Page 1 of The Warrior Priest
Chapter1
Ifirst met Rhys Mayhew when he plucked me out of the path of a runaway horse with one hand, a half-eaten apple wedged between his teeth. He told me later that he could only spare one hand because he didn’t want to put down the tankard of ale he held in the other. He didn’t spill a drop during the rescue, nor when he shoved me behind his three companions standing side by side near the entrance to the inn. The first and only drop fell when my pursuers arrived. I watched through the gap between two burly men sporting the symbol of the warrior priests’ order on their belted, knee-length brown tunics as Rhys pointed the tankard in a southerly direction.
He removed the apple from his mouth. “He went that way.”
“Thank you, Brother,” one of the constables said as he ran off.
The fatter constable stood with hands on hips, his chest heaving as he sucked air into his lungs.
Rhys handed him the tankard. “You look like you need this more than me.”
The constable gulped down the contents with the same enthusiasm he’d shown for pursuing me. He gave the tankard back and swiped a gloved hand across his mouth. “Merdu bless you, Brother.” The constable set off.
Once he and his colleague were out of sight, I turned to run.
Rhys grasped me by the back of my doublet again. The leather was so thin, the seams so old, that it began to rip.
“Let me go, oaf!”
Rhys released me to the sounds of his priest brothers chuckling. He gave me what remained of the apple. “Walk with me. I have a business proposition for you that will put an end to your need to steal. It’ll even put a roof over your head.” He gave his friends a look and they wordlessly entered the tavern.
I fell into step alongside my savior, although I suspected he shortened his strides so I didn’t have to trot. His offer intrigued me. More than that, I knew what it could mean—a way out. When a warrior priest made you an offer to end your starvation, you took it. Famous for their discipline, sacrifice and rigid adherence to their oaths, including celibacy, I felt safe assuming he didn’t want me for my body.
I greedily ate the apple, hardly swallowing one bite before taking the next.
“Slow down,” he said. “You’ll give yourself a stomachache.”
I didn’t slow down. I finished it, core and all.
We turned the corner and I realized we were in the inn’s courtyard. A groom led a horse into one of the stables while its rider strode to the rear door of the inn, a worn leather satchel under one arm. Another groom swept the cobblestones, while a third sat on a bale of hay, watching a boy struggle to roll a barrel across the uneven ground. No one paid us much attention. Our conversation wouldn’t be overheard.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“A little spying here and there.”
“Why?”
“Because you rarely make a mistake like the one you made today.”
He was right. Today had been different. I’d seen my mother’s uncle for the first time in almost a year. While I was confident I’d done enough to change my appearance since then, seeing him again had brought back ugly memories. Panicked, I’d fumbled then dropped the carrot I’d stolen from the costermonger’s cart. He’d noticed and shouted “Thief!”, drawing the attention of constables who’d happened to be passing by.
I studied the priest. He was classically handsome with his tanned skin, short brown hair and clear blue eyes, but it wasn’t merely his face that would have the women of Tilting lamenting he’d chosen a life of celibacy. Tall, even for a Glancian man, and broad across the shoulders, I would have guessed he’d be capable of wielding a sword even if I hadn’t seen his order’s badge on his tunic.
Yet it wasn’t his good looks or impressive physique that made my heart flutter. There was something else, something I couldn’t quite define. The spark in his eye and tilt of his lips made it seem as though he went through life in the best of humor, as if nothing troubled him and never would. For someone like me, whose life had shrunk to living in dank sewers and stealing scraps to survive, Rhys was magnetic.
I learned later that he was only twenty-four when we met. That age never quite felt right. It seemed too old for the mischievous, youthful air that clung to him, and too young for the responsibilities that would one day burden him. But I didn’t think about that until much later.
“You’ve been watching me,” I said, a challenge in my voice.
“You’re quick and nimble. I’ve seen you steal a bag of nuts at the market without the stallholder noticing, or some ells from a man’s pocket, also unnoticed. You have light fingers, and being small helps you slip away easily, or simply to blend in. Despite your poor attempt at a disguise, people usually take you for exactly what you want them to see—a boy.”
I resisted the urge to touch my cropped hair and instead settled my feet further apart, as I’d seen lads on the cusp of manhood do. “Iama boy.”
“You must think I’m an idiot to fall for the girl-disguised-as-boy trick.”
I gave in without a fight. For some reason, I wanted him to know. “In my defense, people usually are idiots.”
“‘In my defense?’” he mimicked. I’d never quite been able to lose my upper-class accent, and with him I’d barely even tried to hide it. “The child speaks like she just stepped out of her tutor’s schoolroom.”
