The poor girl looked like a hunted doe. Instead of trying to placate her fears with more words, Andrew turned to the nearest coffer, opened the lid and drew out one of his plainer shirts.

“Will this garment suffice for the time being, my lady?”

Rosie caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Haint ever been a lady, but that is the finest-looking shirt I ever did see.”

He waved it back and forth. “Tis yours, Rosie. Take it. Put it on.”

Like a spark of summer lightning, she reached out and snatched it from his fingers. In one fluid movement, she dropped it over her head as she let the wet towels fall to the rug. The hem fell just above her dimpled knees. Andrew tied the neck laces high above her collarbones.

Rosie ran her hand over the ivory lawn material. “Tis like wearing a spider’s web,” she whispered. “Haint ever had so fine a shift.”

Andrew resisted his latest impulse to kiss her. Instead, he draped his red cape over her shoulders to ward off both the night chill and his squire’s lusty gaze.

Then he stepped to the middle of the tent and bellowed, “Are you still out there, Jeremy?”

“Aye, my lord,” the boy replied, “together with your cooling supper.”

Andrew winked at Rosie. “Well, maltworm! Bring it in!”

A cloud of succulent aromas followed the squire into the tent.

Rosie nearly swooned when she smelled the delicious mixture of roast chicken, warm yeast bread and a cinnamon-spicy scent that she couldn’t quite place. It smelled heavenly. Her stomach rumbled with her hunger. She longed to snatch the huge covered platter out of the boy’s hands, but Andrew intercepted her and guided her to a stool.

Jeremy cast her a quick glance through the shaggy fringe of his dark bangs. His jaw dropped. Rosie pulled the cape across her bare knees.

Sir Andrew took a comb and began to pull it through her tangled locks. “Mind the platter, clodpate,” he growled at the speechless boy. “I much prefer to take my supper off a table than off the floor.”

Jeremy gaped at Rosie. She returned his penetrating stare.

Sir Andrew chuckled while he worked on a particularly stubborn snarl. “You remind me of a goggle-eyed turbot, Jeremy. Have you never seen a lady with her hair unbound before?”

The boy swallowed. “Not like her,” he muttered.

Rosie stiffened. The young churl was making fun of her predicament. She glared at him. “I may not be a lady, but haint ever been a mermaid either, so ye can put your watery eyes back in your sockets, boy!”

Sir Andrew patted her shoulder. “Well-spoken!” he whispered into her ear. Then he continued to torture her scalp.

Jeremy stepped closer and peered at Rosie as if she were a creature from the New World. “Tis the same wench as before?” Disbelief spread over the boy’s face.

Rosie whispered a tavern oath.

“The very same lady indeed!” Sir Andrew worked on another tangle.

“Haint ever been a lady,” Rosie muttered, then she squealed. It felt as if he had ripped off half her scalp. “Pray, my lord, I beg ye stop! Are ye a-trying to make me bald?”

He massaged her tender skin. “May I be boiled in a suet pudding if I ever inflicted such a dire punishment upon you, my dear. Jeremy!” he snapped at the transfixed youth. “Attend to your duties! Set the table for two. Use my silver gilt service.”

Jeremy slid the platter onto one of the nearby chests. Then he opened the coffer next to it and took out golden plates, goblets, eating utensils and folded pieces of white damask. He set all these items on the table, and arranged them in a pattern. Rosie couldn’t understand why her master waited so long before eating. The food must be half-cold already.

She twisted on the stool. “I pray ye, my lord. Leave my hair in peace. Let us eat now.”

Sir Andrew clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You must be patient, Rosie. Patience is a virtue, you know.” He continued to work with her tresses as if he had all the time in the world.

She eyed the tempting tray and fumed at his delay. “Haint ever had a virtue,” she muttered under her breath.

Sir Andrew chuckled. “How now? What about the virtue of chastity? Remember, I paid a great deal for that particular virtue.”

She shifted again on the stool, then rubbed the side of her nose with her forefinger. “Aye, my mind mistook that for a moment.”

“Of course it did,” he agreed in a soothing tone of voice.

Her lie made Rosie feel sick.

Jeremy poured red wine from a large clay jug into a silver pitcher. The polished metal gleamed in the candlelight. Then the squire shook out one of the cloths, folded it in the artful shape of a swan, and placed it on the table. When he noticed Rosie’s attention, he made an exaggerated display of his surprising skill with the second snow-white cloth.

She hid her amazement behind a look of disdain. She didn’t want this green stripling to think that she had no idea why he had wasted his time to make two such fantastic shapes. She would rather eat a swan than look at one. From under the tantalizing cover of the tray, Jeremy extracted a small bowl of salt and a larger bowl filled with assorted fruits. He put the salt on one end of the table and the fruit on the other. Finally, he wedged a beeswax taper into the golden candlestick, and lit it.

Rosie had never seen such a lavish table setting. The squire lifted the cover from the platter with a flourish. The supper’s delicious aroma filled the air. “Tis a torture,” she moaned.

Sir Andrew chuckled. “Tis merely combing your hair.”

“Nay! That!” Rosie pointed to the steaming dishes on the tray.

He stopped his painful occupation with her locks, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “When did you last • eat, Rosie?” he whispered.

“Yesterday after we landed in France, but twas only some stale bread crusts.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. His hazel eyes returned her look with a heart-melting warmth. She forced herself to ignore the confusing feelings that stirred within her. “We had a dinner of tripe at a public house in Dover, but the journey over the water was too rough. I puked it all away afore we were even out of sight of land. God shield me, twas a hellish trip.”

Sir Andrew put down the comb and brush on a chest. “Then I shall not make you wait any longer.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Come, Rosie, tis now or never.”

Rosie groaned. Now the perfidious rogue had finally decided to debauch her! Just when she could almost taste the princely banquet set before her. Her empty stomach roiled with fear. Sir Andrew would soon discover her deceit, and she would never taste a mouthful of that delicious-looking supper. She stared at his hand, then at his grinning face. She cast a farewell glance at the roast chicken.

“Where do ye want me to lie down, my lord?” she murmured.

Chapter Four

Sir Andrew’s smile broadened, making him look even more handsome than before. “Tis not yet time for bed, Rosie, but for supper, if it would please you to join me.”

With a great sigh of relief, she jumped up so quickly, she knocked over her stool. Andrew restrained her before she could lunge for the food.

He tucked her hand firmly within his. “A lady does not charge the groaning board like a battering ram,” he admonished her.

Jeremy smirked, though he was wise enough not to look Rosie straight in the eye.

Anger mixed with her hunger. “Haint a lady! And I am perishing for want of food. Is it your cruel jest to make me grovel for your pleasure?”

Sir Andrew chuckled in the back of his throat, though he still held her tight within his grasp. “My pleasure is to escort you to the table.”

Rosie tugged at her pinioned arm and shot him a frustrated look. “I can get there well enough on my own. In sooth, I can get there a good deal faster than ye, my lord. Tis but two short steps away.” The aroma of the roasted fowl enveloped her. “Let me go, for sweet charity’s sake!”