He dozed off and on; he'd never been a heavy sleeper even in surroundings more conducive to sleep than a tavern's common room. He catnapped for a time, and when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that he was no longer alone. A woman had slid onto the bench next to him, so close that their bodies touched it hip and leg. Smothering a yawn, he said drowsily, "Sorry, sweetheart, I'm not looking for company," while prudently patting his money pouch to make sure it was still there. It was, and he was slipping back into sleep when the woman poked him in the ribs.
"If men are not the most fickle creatures on God's green earth! Here I thought I was the first great lust of your life, and now you do not even recognize me?"
Justin's head jerked up so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. While Bennet had left boyhood behind and sprouted up nigh on a foot in their years apart, time had not wrought such drastic changes in his sister. Molly had been seventeen when he'd
last seen her, and this woman laughing at him was not so different from the girl he remembered.
She had vivid green eyes and Bennet's raven hair, and like his, her face was angular, with wide cheekbones that gave her a vaguely exotic appearance, a generous mouth, well-defined jawline, and skin that could not have been more unlike the pale complexion so idealized in songs and minstrel tales. Molly's skin was a warm shade that looked sun-kissed even in the dead of winter, and in summer it seemed to shine with a golden glow, no small defect in a society that so prized fairness, but one that never troubled her unduly. It had certainly not troubled the men of Chester, for she'd been bewitching them without even trying since her fourteenth year. As for Justin, he'd grown into manhood unheeding of the Church's warnings that "all wickedness was but little to the wickedness of a woman," that women were the Devil's pawns, daughters of Eve. To Justin, Eve was Bennet's wild child sister, and he'd have willingly forfeited Eden for a taste of her forbidden fruit.
"Hey, Molly," he said softly, greeting her as he always had, as if almost seven years had not gone by since their last meeting.
"Hey, Justin," she echoed, and they smiled at each other, savoring one of those rare moments of perfect happiness, in which nothing was asked or expected and it was enough. Then she said, "Well, do I not get a hug? I'll wager Bennet got one!"
They embraced like the old friends they were, like the brother and sister they were not, and for a brief time, they held each other without speaking. When they moved apart, they kept their hands clasped, and when they did speak, it was in unison, Justin saying he thought she was in Wich Malbank and Molly exclaiming that she had not believed Bennet at first, not until she made him swear upon her St James's scallop shell. They paused and then again spoke as one, Justin expressing amazement that she still had that pilgrim badge and Molly explaining that she'd returned early from Wich Malbank, getting into the city that afternoon.
"Let's start anew," she declared, "one at a time. Of course I still have my scallop shell. My father swore he'd gotten it from a man who'd made the pilgrimage all the way to Compostela." A pause. "Of course we both know what a liar my father was. But odds are that he had to speak the truth at least once in his life, and I like to think this was that time."
Justin had learned from Bennet that their father had died five years ago. Now he hesitated, conflicted between good manners and honesty. Courtesy demanded that he offer his condolences, but he knew what a miserable excuse for a father the fishmonger had been, beating his children when he was drunk, beating them even worse when he was sober, making them his scapegoats for a life hat had been joyless and harsh. He temporized by saying, "It could not have been easy for you and Bennet when your father died."
"And whose life is ever easy, my lad? Even Piers, who has money enough to buy all the indulgences he'd need to get through Heaven's Gate… even he finds much to mutter about these days, sure the fates are conspiring against him."
That answer told Justin much more than the words themselves. Molly did not want to talk about the hard times after her father's death. Neither had Bennet. But he also thought she'd deliberately thrust Piers's name into the conversation, a test to see how he'd handle her liaison with the notorious vintner. "Did Piers come back to Chester with you?" he asked, in what he hoped was a neutral tone of voice.
"No, he had to stay on at Wich Malbank for another week. But I could abide the place no longer and insisted that Piers send me home." Molly made a face. "Have you ever visited a salt house, Justin? It offers excitement beyond bearing. Fancy, all day you get to watch as the brine is boiled away and the salt collected!"
Justin's response was lost in the uproar that followed, for Bennet had just returned, laden with so much food that he'd gotten a street urchin to help him tote it from the cook shop to the tavern. He had wheat bread fresh from the baker's oven, he announced proudly, for that was the fare of the well-off and the wellborn, and Justin knew there had been many times when Bennet and Molly had not even had the money to buy rye torts, which were hard enough to hammer nails. He had an entire roasted chicken, Bennet continued, and little pies stuffed with beef marrow, and a dozen wafers flavored with honey and ginger. He must have spent a considerable sum on this meal, and Justin's first impulse was to offer to share the expense. But he caught himself in time, realizing that this lavish expenditure was something Bennet needed to do for his boyhood friend who served a lord, even if he could not afford it.
Bennet's first words confirmed his conjecture. "Guess who I saw out and about this afternoon? Lord High and Mighty himself, swaggering down Northgate with more lackeys than a dog has fleas. He thinks highly of himself, does that one. Not even the earl puts on such a show." Neither Justin nor Molly said anything, but Bennet must have realized that his comments could be misconstrued, for he said hastily, "Not that I meant you were one of his lackeys, Justy! It is obvious that you stand high in Fitz Alan's favor, and glad I am for it."
Justin was discomfited, well aware of how different their pasts and their prospects were, Taking refuge in humor, he said wryly, "I stand high in his favor? Hellfire, Bennet, for my first two years with him, he called me Jordan."
As he'd hoped, that got a laugh and they tucked into their meal with no further awkwardness. Molly ate as heartily as the men, but there was so much food that even three hungry young people in good health could not finish it all. Calling Berta over, Bennet instructed her to distribute the remains of their meal to God's Poor, sounding for all the world like the Earl of Chester dispensing alms to the needy. Again, Justin almost reminded him that there were enough leftovers for several suppers; again, he refrained.
The rest of the evening was spent in reminiscing, laughing over experiences that had not always seemed so amusing at the time. They remembered how Justin had taken it upon himself to defend Molly's honor when a stripling had called her a slut; since he was only twelve and his opponent seventeen, that had not ended well. Justin took their teasing in stride, and grinned when Molly confessed she'd tried to avenge them by casting a spell that turned the lout into a frog. "It did not work, alas," she confided. "But he did break out in right ugly warts!"
They recalled the time a young farrier had dared Molly to ride his gelding. She'd never even sat upon a horse's back, but she'd still scrambled up into the saddle and when she kicked it in the ribs, it bolted. "You scared us out of our wits," Bennet said, scowling at his sister as if her misdeed were still fresh and not ten years stale. "We thought sure you were going to kill yourself on that nag!"
"I remember poor Wat running down the street after you," Justin chimed in, "yelling for help in catching the horse, and someone shouting for the sheriff, thinking you were stealing it!" He also remembered that when Molly finally fell off, she'd lain there in the dust, laughing like a lunatic, saying it had been as close as she'd ever get to flying.