This had become her constant refrain, her reason for staying. She did not want her sister to remain in this life. Yesterday they had argued about it, with Bea saying that her immortal soul was her own business and Nan had no right to judge her – and Nan protesting that it had naught to do with sin or judgement. Why would anyone want to live this life unless they must? It was hard and filthy and reviled, and Bea did not have to do it anymore now that Nan could help.

But saying so only made Bea turn cold, as though Nan only said these things to boast of the high and mighty people she knew.

“Just as well could you stay here and I find a place for you. I’ve got men asking after you already, did you know they call you the Bargate Beauty?” Bea let out a laugh of genuine amusement before subsiding into thoughtfulness. “I’d have you making twice the coin with half the work, and all of it on your back. An easy life, Nan, if you want it.”

There was a gleam in her eye that was more than amusement. She meant it. Every word. And for a moment – just a fleeting moment, no longer than the beat of an eyelash – Nan fought down an impulse to pick up the nearest blade and send it into the wall an inch from her sister’s head. That would stop her words.

The impulse faded quickly, but the anger behind it did not. It showed in her face along with all her disgust, for she had no hope of hiding it. She turned her back to Bea again and picked up the long spoon with a shaking hand. It had been years since the anger had come on her so swift and strong.

When Nan had begun to tell how she had dodged the groping hands of lustful men in the king’s hall, her sister had laughed like it was a fine story. Nan had gone on to tell about the time one had caught her, how he had yanked her dress down to drool on her bared breasts but was too blessedly drunk to do more than that before he was snoring. Bea had shrugged and called her fortunate.

After that, Nan stopped trying to tell the important things. Silence served her better. It had for many years.

Now she took her time pulling the pot off the coals. There was a hard knot forming in her, a fist closing. She might love her sister, but she could not give all of herself to someone who could laugh at her past torments, and ask her to make a living on her back.