More yelling now. Someone was grabbing at the woman in his grip, trying to pull her away from him, but he roared, loudly enough to send everyone scattering. He had captured the offender and he wasn’t about to let anyone take her away fromhim. His groin throbbing, he lurched to his feet, trying to shake off the stabbing pain in his family jewels.
“Enough!” he bellowed, blinking his eyes to clear his vision. The first thing he saw was a heavy-set man and a woman with a club in her hands standing a few feet away and looking at him with a mixture of fury and fear. “What in the hell are you two doing? What goes on here?”
The woman with the club inched towards him. “That girl,” she huffed, poised with the club. “She stole from us!”
Maxton blinked again, the pain in his crotch fading to a dull throb, as he finally looked to the woman in his grip. As his vision cleared, he found himself looking into terrified green eyes. But they were very pretty eyes. He found himself looking closer; she was very pale, with ashen lips and a sweet shape to her face. The woman was blonde, but it was a darker blonde with a hint of copper to it, and her hair was all over the place, hanging in dirty waves down to her knees.
When their eyes met and the woman gasped with terror and tried to pull away, Maxton could see that she had a long, swan-like neck, something that was so inherently elegant. Beautiful, even. She was tall, too. In fact, everything about her reeked of elegance and breeding were it not for the fact that she was as filthy and smelly as a pig. The woman looked as if she’d been rolling in the gutter. He frowned.
“Did you steal bread?” he asked, sounding unhappy. “Answer me truthfully and I may show mercy. It seems that I am all that stands between you and a sound thrashing. Well?”
The woman hesitated a moment and he saw her swallow, perhaps the last of the bread that she’d been trying so desperately to eat. Then he saw her swallow again, this time to perhaps show her courage.
“I… I was hungry,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’ve not eaten in two days. I would offer to work off the bread, but theytried to beat me before I could speak. I swear that I will work it off. I have no money, my lord.”
He eyed her. She was well-spoken, something he did not expect from one so slovenly. “I can see that,” he said. “Where do you come from, Woman?”
“St. Blitha.”
His eyebrows lifted. “St. Blitha?” he repeated. “Are you a nun?”
“A pledge, my lord.”
Now, he was becoming confused. “And they do not feed their pledges?”
“It is a poor order, my lord.”
“You did not answer me. Do they not feed you?”
She shook her head, once, and tears filled her eyes, tears that she quickly blinked away. She turned to the baker and his wife, standing a few feet away.
“I swear I will work for the bread,” she said, her voice trembling with shame. “Please show mercy. I’ve not eaten in two days, but you did not let me explain.”
The baker’s expression was dark. He’d heard what she’d told the very big knight. “St. Blitha,” he muttered. “I should have known. I won’t punish ye this time, but stay away from my stall. If I see ye again, I’ll take a switch to ye.”
With that, he pulled his wife away, who wasn’t so happy about not being able to club the girl. She was so unhappy, in fact, that she took a swing at her husband with the club, who yanked it out of her hands and slapped her. Now, they were fighting amongst themselves and the sounds of slaps and scolding faded as they headed back to their stall, leaving Maxton standing with the quivering girl still in his grip.
Once the pair was gone, it was oddly and uncomfortably silent between them. Maxton’s gaze drifted over the long-limbed, slender creature in his grasp. His initial shock at their painful and chaotic introduction was turning into curiosity.
“What did he mean by that?” he asked her. “When he mentioned St. Blitha, it seemed as if he knew something about it.”
The girl’s quivering was growing worse. “It is of little matter, my lord,” she muttered. “As I said, St. Blitha is a poor order and…”
He cut her off because he was starting to understand the situation. “So the merchants around here are used to the starving nuns that wander about, stealing food. Is that it?”
It wasn’t as if she could deny it. All signs pointed to it and, clearly, she’d silently admitted it not a few moments earlier. But she didn’t want the man’s pity.
“The Mother Abbess sets a fine table,” she said, trying not to sound as ashamed as she felt. “The senior nuns eat well, but the unfortunate truth is that the rest of us must fend for ourselves most of the time. You are correct. Clearly, you could see by the baker’s reaction that this is not the first time someone from St. Blitha has been discovered taking his food. Ask any merchant in London and they will tell you the same thing– it happens all the time. My lord, if I could work for my food, I would, but there are those who feel it would be improper to employ a pledge or postulate, or even a nun. They would rather give charity but, unfortunately, very few do. And when they do, it is not enough for all of us.”
Maxton could hardly believe what he was hearing. “And your bishop allows this?” he asked, aghast. “Who is your bishop?”
“Essex, my lord.”
That stopped Maxton’s building rage. He rolled his eyes and looked away. “That makes sense now,” he mumbled. “I may have been away from England for a few years, but some things neverchange. Essex is a man who is only concerned for his own coffers and leaves the rest of his parishes to govern on their own.”
“It seems so, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “Seemsso? Of course it is true. It has always been truth with Essex. You are a living example of that.”
