Page 42 of Fortress of Snow

“The men and Ro’s father threatened him, saying they would beat him and cut off his hand if he ever spoke to me again or if they caught him stealing. But to be honest, I did feel a bit bad for stabbing him.”

“Why? You were only defending yourself.”

“Yes, I know, and I would do it again. I know I have to defend myself. But I did pray that his wound would not turn putrid.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“I thought I did, once, but he turned and went in the other direction when he saw me.”

Sir Berenger raised his brows and grinned. “He didn’t want to get stabbed again.”

“I suppose not.” Mazy couldn’t help but feel the approval of Sir Berenger’s big smile. She smiled back.

“Did anything like that ever happen again?”

“No more of my stories now. It’s your turn. You have to tell me a tale about your travels and battles.”

“My travels and battles, eh?” He looked up at the ceiling, as if he was pondering which story to tell. “I once encountered an old man who challenged me to a duel. I was riding along a road in Germany after getting separated from the rest of my troop, trying to catch up. An old man was walking along with a staff in his hand, which was wrapped in a ragged wool cloak. When he saw me, he held up his staff and yelled, ‘Stop!’

“I stopped my horse, thinking he needed help. But when I did, he pulled out a sword—a very well-made sword, like a knight would carry—and said, ‘Give me your horse.’

“‘I’m not giving you my horse,’ I said.

“‘Then you will die by the sword.’ He came at me, swinging his blade. I had no choice but to dismount and fight him. I tried not to hurt him. It was obvious he had had some training, but he was old and slow, and I disarmed him quickly.

“I asked him, ‘Who are you, and why are you trying to take my horse?’ He couldn’t give me a satisfactory answer. He just told me that he was with King Richard the Lionheart when he went on his crusade to the Holy Land, which of course was not possible. It was clear that his mind was addled. He never did tell me who he was, but I put him on my horse and took him to the next village, where he said his sister lived.”

He gave her an endearingly humble half frown.

“That is an interesting story. You must have had a lot of exciting adventures. What were Germany and Prussia like? And you have crossed the sea! What was that like?”

“Oh no,” he said. “It is your turn again. I want to know if you have any more tales like your first one.”

“There have been a few, perhaps. But we started locking the back door of the alehouse after that. A few men have tried to take my money in the marketplace, but they never got anything. I raised the hue and cry once or twice. There was one incident, when I had only been here two days, but I frightened him away with my knife.”

Sir Berenger lowered his brows and stared at her with a sober look.

“It doesn’t sound to me like London is a safe place at all for a young woman.”

“Nothing truly bad has happened. In fact, no one has tried to rob me in quite a long time. Perhaps it’s because they call me the ‘Knife Girl.’”

“Who calls you the Knife Girl?”

“A lot of people in the market. Word got around, I suppose, that I carry a knife and that I’m not afraid to defend myself with it.” She smiled, feeling rather proud of herself.

“I like that you defend yourself. Knife Girl. I like that.” He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “You always were brave and independent.”

Mazy laughed and shook her head, enjoying his praise and attention more than she wanted him to know.

The woman who had brought them their food now came again, swaying her hips, and took their bowls. She pinned her gaze on Sir Berenger and said, “Is there anything else I can get you, love?” The way she stood so close to Sir Berenger, almost touching his leg, her hand on her outthrust hip, made Mazy’s mouth fall open. The brazen woman smiled down at him, a suggestive look on her face.

“We thank you, but we are finished.” He quickly averted his eyes from her.

“I can fetch you more ale, or a sweetmeat, perhaps?” She leaned down, and her shirt fell open, exposing the tops of her breasts.

Sir Berenger kept his gaze on the table. “No, we are finished,” he repeated. His eyes met Mazy’s. “Shall we go?”

Mazy stood and hurried toward the door, still shocked at the woman’s behavior and suddenly wanting to laugh at how ridiculous it was.