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“We can’t stay here,” he said.

“I love this place!” she said.

They’d spoken at the same time, and it took him a moment to understand her words.

“Are you mad? Bo and Berit have more women working here now than ever. It’s less an inn than it was the last time I passed through. We’re eating our meal and—”

“And mayhap you’ll allow me some decisions? Or as your squire, am I not—”

“You are most certainly not my squire.”

He ignored everything around them. The music, the lewd behavior. The two English knights who had been staring at him since they’d arrived. Instead, he looked at his companion sitting across from him at the table made for two. It was unique—Alex had seen only a few such tables before—it afforded a unique intimacy that was not typical of a common dining hall.

“If not your squire, then what am I?” Clara asked in an undertone.

He leaned down to whisper, “A woman who torments me day and night. One whose surname I don’t know. . . one who knew how to kill a man and who trusts no one.”

“More ale?” The serving wench, who appeared from nowhere, leaned closer to Alex than was necessary. Then, before he could stop her, she reached down and ran her hand along his chest and shoulder.

“So hard,” she said, giggling.

If he’d worried how Clara would react, he needn’t have. She laughed boldly, and he wanted to grab her in full view of everyone and kiss her.

She understood. Her experiences in the tournaments had taught her about a man’s world. She knew that he’d elicited the woman’s attentions earlier to distract her. She knew, somehow, he did not want the serving wench.

But did Clara know he wanted her?

She took a bite of her meat pie as a new song, more suggestive than the last, began. An English knight made his way past them with a woman on each arm, headed in the direction of the private rooms.

“Are they— ”

“Aye.”

“With two women?”

“Aye, lass, with two.”

He took a bite of the spiced meat, its thick gravy as good as Bernard’s back home.

“Alex? Alex, you have to look at me.”

He turned toward her.

“Gladly.” The meal was quite good. The view, much better.

“I want to know. . . the man with those women. I’ve seen much of the same, not seen precisely, but when that happens. . .”

“What in the Lord’s name are you talking about, Cl— Alfred?”

He looked around. No one appeared to be listening.

“Two women. And one man.”

He nearly choked on his ale. “You cannot be asking me—”

“I suppose I can imagine, but with my limited—”

“And where, exactly, have you seen such a thing before?”