turns around and all but runs from the girls - Jane has known him long enough to tell the difference between a decisive step and an escape - leaving the two young women cooing like doves and fanning themselves between smitten giggles.
When he spots her, her arm still unbandaged, his frown reappears, only to be replaced by a look of confusion at her laughter. He asks her what is so bloody funny - a few short hours ago they'd been in battle and even more recently fighting fires - but she has no desire to explain herself.
As handsome as he is, this is surely not the first time such a thing has occurred.
She waves off his question, which of course annoys him further, and his sharp retort sends her into another unladylike round of snorting mirth.
The next time it happens, it is such a slight - such a miniscule, fleeting moment in time - she almost misses it.
It isn't anything significant, certainly nothing so dramatic as a battle against evil men, a devastating fire, and damsels in distress, and she nearly ignores it completely.
Because it is nothing, and she isn't sure why she remembers the incident at all.
It's their day to patrol the town, an easy enough duty even if the end result is aching feet and dusted boots. It's less about keeping the peace and more about reassuring the populace, so loitering and lingering are not only allowed, but fully encouraged.
They stop to chat with the man who provides the castle with its tack. He's small and bent, and probably half-mad with the fumes from his work - but he's also funny, quick to flirt, knowledgeable, and happy to greet them.
Gunther wants a new bridle for his stallion, claiming Black's current dressage is not nearly ornate enough for a horse of his looks and breeding.
Jane rolls her eyes at this - Black is spoiled rotten - and she thinks being handsome and well-bred just aren't quite enough to make up for his surly temperament and tendency to bite. He's a good warhorse, smart and easy enough to train, but he nips at everyone except for herself and Gunther.
Still, she's fond of the ornery animal - maybe finds Gunther's own fondness the slightest bit endearing - and is happy to indulge his rider.
They begin their rounds again, turning down one street then another, when suddenly a passing girl, her basket all but overflowing with the day's flowers for the market, slips in a bit of muck and goes sprawling -
Or at least would have, if Gunther's reflexes aren't so quick. He catches her under one arm and hauls her towards him, using his greater height and mass to arrest her fall and keep her from flying into the mud.
The poor girl ends up crushed against his chest, looking small and startled. Jane thinks she resembles a frightened grouse who knows neither fight nor flight and has instead chosen to freeze.
Gunther steadies the girl before releasing her. He sees her discomfort even if he doesn't understand it, and gives her a reassuring smile before asking if she is alright.
The girl doesn't respond - stays silent and strange - and stares at him with big, stupid eyes before finally giving him the smallest of nods.
Certainly she'd fared better than her wares. The flowers and the basket they'd been in had gone flying through air, scattering themselves about the road and Jane's personage.
Gunther laughs to see her so covered, and after making sure Jane is in no danger of sneezing herself silly, goes about putting the basket to rights. He gathers up the flowers setting them neatly in her basket before handing them back to the girl - Jane is again reminded of frightened fowl - and presses coin into her palm in exchange for a flower with a broken stem.
The girl recovers her wits enough to say no, to return the money for his gallant actions - but Gunther just shakes his head and claims their collision was his fault anyway. He bids her a good day and turns around, never noticing the pink in her cheeks or the way her chest heaves when she finally, finally takes a real breath.
Jane makes it maybe twenty steps before Gunther calls out to her, halting her progress. She turns around, anxious, impatient to be on her way; it's nearly lunchtime and they need to patrol three more streets before they can justify such a break. She spins, ready to tease him for his dallying, but his attention is not on her.
He's taken out his knife and trimmed the broken stem of the flower. She steps up - fully intending to ask just what he is wasting her time on now - when he sticks the damn thing into the crown of her braid.
"What," she asks, "are you doing, bog weevil? Do you need to dress me up like you do your horse?"
He smirks before he replies, "Hardly. Though I dare say my stallion is less likely to nip at my fingers." Gunther laughs at her pout and takes her elbow to point her back in the correct direction. "I just realized how much I enjoy seeing you with all that greenery and foliage in your hair."
Jane stands there a moment, fuming, and notices the flower girl is still rooted in place, staring wistfully - and perhaps a little lustfully - at Gunther's retreating form.
She's annoyed with his teasing - he spent coin to continue his joke - and her stomach hurts a little, but she brushes it off as hunger pains and continues with their patrol.
A/N: Poor Jane has another three chapters before she figures things out. I'll post new chapters weekly.
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