‘There’s no need to devour your trencher.’ The foreigner sounded amused. Pulling her hand from her trencher, he loosed a ripple of sensation up her arms such as she had not felt since Eujen.
Determined not to blush, she thrust her hands under the table. Her companion smiled at her with his mouth, but his eyes still carried December in their depths.
‘You’re not a beggar tonight. If you’re hungry, I’ll order more meat. Landlord!’
Half an hour later, they left the tavern. With her belly full for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, the girl waited till they reached the stranger’s princely horse. ‘My thanks, sir, for your hospitality. I wish you God speed.’ She wished he was not leaving. She wished he would stay.
Alan took Firebrand’s bridle, and pressed a coin into the girl’s palm.
‘My thanks,’ she acknowledged, in a small voice, blinking at the bright disc. ‘You are very generous, sir.’ She wished she could give him something in return.
‘No, I’m not.’ Gathering his reins, he swung up into the high saddle.
‘A knight errant,’ she murmured, head tilted to look at him.
He heard her, and his lips curled in amusement. ‘I’m no knight,’ he said, raising his hand in a gesture of farewell, ‘though there might be some truth in the errant part.’
‘I know,’ she said, wishing he would stay. A black brow lifted, he was waiting for her to continue. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she finished. He would be gone in a second or two. She drew as close to his horse as she dared, for she had no familiarity with horses and was a little afraid of them. She heard herself say, ‘I...I’d like to repay your generosity.’
‘Oh?’
Drawing in a breath, she nodded and, mimicking the women who hung about the Rohan garrison, smoothed her shabby gown about her hips. She even moistened her lips and looked into his December eyes with the bold, direct stare she had seen those women use. ‘I could give you my body.’
‘No,’ he said curtly. Once Alan would have taken her up on her offer without hesitation, but not now, not any more. He could not so abuse her. He had put all thoughts of finding a bedfellow out of his mind when he had run across this half-starved waif. Her suggestion almost shocked him.
‘You find me ugly,’ she murmured, head drooping.
Alan’s mind stirred with the memory of the beggar-girl’s long, slender limbs, gleaming white as a lily in the moonglow. ‘No,’ he repeated, and then, guessing at her misery and what it had cost her to make her astounding offer, he lowered his voice and sought to soften his rejection of her. ‘You are fair when you forget to hate the world.’
Now that she had taken her courage into her hands and offered herself to this foreign soldier, she discovered that she had not done so purely to repay a debt. She wanted some loving herself, and she did not think this man would use her roughly, as others might. This man would take his pleasure slow and gently...
She looked at the capable hands holding the horse’s reins. She was a beggar and the town pariah, and she had not been touched by anyone in a loving manner since Eujen. Apart from Brother Raoul’s vague enquiries, all she ever got from anyone was a clout about the ears or a choice curse. Now, tonight, she yearned for closer contact. She wanted to kiss the stranger. She wanted to be held by him, even if just for one night, even if it was a lie and in the morning he would ride into the forest and forget he’d ever lain with her. ‘Please, sir.’ It was easy for a beggar to beg; any pride she had ever possessed had long been bludgeoned out of her.
‘No, you told me yourself you were no whore.’
She tossed her head, dark hair rippling out over her threadbare cloak, and looked straight into his eyes. ‘By St Ivy, I am no whore.’
‘Then why?’
‘I want some loving.’
Moved by the girl’s simple admission, Alan made a strange noise in his throat. He spoke bluntly. ‘We shared a meal, that’s all. You can’t offer yourself to a chance-met stranger and hope it will turn into love.’
‘I know that. But I want...need...’
Alan dismounted and took her hand. He needed it too, but not if this girl-woman was to be left to pay the price. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I am honoured by your offer, but I see you are not a harlot. You are forgetting the consequences.’
‘Consequences?’ The pale, oval face was strangely vacant. ‘There can be no consequences. I’m barren.’
He searched her eyes. ‘Barren? A young girl like you? How do you know?’
‘I know it, sir. I’m a tree that will never bear fruit.’
She said it with such conviction that Alan believed her. He rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘My thanks, but no,’ he repeated, but in the manner of someone trying to convince himself.
The girl had glimpsed eagerness in the foreigner’s eyes, swiftly banked down, and knew he was tempted. Heartened, she pressed him. ‘I won’t try and make you stay, or say that you love me. There will be no commitment, beyond tonight.’ He was listening to her.
‘No commitment?’
‘None.’ She heard him swallow.
‘And you swear you are safe? I don’t want to think I’m leaving you behind with my babe in your belly.’
The girl’s mouth curved, she was almost certain she was going to have her way. ‘By St Ivy–’
‘Very well.’ A smile lightened the soldier’s dark features, and his forefinger ran softly across her prominent cheekbones. ‘Where do we go?’
‘To the bridge. I sleep under it.’
‘The bridge. Of course.’
***
The beggar-girl’s assessment that her benefactor would take his pleasure slow and easy had been correct, and only when he had satisfied himself that she was enjoying it too had he let himself go and fallen with a convulsive sigh onto her breast. She stroked his thick hair, more relaxed and content than she had been for a year. Playfully, she nibbled his earlobe. He murmured and shifted, lifting his head so he blotted out the stars. ‘No more,’ he said, with gentle but unyielding firmness.
‘No more?’ She did not want to believe him. He had been considerate, and she was hungry for more of the same. She ran a teasing hand down his back and repeated huskily, ‘No more?’
Alan felt wretched. Making love with this girl had not succeeded in stopping him thinking about Gwenn. He was in a miserable state of mind, and it was not one he would be in if he hadn’t decided to do his cousin a good turn, and see his family safe to Ploumanach. It is always good deeds, he reflected sourly, that get you into trouble. He eased himself away from his companion and sat up. ‘No more. I have to go.’
‘Daylight’s hours away.’
‘I have to go.’ There was an ache in his belly, and activity would dissipate it. He reached for his hose and began dressing.
The beggar-girl watched the man who a few moments ago had been as considerate a lover as she could have wished for, and a dreadful feeling of inevitability fell over her. ‘You hate me,’ she murmured, sadly. He was in a hurry, already he was clothed.
Alan glanced uneasily at the girl lying on her pillow of ferns. ‘I don’t hate you. It’s me I hate.’ He considered giving her more money, but did not wish to insult her. Instead he took her head between his hands and pressed his lips to her pale cheeks. ‘Fare you well.’
‘St Julian watch over you,’ came the whispered response.