She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. ‘Her purpose, if you will believe me, is to get herself a dowry so that she may marry an Englishman. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. Your purposes are defeated. People running, screaming, hiding. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. “It spreads like wildfire. Never mind.
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