It would be a relief to sit in front of a fire again. A relief and a blessing. Margery offered silent thanks for this turn of events, confusing though they were.

Who was this dark-haired man who seemed to determined to protect her? And what would he expect in return? She had little money to offer, though she would gladly offer some in return for his valor. Would that be enough?

She had no experience with men, absolutely none. The only men she’d ever known in-person were the village deacon and old Cedric Miller, whose grain mill was the closest building to the farm on which she’d grown up.

Otherwise, there were passing acquaintances with merchants, farmers from whom she’d purchased anything unavailable on the farm, and of course, fellow members of her parish who would undoubtedly think her daft for taking the chances she’d taken to this point.

That was it. The entire extent of her life, summed up neatly.

Depressingly so.

All she had were the stories and warnings of her mother, a woman who hadn’t risen from bed of her own volition in more than a decade before death had finally come, granting her the mercy she’d prayed for most fervently.

In the deepest corner of her heart, Margery knew she’d prayed for the same thing: for death to finally take her suffering mother.

She would never admit that to another living soul. Not even her sister, with whom she normally shared everything.

This village was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Even Thrushwood on Market Day was nothing compared to the amount of activity she saw and heard on the short walk to the tavern alone.

Several men hurried past, bumping into her hard enough to nearly spin her in a circle. They kept going, unaware or uncaring—she wasn’t certain which. An old woman wheeled a chart in which she’d loaded apples and onions, struggling to keep the wheel within the ruts already driven into the drying mud.

A group of dirty, barefoot young boys ran past, three of them distracting her while another three grabbed for as many prizes from the cart as they could. She cursed them, called them wicked little devils as they fled.

“Watch out!” The tall man took her by the arm and pulled her to him, causing her to almost bounce off his unforgiving body.

Before she had the chance to cry out in anger, a bucket of slop was emptied out the window in front of which she had been standing only moments earlier, its carrier paying no attention to whom or what their waste might hit.

“Thank you again,” Margery gasped as she stepped away from him, nearly vomiting at the thought of what may have splashed all over her if it weren’t for him.

He had a strong body, and extremely quick reflexes if he saw what was coming long before she did. He was a sailor, after all—from the commands she’d heard shouted above her head during her voyage, she knew they had to be quick on their feet and able to jump to action at a moment’s notice.

He shrugged, continuing on. “It’s nothing.”

They turned down a narrow street, lined with even more buildings. It seemed as though they were built on top of each other, crowding in until there was hardly space to breathe. Not that Margery wanted to breathe in the foul, stale odors which assaulted her from all directions.

Was this what life in a village meant? Stench and overcrowding? It was nothing like what she had imagined.

The thought was a sobering one, one which left her feeling strangely hollow inside. London was larger than a village, with far more people than the village of Kirkcaldy—if the merchants who traveled through Thrushwood were to be believed.

She’d taken their word thus far and allowed the fire they’d set in her imagination to bring her to what might have been a rather painful end—had it not been for her savior.

He ushered her into a tavern and bade her take a seat while he went about procuring food.

She’d never seen the inside of a tavern before, having only ever increased her speed while walking past before then. Taverns were not the sort of place in which a woman would be welcome—or, if they were welcome, it would be for the wrong reasons.

Margery wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but what she found was very nearly reassuring. The room was small but cozy, rather than cramped. A fire blazed in a deep hearth along one wall, adding to her comfort, and the men enjoying refreshment spoke amicably among themselves.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.

The man who’d rescued her stood head and shoulders above the others near him. She hadn’t gotten his name, nor the name of the man who’d accompanied him. He was quite large, too, though not as tall as the dark-haired, hazel-eyed man who’d rescued her.

She offered him a thin smile. “What is your name?” she asked, hoping to sound friendly.

“Broc.” That was it. He offered nothing more. One word.

She remained smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you—this wasn’t my idea,” she added, laughing shakily.

He nodded, his light-brown hair not touching his broad shoulders. “I know. It’s difficult to change my captain’s course once he gets an idea in his head.”

His captain. Did this mean Broc worked for him? He’d referenced owning a shipping company—he was probably quite wealthy, or at least well-off. His tunic appeared to be of good quality, and its deep green color told her he could afford dyed cloth.

She had always longed for a kirtle of that shade, knowing it would turn her hair to gold and make her blue eyes appear even bluer in comparison.

But that was vanity, and vanity was a sin.

Even so, hadn’t she committed a multitude of sins over the course of her journey? Breaking into a barn that wasn’t hers, taking shelter there without the knowledge of the owner. Stowing aboard a ship without paying for passage. Lying, lying, lying. She’d told so many lies.

“The owner will prepare food for you,” the dark-haired man assured her as he joined them at the short, small table. His presence crowded things a bit, and she took pains to distance herself from him.

Being too near him seemed a dangerous idea, though she couldn’t have explained why her instincts told her so. He wasn’t threatening, not like the sailors who had handled her so roughly. He’d been gentle, and seemed concerned for her well-being.

Even so, he overwhelmed her.

“Thank you very much,” she murmured. “I wish there was something I could do for you in return.”

He leaned in slightly, folding his arms on the surface of the table. There was no humor in his gaze—in fact, his intensity was almost frightening. “Are you truly set on traveling alone?” he asked.

“I am.”

“And what is the purpose of this travel? I mean, are you meeting someone?”

“I’m not. I’m going to find work and save money to send for my sister.”

He drew a sharp intake of breath, which he let out slowly. “Well, then. Your first lesson, though you haven’t requested it: do not ask a strange man if there is anything you can do to repay him for a kindness.”

