place to live, no master to take you and no friends to help.’ He leaned back in the saddle and stared her down. ‘You’ve made no plans at all, have you?’
She shook her head, suddenly ashamed. Cambridge loomed large and frightening around her. She’d never had to find her own food and shelter, but she would not cower like a woman. Royal blood ran through her veins.
She held up her head and met his eyes. ‘I can take care of myself!’
He shook his head. ‘The Fair starts tomorrow, so there’s nary a room to be had and Parliament’s lords and squires are still to come. I can give you a pallet for the night at least.’
Pride warred with fear. For a country newcomer, he seemed to know a lot about this city, but she knew nothing of this stranger. It was a woman’s way to depend on a man. She had abandoned her family in order to control her own fate, not turn it over to a bumpkin with strong arms and a lilt in his laugh. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need your help.’
He leaned over, put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a shake. ‘You’re going to need some friends, Little John. There’s no shame in taking an offered hand.’
She straightened her shoulders. This man scared her, somehow, and not because he ate his meat raw. ‘I would rather take care of myself.’ If she said it often enough, it would be true.
‘Ya would, would ya?’ His country tongue had returned. ‘Well, g’luck t’ya then.’ He turned the horse away, ready to ride on.
She bit her lip. Now she’d angered him. ‘But I thank you for your kind offer,’ she called, as he started to ride away.
He shouted over his shoulder at her, ‘You’ll nae get another.’
Feeling unsteady on legs that had been straddling a horse, she started walking in the opposite direction, trying to look as if she knew where she was going. She forced herself not to look back.
‘Hey! John!’
She turned, wondering whether he had called the name more than once before she answered. ‘Yes?’
‘Stay away from the butchers’ district. And if you get to the alehouse near Solar Hostel, stop in. We’ll lift a few together.’
She gave a jaunty wave and kept walking, wondering how she was to know where the butchers lived.
Duncan pulled up the horse and watched until the boy’s fair hair was swallowed by the crowd, resisting the urge to go after him. The poor lad had clung to him so tightly he could scarcely breathe and then refused his help. Young, vulnerable, full of enthusiasm and too proud to accept what was freely given—it had been years since he’d felt that way, but he remembered.
He should have kept his grip and dragged the boy with him. He was on better than speaking terms with pride, but the world was full of danger. It only took a moment. If the lad wandered into the wrong place, looked at someone the wrong way, met someone in the wrong mood—
Well, he would find out. Like all the rest, the boy had assumed Duncan was a Borderland bumpkin. Let him wander the streets alone, if he was so prejudiced.
Yet there was something else about him, something that niggled at Duncan’s brain and irritated him beyond reason when his help was rejected. Why was the boy so skittish?
Duncan turned his horse down the street towards Solar Hostel. He had more important things to think about than an ungrateful slip of a lad. Pickering would be here any day and there would be plans to make before Parliament convened. In the meantime, he had to be sure the hostel’s kitchen was stocked and the beds ready before the rest of the scholars returned.
Yet he knew, somehow, that he’d be worrying late tonight whether the boy had found a bed.
Chapter Two
Jane’s stomach growled as she watched the men come and go from the alehouse. She’d had nothing since yesterday’s porridge, doled out by a kindly porter at King’s Hall.
Controlling her own fate was dirtier and lonelier than she had expected. She’d seen little food and less bathwater for five days. When it was light, she went from college to college seeking a master who would take her. And when it was dark, she lay awake praying for her sister and the babe, hoping God and her mother would forgive her for running.
The college masters seemed no more sympathetic than the Almighty.
She was the right age and sex, or so people thought, but she had little money and the Latin that her family had so admired failed to impress the masters. They were not sympathetic to her excuses for her weakness in a language she must not only read, but speak in daily conversation.
Perhaps she should have let the northern man help her.
She had thought about him more than once. A woman’s thoughts, not a boy’s. Of the feel of his strong hand, warm on her shoulder. Of the musical laugh that spilled from his lips. Of the hardness of his chest, and the feel of him nestled between her legs.
Dangerous thoughts.
Yet this afternoon, she found herself outside the alehouse near Solar Hostel, looking for a scruffy, black-haired northerner. When she saw him, she would walk up and say hello as if surprised to see him. As if she were there by chance.
But she did not see him, and, after a time, the woman across the street was eyeing her as if ready to call the watch so Jane squared her shoulders. Perhaps he was already inside. She would just take a look.
She put her hand on the door. She had never been in an alehouse. Who knew what waited on the other side?
The open door threw light into the dark room and drew all eyes. She ducked her head, hoping no one would look closely, but when the din of conversation didn’t halt, she breathed again and let her eyes adjust.
She saw him, finally, in a corner, at the same moment he saw her. A flicker of delight—did she imagine it?—crossed his face. Her breath fluttered. Only because it was nice to see someone smile instead of scowl at the sight of her.
He waved her to the table and when she didn’t thread her way through the room fast enough, he came to her, draping his arm over her shoulders to lead her to the corner. ‘Oust fettal?’
Words she couldn’t understand, but in a kind tongue. She blinked back tears. ‘If you’re asking how I am, I’ve been well.’
‘Good. Sit.’
She did, hoping her smell wasn’t too potent. She had taken to sneaking into a stable and bedding down with the horses. She had always got on well with horses. A little pat and a crooning song and they would settle down and let her catch a few winks.
He continued to smile. She answered with her own, and for a moment too long, they simply looked at each other, speechless and happy.
The alewife interrupted. ‘A cup for ya?’
‘Here’s Little John at last,’ Duncan said, pounding her back so hard she nearly fell off the bench. ‘Bring him some peeve.’
She wondered what he had ordered.
The alewife’s
