Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(44)

“N-no thank you,” I managed. “Just give me a minute, please.”

It was more than a minute. But eventually my pulse slowed. The pounding receded enough so that I could at least see again. I exhaled long and slow, then turned to Rachel. “Thank you.”

“You look better,” she said, her anxious expression clearing. “Mistress ah . . .”

“Hope,” I told her. “Hope Walton.”

“Well, Mistress Walton, I am Rachel bat Judah. And I thank you for saving me.” She offered me a hand up. “I think you are new to Londontown, yes?”

I smiled. Oh, you have no idea.

I noticed she’d replaced the yellow silk veil. Her gown was lovely, made of fine, moss-colored wool, with amber sleeves that draped elegantly over her slim white hands. As she leaned down to pick up a dropped cloth, a chain of interlocking gold links popped out from inside her bodice. At the end swung a circular pendant set with an opal. A big one.

“It’s good to meet you, too, Mistress Rachel.” I tore my gaze from the pendant. “And I thank you, too.”

We started down the street. Though wobbly at first, I soon got my feet back under me as we strolled across an open, cobbled area. There I got my first real look at the mighty Thames, and the famous London Bridge. The traffic increased as we neared the river. People lined up to cross the rickety wooden passage, while wagons and horses boarded flat-bottomed ferries that crossed dozens of times a day.

“Mistress Rachel!” A rangy soldier in his early twenties thundered up on a sorrel gelding. He dismounted in a leap and flew toward us. I lurched back, ready to run. Then I saw Rachel’s expression.

Chain mail glinted on the boy’s arms. A hood of the metallic rings draped from the back of his neck over a knee-length surcoat emblazoned with three gold lions on a bed of scarlet.

He looked Rachel frantically up and down. “God’s bones, I heard you were running through the streets as though chased by demons. What happened?”

“William.” She breathed his name.

The look that passed between them stretched like a piece of taffy, sweet and long. William’s eyes ate her up. Their bodies swayed toward each other, as if magnetized. Lined up with a dozen others, waiting to cross the bridge, an old man in a pointed yellow hat grunted and frowned at the two of them. Rachel’s gaze broke first. Her eyes darted toward Yellow Hat, and she took a careful step back.

I had to admit, William was cute in a medieval boy-next-door way, with wide-set blue eyes and a nose that looked as though he’d broken it more than once. Rachel became suddenly interested in the cobbled ground. In the late-afternoon light, her cheeks flared red.

A Jewish girl and a Christian soldier in the Middle Ages. Uh oh.

Yellow Hat kept eyeballing them and tugging on his impressive beard.

“Hello,” I said to break the awkward silence. “I take it you’re William?”

The soldier tore his gaze from Rachel as if he just realized there were other people on the planet.

“Mistress Hope Walton.” Rachel hurried to introduce me, hands fluttering. “May I present William Lucie, newly made a sergeant in the queen’s service, and . . . my friend.”

Something like a growl came from Yellow Hat. Rachel turned and dropped a hasty curtsy in his direction. “Good morrow, Master Yeshova,” she called. “Fine weather today, is it not?”

He grumbled a reply but turned back toward the shuffling line.

“Captain Lucie”—Rachel’s tone turned carefully formal—“Mistress Walton is new to London. When she became injured, I simply offered my assistance.”

Her eyes pleaded with me to go along.

“Yes,” I agreed, getting it. “Yes. I fell and hit my head. Rachel here helped me.”

William studied me. When his tense features relaxed into a gentle grin, I got it. I understood why Rachel loved him. And oh, it was glaringly obvious he loved her, too. I felt the gentle pulses of electricity just standing near them.

For one instant, my thoughts turned to that moment on the Scottish mountain when Bran Cameron had skimmed the twig of heather behind my ear. I’d thought . . . but, no. That was stupid. I shook my head to dislodge the memory and smiled at William and Rachel.

William Lucie bowed in my direction. “Mistress Walton, if I can ever be of service—”

A wagon driver yelled for us to move on. William glanced toward his horse, his brow crinkled with conflict.

“Go back to your duties, Captain Lucie,” Rachel said softly. “We are fine.”

The soldier bit down on his lower lip and leaned toward her. When he noticed Master Yeshova’s critical observation, he turned his movement into a courtly bow.

“Be careful, Mistress Rachel,” he said. “I worry when you roam the streets alone, especially with all these ruffians in town for the coronation.”

Rachel’s chin lifted. “I can well care for myself, sir.”

“I know,” he said. “But I would not see harm come to you.”

William dragged his eyes from Rachel and bestowed one of his lovely smiles on me. “Well met, Mistress Walton. You won’t find a better friend than Mistress Rachel.”

He mounted and rode away, his horse’s hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles. I looked at Rachel, brows raised. But all her attention was fixed on the retreating boy.