The Bastard; Loyal to one

Hey there, this my first story posted on this site.

I did prove read it but I’m sure it still has flaws, so if you see some please correct me.

It is the first part of a longer series, unless none of you like it, then I’ll be crying in the corner of my room instead of writing. I would appreciate it if you take the time to comment on my story; maybe some feedback about my choice of words or general idea’s about the storyline.
However I’ll not bore you any longer with this introduction, but hopefully entertain you with my work.

Enjoy!

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Little puffs of red dust stirred up every time his boots hit the dry road, it had been a very dry spring and the trees as well as the small bushes on either side of the road where bone-dry.
Dust of wo days walking soiled his face, where his down poring sweat gave him a look as if he was melting away.
Even if walking was sometimes essential in his line of work, he didn’t have to like it. So he walked further west cursing his luck and cursing the people that where responsible he had to be here and sometimes all of that cursing was interrupted by a muttering, which indicated he thought about his black hunter that had to leave behind in the stables of Bramen Castle.
After an hour or two of walking, cursing and growling, the dense vegetation suddenly made place for grassland and with the departure of the trees the blue sky was clearly visible now. Standing there on the edge of the forest, the young man who would introduce himself to others as Mathew, let out a string of curses the trees behind him would frown at, if they would be capable of facial expression. Because there on the horizon, he could see the first sine of what to come, the only thing he more hated than walking in the heat, walking in the rain. But before he had finished the curs he spotted smoke rising behind the next hill top, so he abrupt stopped what he was doing and got on walking.
The moment he reached the top of the hill, there was little farm to be seen, nestled between the sloops and a little bridge over the stream that crossed the porch. Peaceful was the first thing that popped up in his mind and he chuckled at the thought. Hopefully the habitants would be as welcoming as their home suggested.

After wrapping them up in an oiled rig he hid his bow, short sword and knifes under hedge. Armed with only a hand long knife he made his way to the farmstead.

A woman, in the fall of her life, was tending to a flock of gooses, she looked up hearing the muffled sound of boots meeting the wooden bridge. Still bent over when her gaze fell upon the young and dusty wanderer. Her dark blond curls where bound together preventing them to fall in front of her face. A face that must have been called pretty if not beautiful during the prime of her youth, but the process of aging and years of hard work had left their marks.
“Greetings, my name is Mathew and I’m on my way to the monastery of Karligen”, the youth spoke, “when I saw your lovely home from the top of the hill, I hoped I could get here some respite of the road and shelter from the storm to come.”
“O’course, me man will ‘ortly be comin’ back from the fields, then you can join us to supper,” was the farmer wife’s answer.