They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. . ’ She shook her head. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. ‘I’ll make it, miss. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Of course, he had no idea who I was. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly.
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