The Raven and the Rose by Jo Beverley

stopped, Gledys walked past the gatekeepers, who didn’t seem to see her, and then followed the rough road that led through fields that were rapidly disappearing in the fading light.
    She didn’t even have a lantern. As soon as she reached the dark surrounding trees, she’d lose the road and be lost.
    But no one had prevented her from leaving.
    By that test, she was on a holy journey.
    As if to confirm it, the bird rose into the sky and flapped off ahead of her, drawing her onward. Onward toward the trees, and beyond them, dark against the evening sky, the monastery that crowned the tor.
    Sick with fear, pulsing with excitement, Gledys followed the raven into the deepening dark of night.

Chapter 5
    â€œHo, de Loury! Hero of the day!” The powerful voice conquered even the din of the ale tent.
    Michael turned on his stool from the table, where he was drinking with a group of other young knights, discussing the tourney fighting and Henry of Anjou, the chances of action and Henry of Anjou, and the fighting tomorrow in which Michael and some of the others here would fight in Henry of Anjou’s party.
    The voice belonged to Willie Sea, drunk and troublesome, in a stained, sleeveless jerkin that exposed massive arms furred with the same wiry thatch that covered the rest of him. He had a buxom redhead on his left arm and a huge tankard in his right hand, and a way was opening for him through the crowded space as he headed straight for Michael. He was grinning his gap-toothed smile, but was very drunk.
    Trouble. None of Michael’s companions was a close friend, so he was on his own. Another of his mother’s promises was that he couldn’t be killed before he found his bride, but she hadn’t promised no broken bones. He remembered remarking that immortality was the best argument he’d ever heard against marriage, but she’d just smiled and reminded him of the vow of chastity.
    True enough. What man would choose immortality if he had to die a virgin?
    â€œBrought you a gift!” Willie Sea bellowed. He had an astonishing voice—useful on a battlefield, painful in an enclosed space—and the whole tavern had little choice but to attend to the show.
    Michael mirrored the other man’s jovial tone. “How generous, when you’ve already given me your ransom.”
    â€œVagaries of battle,” said Willie Sea, without apparent offense. He waved his ale pot. “If you feel guilty, fill this.”
    Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad. Michael called for the pot boy. When the other man’s tankard was full to the brim he raised his own. “In honor of a worthy opponent.”
    â€œAmen!” Willie Sea gulped down his ale in one long series of glugs, belched, and bellowed, “Fill her up! And his, too.”
    Once his pot was brimming over again, he sauntered closer, wench still attached, clearly searching his sodden mind for his original purpose. “Gift!” he declared. “Here you are.” He pushed the buxom wench against Michael. “Name’s Liza.”
    Lisa was clearly a whore and very willing. She pressed close between Michael’s legs and wound her arms around his neck, but he knew she was a test of his manliness.
    â€œAren’t I the lucky one?” she cooed. “First the strongest knight, then the handsomest.”
    â€œStrongest, too,” Willie Sea growled. “He bested me.”
    A flicker of worry marred the girl’s face, and even in the uncertain candlelight, Michael saw an old bruise on her cheek.
    â€œThe vagaries of battle.” Michael repeated Willie Sea’s words to him over the girl’s head as he sought a way out of this. “But we could test it again.” He flexed his right arm to indicate what he meant.
    After a moment of surprise, Willie Sea cried, “A man after my own heart! Clear a table.”
    The men at three nearby tables scrambled to offer one. Willie Sea cleared