Something – some dim memory of what his life used to be – made him stop before he beat the man senseless.

He was not a brute. He was not. He would not be.

He repeated it to himself as he caught his breath. Finally he looked up to find Nan was now standing by the falcon’s cage, calmly watching him amid a mild chaos. Gradually he became aware that bystanders were arguing amongst themselves, over whether the constable should be called. The man who had been reaching for Nan was on the ground, clutching a foot that dripped blood. More often she maims, the knight of Morency had said, a hand or a foot.

“Go on then, get ye gone from here. It’s a respectable man you’ve attacked.” A townswoman with a basket full of onions jabbed a finger at Nan, scowling. “We’ll not abide it. Be gone or you’ll see a punishment.”

Color flamed in Nan’s face, but she did not move from the spot nor take her eyes from Gryff. With a tilt of her head she indicated the man he had beaten, and looked at Gryff with brows raised as though to ask if he was finished. He nodded, and she picked up the cage, snapped her fingers at the dog, and led the way out of town.

They walked without speaking for hours. She followed a path that veered off the main road, as she had done before, and he wondered how she knew these byways. But he didn’t ask. From the moment they had walked away from the market, he had been filled with a strange elation, a kind of relief that he did not question. His bonds had been cut nearly a fortnight ago, but only now did he truly feel his freedom.

It was likely a kind of terrible sin, to find some measure of joy only because he had beaten a man – even if the man was a thief who would steal Tiffin. But he was beyond caring about sin. It was not as real as this feeling, or the truth of this new life.

“I’m down in the muck with you, Bran,” he grinned at the dog, who seemed every bit as cheerful.

Nan did not correct him to say the dog was named Fuss, which told him she was not so lighthearted. She had fixed the braces of blades to her forearms again as they left town, but he thought it was not her watchfulness that caused her mood. He too had injured a man – done more damage than she had, undoubtedly – yet only she had suffered censure for it. He remembered well how her cheeks had burned when the townswoman told her to be gone.