Page 5 of The King's Man
Her teeth began to chatter and she drew her inadequate cloak tightly around her. It afforded little protection from the biting cold.
His fingers tugged at the cords of his cloak and he swung it around her shoulders. It settled on her thin frame, still warm from his body and Thamsine pulled it close around her.
He hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill and gave a deep, indrawn breath. ‘Mistress Granville, it’s cold and we’ve both had a trying day. I meant what I said about a meal.’
She looked down at the toe of her scuffed and leaking shoe.
There seemed little point in any more displays of stubborn pride. For the first time in weeks, she had the prospect of warmth and food. Only a fool would decline, and God alone knew she had already played the fool enough times in one day.There may be a price to pay but at least this Kit Lovell presented a more attractive prospect than her previous ‘client’.
She raised her face and met his eyes. She inclined her head as if accepting an invitation to dance and he smiled and crooked his arm.
‘Mistress Granville?’
She accepted his arm and he drew her close, shielding her from the icy wind that blew down the narrow streets. Through the sturdy cloth of his jacket, his muscles tensed at her touch and he placed a gloved hand over her cold, dirty fingers. The simple gesture permeated her icy bones, thawing the cold places of her soul.
Chapter 2
Kit threw open the door to the busy taproom of The Ship Inn. Beside him, Thamsine pulled his cloak tightly across her thin body as she surveyed the crowd. He put an arm around her and began to guide her towards his usual table. The woman within the circle of his arm had no more substance to her slender frame than a sparrow and she trembled like a trapped bird as he led her to a secluded corner of the taproom.
She subsided onto a stool with her back to the wall, her eyes darting around the room. The sister of the publican, a young woman with a riot of blonde curls falling from beneath a disreputable cap bounded forward, hooking her arm into his and beaming up at him.
‘Cap’n Lovell! We didn’t expect to see you out so soon!’ May’s gaze switched to Thamsine and the smile disappeared. ‘Got company I see.’
Kit suppressed a smile at the jealous suspicion in her voice.
‘A friend of mine, May,’ he replied. ‘Now, a slice of pie and a jug of ale would be appreciated.’
May sniffed and disappeared into the kitchens.
‘What did she mean when she said she didn’t expect to see you “out so soon”?’ Thamsine asked.
Kit smiled. ‘I have spent the last couple of months in the Clink. A small misunderstanding concerning a horse. Now happily resolved,’ he added
Thamsine’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been in prison?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m often in prison. It’s an occupational hazard. Ah, here come the girls with our food.’
May was accompanied by her twin. May and Nan were identical in nearly all respects, although Nan was slightly taller with a warier, more knowing expression on her face and a sharper tongue in her head.
The girls slapped the food and drink down in front of Thamsine. May gave her one last, baleful glance before tending to the demands of another customer. Nan stood behind Kit running her fingers through his hair and, he had no doubt, casting Thamsine a proprietorial and suspicious look as she did so, before returning to the kitchen.
‘They seem to regard you as their private property,’ Thamsine observed. ‘Is this pie safe to eat?’
Kit laughed. ‘Those two girls have the biggest hearts in London.’
‘And the widest legs, I wouldn’t mind betting,’ she observed, her eyes on May, who flirted outrageously with a bearded man by the fireplace.
‘You are hardly in a position to cast stones on that count, Mistress Granville,’ Kit reminded her. ‘Now eat before it goes cold. I’ll warrant it’s the best pie you’ll have tasted for some little while.’
Kit picked up the pot of ale and took a deep draught as he regarded the woman who sat opposite him, demolishing the pie with all the grace and elegance of the roughest soldier he had ever known.
Thamsine Granville, if that was her real name, appeared to be an educated and intelligent woman. Even if properly nourished she would still have been considered too thin for beauty. However, beneath the grime, she had an arresting face with high cheekbones and large brown eyes. Her mouth was wide and mobile. Her long nose curved slightly upwards. A strong nose on an interesting face. In the right circumstances, he thought, Thamsine Granville would not go unnoticed.
He finished his ale and poured himself another one. His reasons for going to her aid, not once but twice, went beyond altruism. True, her haunted eyes had touched something within him. He, more than anyone, knew what it was to be balanced on the edge, as this woman seemed to be. However, he also recognised that she could be useful; a card to be played when the time was right.
In the meantime, it seemed he was stuck with her.
He pushed his platter, with his serving of pie, across to her. She looked up at him and he inclined his head. After a momentary hesitation, she polished it off, wiping the last of the gravy up with a piece of bread. When she had done, she set aside the shining platters, taking a deep draught of ale from her tankard.
