"Have you a name, halfling?"

"What bloody business is it of yours?"

He grinned suddenly, unexpectedly, white teeth gleaming at her through the darkness. "Charming lad, aren't you? You can thank your patron saint that I have a fondness for scrawny gamecocks. I could have handed you over to the authorities back there, you know. Most would."

"So why didn't you?"

"As I said, I have a fondness for scrawny gamecocks." The meal arrived then, thick bowls of beefy stew with hearty slabs of fresh bread and foaming glasses of ale. Caitlyn's traitorous stomach rumbled loudly again. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment even as her mouth watered at the succulent aroma. Her eyes lifted from the chunks of tender meat and potatoes floating in the rich brown gravy to stare suspiciously at the man. He appeared not to have heard the latest insubordination from her in- sides.

"I'll not be payin' for this. Not in any way, if you catch my meaning."

He had just put the first forkful of stew in his mouth. Before he answered, he chewed it judiciously, swallowed, and washed the whole down with a mouthful of ale. Then he looked at her. Caitlyn shivered at the impact of those eyes. The sudden spurt of apprehension ignited her temper anew. Feeling better now that she was armed with comforting anger, she glared at him. She would not let herself think of the meal until all was straight between them.

"Eat, lad. There're no strings to the food. I know what it's like to be hungry." Despite those unsettling eyes, his voice was gentle.

"You?" She stared at him with disbelief. Then pride reared its head. "Anyways, I ain't that hungry. Like I said before, me pals and me, we just had tea. Boiled potatoes and…"

"I'm sure you can manage something. Just so as not to be rude."

She looked at him for a long, wary moment. But the aroma of that stew was not to be denied.