Her answer was to fall back into silence, and this time he was grateful for it. They resumed the journey, with only birdsong echoing in their ears.

When they stopped for the day, he watched her as she prepared the hare with practiced, efficient movements. He had tried to help by cleaning the game, but she had taken it from his hands. Whether this was from habit or because she was particular about the cooking, he did not know.

In truth, he knew nothing about her, or about her life. This was what he had been thinking as they walked all afternoon, after she had spoken so bold. She was servant to Morency, clearly lowborn, but like no servant he’d ever known. She inexplicably spoke perfect Welsh, and gutted rabbits and men with equal skill.

She never spoke idle words, and he was a fool to have dismissed anything she said only because some remnant of pride still lived in his breast.

“What do you know of it?” he asked, and this time without scorn. She looked up from cutting the meat. “What see you, when you look at me? How am I so mistaken?”

It was a long time her steady eyes held his, her hands stilled. It meant something, that look, but he did not know what. Eventually she turned to her work again, carefully placing the bits of meat into the pot on the fire.

“I’ll tell you a story,” she said over the sizzle of the meat. “I had a husband once. Oliver was his name, and he worked in the stables. We were very young. Nor did I want a husband, but I thought it would be my protection from a great lord who lusted after me.” She reached for the wooden spoon beside her and peered into the pot. “This was long before I came to Morency. I worked in kitchens, and for a time served ale in the hall of the king himself.”

His heart reacted to this news, a thump of alarm in his chest as he wondered if she had ever served him on his visits to court. But he knew that was impossible. He would have remembered her. He could never forget such a face, even on a serving girl.

“There were many there who chased me, as men will always do when there is too much drink and not enough maidens. But this lord made sport of me, and I feared him. So I married Oliver as my protection, but still the great lord chased me. He commanded me to his bed, and before the night I was to go to him, Oliver tried to kill him.” She gave a little shake of her head, rueful. “It were not in Oliver’s nature, murder, and he was caught when he tried it.”