“But—”

“I mean it,” he insisted, his tone flat. “Never, ever offer that. There are men of dubious character who would take such a statement as an invitation, or an offer.”

“An offer of what?”

He exchanged a look with Broc, who shrugged. “Are you serious?” he asked, grimacing.

“I am, sir.”

“Derek. Call me Derek.”

“Derek,” she echoed. “I am serious.”

“You don’t know anything about strangers? About the sort of people you might meet on your travels?”

“I know enough to avoid main roads whenever possible,” she allowed, feeling at once ashamed of her naivete and curious as to what he might possibly mean. “I know it’s a good idea to avoid strangers, to keep to myself whenever possible.”

Her cheeks burned when she recognized the fact that she was breaking that rule by sitting with two strange men in a strange tavern.

Broc managed to maintain a straight face, though his eyes crinkled in the corners.

Derek merely shook his head.

“I’m happy to assist you in any way I can,” he insisted, “and I believe the most I can do—aside from ensuring you eat a decent meal—is to offer you advice. Whether you choose to accept it or not is your decision.”

She thought this over, then nodded. “All right. Please, I’m eager to hear what you have to say.”

“Remember the first lesson. Never offer repayment to a stranger without naming strict terms. A piece of silver, whatever it happens to be.”

“Understood,” she said, nodding again—though she still wasn’t entirely sure what he was alluding to. Did he really mean to insinuate that she might come into contact with a man looking to ravish her?

“Second,” he continued, never looking away, “you must find proper lodging. Do you have any money?”

“Some. I don’t know how much it costs to lodge for the night,” she admitted.

“Of course, you don’t. It would change from place to place, anyway,” he grumbled. “And any innkeeper would be sure to charge you double, since you’re so clearly inexperienced with travel.”

She drew herself up, her chest puffing out. “I found my way from my village to the harbor in Silloth on my own. With only my wits and the stars to guide me. I lived through that relatively unscathed.”

He grinned, admiration clearly present. “Where did you sleep?”

“In barns, mostly.”

“Smart.” He leaned away when a young woman delivered a platter of roast meat, cheese, bread, and ale.

Her mouth watered at the scent of the meat—the first good aroma she’d enjoyed all day.

No, that wasn’t true. Derek had smelled good when he held her close to him, preventing her from fainting on the ground. Leather and perspiration and fresh air. Not unpleasant, not at all.

He nodded when her eyes met his, as though she were asking permission to eat and he granted it. She dove in without hesitation then, tearing at the meat with her teeth, biting into bread and cheese and nearly closing her eyes from the pleasure of it all.

“How long did it take you to get to the harbor?”

She counted on her now greasy fingers. “A week.”

“An entire week?”

“As I said,” she explained, washing down a mouthful of food with a gulp of ale, “I avoided main roads and picked my way through field and forest, instead.”

“You encountered no wild animals?”

“No.”

The two of them looked at her as though she were mad. “You didn’t? Not a single one?” Broc asked in his deep, rumbling voice.

“Not one,” she shrugged. “Perhaps I was fortunate.”

“More than fortunate,” Derek chuckled, leaning back in his chair, long hair touching his shoulders.

The light from the glowing fire played over his face, alternately brightening and then casting him in shadow.

She wasn’t surprised at her luck. She had divine guidance. She was certain of it.

“Don’t count on that good fortune to hold out,” he warned. “That’s your third lesson. Counting on good fortune because good fortune has visited you previously is a sure way to make a mistake and leave yourself vulnerable. Always be aware of your surroundings.”

She swallowed a bite of cheese, nodding. “I see. Thank you.”

“Why are you determined to go to London?” he asked.

“Because there is so much life there,” she explained. That was the simplest way she could explain herself.

The two of them blinked without speaking, as though they waited for her to continue.

When she didn’t, Broc asked, “Is that all? Your entire reason for making such a long journey?”

“Yes. My sister and I wish to live in London.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Why not? Why do we have to have a reason? I’m sure it wouldn’t suit you, judging by the way you’re looking at me.”

He scowled. “It’s only that London is hardly the sort of place for a lass like you.”

“A lass like me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Aye. You know so little of the world.”

“Which is why I wish to live in a city such as London,” she replied, speaking slowly and measuredly, trying to hold onto her temper. It wouldn’t do to anger him when he’d been so generous.

“Do you know how quickly disease spreads there? How filthy it is? I saw how your nose wrinkled when you noted the slop in the streets, how close you came to having a bucket emptied on you. Filth flows through the streets, into the Thames. Fires regularly break out and spread quickly, thanks to the way homes are crowded nearly one on top of the other. You’re not equipped for life in a city ten, twenty, thirty times the size of this village.”

Was he correct about this? For the first time, she began to truly question whether her journey was rooted in folly. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to handle herself in a city such as the one he described. Perhaps she didn’t want to live in such a place.

“What do you think I should do, then? I’ve already come all this way.”

“You don’t want to know what I think,” he muttered darkly.

“No. Please. Tell me. What do you think? You’ve already shared so many opinions.” There was an edge to her voice, one which she didn’t take pains to disguise.

And he heard it, and his eyes twinkled in response. “I think you should book passage back to Silloth, and find your way back home.”

“That, I will not do.” She looked about her, at the tavern with its patrons, so quick to laugh and raise their mugs to one another.

She reflected on what she’d seen up to that point—shops, men and women selling both goods and services. There were many children, or so it seemed. She might be able to teach them, her sister having already taught her so much.

There were always choices. Beatrice had taught her that, too.

“What, then?” Derek asked, sounding dubious.

“I will stay here. In Kirkcaldy. I will find a position and a place in which to live. And I will send for my sister once I’ve saved enough to do so.”