Free The Raven and the Rose by Jo Beverley Page B

caring for many horses. To her left, some jongleurs were building a tower of people for a small crowd. She was following a makeshift road between tents, the grass mostly trodden away. It passed between stalls selling food and drink, and others offering everything from ribbons to blades, and scantily dressed women offering something else entirely. Some of the stall keepers called out to her to buy, but most of the men and women just stared at her. She realized there was no one else like her here, no other finely dressed women walking by themselves. Everywhere she saw just men, hard-bitten women and whores.
    Where was the raven?
    Was this truly the way she should go?
    A rag-swathed child ran forward to clutch her gown, whining for alms. Others appeared out of nowhere, begging, whining, plucking at her skirts. Gledys pitied them, but shrank from them, too. It was as if they’d pull the clothing off her. A woman came out of a tent that was only rags over sticks and yelled at the children to stop, but her eyes were hard. She, too, would probably tear Gledys’s clothes off if she thought she could get away with it.
    Gledys hurried onward, but her resolve was even stronger now. Those poor wretches must be here for what work and scraps they could scavenge, and yes, probably for what they could steal. But some of them would have been honest folk before the endless strife ruined their crops, killed their menfolk and drove them from their homes.
    This was why she had been brought here—not for her personal desires, but to bring peace. To stop Eustace of Boulogne from inflicting war on another generation. She stood taller and walked firmly—but she wished she didn’t have to walk this gauntlet of men.
    They were drinking at ale stalls, polishing metal, or working with leather or cloth. Innocent enough, but the mass of them almost choked her, as she had hardly ever before been in the presence of men at all. The air stank of smoke, old sweat and roasting meat, but of something else as well, as if the men’s cruel mouths and lustful eyes gave off a stink of their own. They didn’t move to bother her, but their eyes were hungry as wolves.
    Gledys quickened her pace, anxious to be free of the camp, to at least reach the thatched roofs of the village.
    â€œMy lady?”
    She ignored the voice.
    â€œMy lady Gledys?”
    She slid only her eyes to the left first, afraid to hope, but then relief and joy flooded through her. Michael de Loury stood staring at her, as if not sure that he could trust his eyes. Laughing, crying, Gledys ran into her knight’s arms, and finally, at long last, he was completely real.
    In clear daylight she saw that his eyes were very blue, his thick hair a deep honey color and everything about his face perfectly formed, even if he did have a bruise on his cheek. She wanted to soothe it with her fingers. Or her lips.
    She’d have to stretch on tiptoe. . . .
    Before she could, he moved her gently away from him, and there might even have been a blush on his face as his gaze flicked around. Gledys looked, too, and her cheeks heated at the grins, sly smiles and occasional frowns of disapproval. She couldn’t stop smiling, however. She remembered last night, thinking it was as if they came together after being too long apart. That feeling was stronger now, for she was certain this was real.
    From the look in his eyes, he felt the same.
    â€œLet me take you somewhere safe,” he said. “Though where . . .”
    Gledys smiled even more at his confusion. “With you, I’m safe anywhere.”
    His smile mirrored hers. He began to draw her back into his arms, but then shook himself. “No. Not here. I share a room in a house. It’s rough, but so is everything.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    Their fingers were twined now and she tightened hers. “Yes, I should. But we do need a place where we can talk. A private