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and cows, to the inn yard. The groom, noticing the scratches and grazes on Marietta’s legs and the muddied hem of her dress, watched curiously as Léon helped her from the saddle. Marietta, seeing his glance, wrapped Léon’s cloak tightly around her shoulders, determined not to shame him more by showing her tattered bodice.
    The landlord set two mugs of frothing ale before them and served them a roast of mutton and steaming plates of beans and cabbage. Marietta ate ravenously and the strong ale went a little way to sweetening Léon’s temper.
    â€˜You know everything about me,’ she said, when her plate was clean. ‘My name, where I come from, everything. I know nothing about you at all. Not even,’ she felt suddenly shy, ‘ not even your name.’
    â€˜That’s easily rectified,’ Léon said, his hunger satisfied and his thirst slaked. ‘Léon de Villeneuve. I’ve spent the last six years alternately fighting for Louis and attending him at court.’
    â€˜At Versailles?’ Marietta’s eyes widened.
    He nodded. ‘Now I’m on my way home to Chatonnay.’
    â€˜Do they have lacemakers in Chatonnay?’ Marietta asked tentatively.
    â€˜No, more’s the pity,’ he added, thinking of the long journey he would have to make to purchase lace fine enough for Elise’s gowns.
    â€˜Is it to Chatonnay that we’re riding?’
    â€˜It’s to Chatonnay that I’m riding,’ he corrected.
    Her face whitened. ‘I thought I was to travel with you?’
    â€˜Away from Evray,’ Léon agreed, helping himself to apple tart. ‘And I’ll give you the horse and a gold piece when we part.’
    â€˜I don’t want your gold!’ Marietta said thickly. ‘I thought that …’ She faltered, the colour rushing into her cheeks.
    He said bluntly, ‘I ride to Chatonnay to marry.’
    She stared unbelievingly at him, the blood drumming in her ears. ‘Then you shouldn’t have treated me as a whore!’
    â€˜God’s grace, I only kissed you!’ Léon protested defensively.
    Pie and plate were flung across his face.
    â€˜ Hell and the Devil! ’ Léon’s temper snapped. He seized her wrist, dragging her from the table as pastry and fruit clung to his cheek, dripping down on to his doublet. ‘I should have left you to burn!’
    She clawed at his face wildly, and the landlord came running in just in time to see Léon force a struggling Marietta firmly across his knee and slap her resoundingly. The landlord grinned, crossing his arms to watch at his leisure. No doubt the wench had asked for it. She’d made a sorry state of her escort’s doublet with his wife’s apple tart, and there was blood oozing from scratchmarks down his face.
    â€˜ That ,’ Léon said, his hand coming down hard, ‘ is for having me struggle through bush and thicket to catch you in the first place! This ,’ his hand came down to a piercing scream, ‘is for my having to gallop my horse half to death! And this !’ The landlord winced. ‘Is for having me half strangled by that oaf of a witch-hunter!’
    He let her go so sharply that she tumbled to the floor, giving the landlord a pleasing view of long legs and heaving breasts. She scrambled to her feet, snatched the mug of ale and flung it full in Léon’s face before darting for the door and the street.
    â€˜Hell’s light!’ Léon cursed, wiping the foam from his eyes.
    The innkeeper chuckled. ‘I reckon you’re better off without her. That hair colouring always denotes temper, and she’s got it in plenty.’
    Léon agreed fervently. The landlord went for another tankard of ale to replace the one now soaking his handsomely-dressed customer as Léon removed as much of the pie and fruit as possible. She’d left his cloak behind, which meant she was walking the streets