It only made them yet more humble toward Nan, who was obviously uncomfortable with this deferential manner. She had changed back to the coarse gown yesterday, and replaced the linen fillet with a simple kerchief while she pounded grain in the mortar and her dog rousted out nests of mice. Nothing she did made her aunt look at her with less admiration, as though this lovely girl in a peasant’s dress was a very great lady who condescended to serve them. And though they embraced tightly upon saying farewell, it was easy to see that there had been a disagreement between them.

“Don’t go to her, Nan,” he heard her aunt say. “She’s naught but a slut, and unworthy of you.”

Nan ignored this. She kissed her aunt on both cheeks and said, “You must send word to me if ever you need aught. So long as I live, I live in your debt. God bless you for it. God bless you.”

With that, they set off down the road toward town. Gryff searched for a way to ask about her sister, but could not find words. In truth, he knew there were no words – she would only tell him if she wanted to, as with everything. He wanted to tell her that though she was not a great lady, she was better than most he had known and deserving of her aunt’s admiration. But she would think he said it only in hopes of touching her again, so he bit his tongue.

It was market day in town, and she stopped at a stall to sell a bundle of belongings: her finer gown, the embroidered fillet, a shallow pan. Without the mule, she must reduce the baggage she carried. He would have liked to hear Nan haggle with the merchant over price, but the market at Wragby was as popular as had been promised and he found the press of people overwhelming. He felt like a falcon unhooded – too much to see, and everything that moved caught his eye and put him on guard, ready for attack.

He moved to where the crowd was thinner, and found a man who sold him a long leather strap that would allow him to carry the falcon’s cage on his back.

What he wanted was a sword. He hadn’t handled one since his days in Lancaster’s household. It would make him a target for thieves on the road, though, and he did not have enough money for a decent one in any case. Long gone were his days of chivalry. He was no one now – in the muck, as she said. Useless in every way that mattered.

“She’s a pretty one.” A man with an impressive scar down the middle of his face was standing near. “Would like to get my hands on that, I would.”