The barren Sarah was suddenly a mother—to a twelve-year-old. She was at once thrilled and terrified by the prospect of providing shelter and sustenance for a child. Her instinct was to smother the orphan with love, but she would have to walk a fine line. Apothecary required discipline and study. Giles would have to accept a woman he didn’t know as his mentor and supervisor. Most grown men would balk at the notion.

It was difficult to assess the boy’s emotions as he took in his cramped new surroundings, his young face devoid of expression. She remembered how lost she felt on her first day at Blue Coat. “It’s small, I know,” she began, but you’ll always be warm, if you keep the fire in the wood-stove tended.” She bit her lip, recalling belatedly how his parents had died. “And you don’t have to share a bed.”

He nodded and perched on the edge of the pallet. “Where do you sleep?”

She pointed to the ceiling. “My late husband and I shared an apartment upstairs.” Admittedly, the upstairs room could hardly be called an apartment, but…

“He’s dead?” Giles asked.

The sudden interest in his gaze unsettled her. He was just a boy, but still… “Yes. Now my mother and I are the only occupants. Her name is Mrs. Ward.”

He stood, wrinkling his nose. “My mam’s dead, and my dad. Funny smells here.”

She drew encouragement from his willingness to at least mention his parents. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. My father passed away recently too, and my mother is old. You’ll get used to the aromas.”

Now she was talking like a twelve-year-old girl.

“Who’s the Scot?”

She weighed her answer carefully. It was important not to give any hint she had feelings for Munro. She didn’t yet know if Giles could be trusted with personal information, and reestablishing the business would be hard enough without neighborhood gossips spreading false rumor.

“He’s an acquaintance. From the Apothecary Guild.” She clenched her fists, wishing she could take back the lie.

Giles picked up a mortar and pestle. “What’s this pothecary all about?”

His interest was a good omen and she was relieved he seemed disinclined to pursue the matter of Munro. “It’s all about helping people who are sick, Giles. There’s a lot to learn, and I’ll expect you to work hard, but never forget our true purpose.”

“Will you beat me if I don’t learn quick enough?”

Her throat tightened. “Did your parents beat you?”

“No.”

He averted his gaze and she knew immediately who had inflicted corporal punishment. “Were you beaten at school?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. Is there anything to eat?”

It was a sharp reminder she was dealing with a child—and that the larder was empty save for a sack of oatmeal. “Yes, I’ll call you to come up when luncheon is ready. And we’ll discuss the terms of your apprenticeship. In the meantime you can look around the shop, but don’t open anything yet.”

Giles nodded, pressing the mortar into the empty pestle. “My dad was a mercer. He used to say every kind of cloth smells different.”

Optimism blossomed in her heart as she quit the workroom, but her spirits fell when she realized Munro had left. “Couldn’t wait five minutes,” she mumbled as she mounted the stairs, irritated that she craved his presence, despite her resolve. She gripped the banister when she got to the top and found Munro Pendray seated at the kitchen table across from her mother.

Munro got to his feet as soon as Sarah appeared, though there was scant room to push the chair back and stand up straight. Still grappling with the unsettling realization that Sarah had endured years living with an unpleasant man in such cramped conditions, he leaned his fists on the table for balance, feeling very ungainly. “I hope ye dinna mind,” he said with a smile, “Mrs. Ward invited me to come up.”

“Sit down, young man,” the old lady commanded. “Thou’s welcome.”

He obeyed, but worried Sarah’s frown indicated her displeasure. Was she annoyed with him, or her mother?

Her blush deepened, which came as a strange consolation, and she apparently had other things on her mind. “I have to go to the Bull Ring to buy food,” she declared. Apparently, his frown prompted her to explain. “The market’s been called that since ancient times when it was a cattle market.”

He seized the opportunity. “I’ll accompany ye.”

Her eyes brightened briefly, but she glanced nervously at her mother, then back at the stairs. He realized she was concerned about leaving Mary and the boy. “Or, I can stay here and keep an eye on Giles.”

Her smile made his sacrifice worthwhile. “If you don’t mind? Mama can come with me.”

“Aye,” he replied. “’Twill be a chance for her to get acquainted with the neighborhood.”

She nodded, but fidgeted nervously with the laces of her jacket. He suspected she didn’t want to reveal the hide-y-hole where she kept her funds. He fished coins out of his pocket and offered them to Mary. “I canna expect ye to buy food for me, and I admit I’m partial to a meat pie now and again. If such can be found.”

As he expected, the old woman quickly shoved the money in her pocket, despite Sarah’s glower. “I could eat a meat pie too,” Mary said to her daughter, pulling on her thin shawl. “Thy father loved the Cornish pasties we were fed in Chepstow, but I doubt we’ll find them here.”

It was an odd choice of words, but Munro thought no more of it when Sarah swayed alarmingly and the color drained from her face. He knocked over the flimsy chair in his haste to reach her before she tumbled backwards down the stairs. “Are ye unwell, again?” he asked, taking her hand.

Her skin was cold, but a spark tingled his fingers. Her eyes widened. She’d felt it too.

“I’m quite well,” she insisted, staring at their joined hands. “Just hungry, as we all are. Meat pies sound like a good idea.”

Reluctant to let go, Munro was pleased when she accepted his offer to escort her down the stairs. Mary followed in their wake.

Sarah might have expected that Giles would immediately notice she and Munro were holding hands when they arrived back in the shop. She reluctantly abandoned the warmth of his strong grip. “This is Mrs. Ward,” she told the lad. “We’re off to the market. Mr. Pendray will stay with you.”

Then she remembered the lie she’d told. Munro would have no notion he supposedly belonged to the Guild. The perceptive Giles would quickly discover the deception.

Her mother came to the rescue. “Or, we could all go.”

“Good idea,” Munro enthused, smiling broadly. “Get yer cloak, laddie.”

Giles shrugged. “Got no cloak.”

Munro frowned and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I didna pay attention when ye arrived. We’ll hafta remedy that.”

A shiver of apprehension chilled Sarah’s nape. Reginald went to great lengths to avoid an excursion to the market. It was evident Munro was determined to pursue her. He seemed to genuinely care about Giles’ lack of adequate clothing, but the boy was her responsibility. However, she admitted inwardly to feeling glad the jovial Scot was accompanying them, and she didn’t want to embark on an argument. “It’s settled then.”

She unlocked the door, ushered everyone out and secured the premises behind them.