Though his appetite was gone, he shoved more bread into his mouth and let his eyes wander to the girl again. Not a girl – a woman. Young, but not at all a child. He wished he could see where she had hidden away the blades she had recovered. She looked so harmless now.

“Yet did they let you live,” Alfred observed after a long moment.

Gryff wanted more than anything to ignore that and ask instead what trade Alfred was in. But he must answer lest they think him one of Baudry’s men, so he swallowed and replied.

“I know the hawks, how to hunt with them. The thieves did not, and it was a hard winter. Better to keep the birds and have meat, than to sell them and watch the coin run out.”

Baudry had enjoyed having a falcon, too, imagining it made him the equal of a nobleman. To hunt with a peregrine meant he had come up in the world, even though he must rely on Gryff to keep the bird in good health. He liked having a servant, too. Even one who must be kept tied to prevent escape. Even one who he likely had planned to kill in full summer, when food was not so scarce.

“How then is it that you are so starved?”

“They wasted nothing on me except what they must.” Some weeks ago – a month, he thought – Tiffin had brought down two herons in one day, and he had had a full portion of meat.

There would be more, he suddenly realized. At the end of this road, there would be a priory and they would offer a meal. He could fly the birds now and they might bring down a duck, a goose, and he could eat it all himself. Every day now, he could eat his fill and choose where he would go and what he would do. He had only to decide his direction.

Home. That was the first thought, of course. There was no way to know if it was safe to return to Wales, and his rusty tongue could think of no easy way to ask it. Not without saying too much. What he needed was a friend. One who was not dead or hundreds of miles away, or overly loyal to the English king. One who would care about keeping him safe.

That thought of safety brought the strange girl to mind again. He raised his eyes from the bread she had given him to watch her as she walked ahead of them. Her hair was like a candle’s flame, a glowing sliver of gold against her dark cloak. Fine traveling clothes, good shoes, shining hair, and that fair face.