Heaven's Fire by Patricia Ryan

you manage to... I mean, there’s a gravestone with your name on it!”
    “Ella helped me. It wasn’t hard. We filled a shroud with straw so that anyone passing would think she was burying me.” She shrugged. “No one questioned her, and I merely waited until dark and went on my way.”
    “Where did you go?”
    “I have a cousin in Bagley Wood, who I stayed with for a few weeks. But I should have known better than to remain so close without a disguise. About a week ago, I got careless. I was heading into church for mass when I saw Sir Roger, along with Hugh Hest, coming down the road. I think they saw me, too.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I slipped out the back and ran as hard as I could,” she said. “Came here to Oxford.” She fingered the short tendrils of hair framing her face. “Cut my hair, traded my kirtle for chausses.” Grinning, she extended her booted leg. “What do you think?”
    Rainulf shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know what to think. How long do you propose to maintain this disguise?”
    “Until Sir Roger gives up on trying to find me. It may takes months—perhaps years—but eventually he’ll tire of the search. If I stay here in Oxford, perhaps I can keep track of his progress through my friend Ella. If I were to flee to some far-off place, I’d lose that advantage, and most likely I’d still be found.”
    “Where have you been staying?” Rainulf asked. “Have you any silver?”
    She shook her head. “What little I had is long gone. I’ve been sleeping in an alley off Beefhall Lane till I can find work.”
    “An alley! You could get your throat cut in your sleep! And what do you do when it rains?”
    “The weather’s been fair. I’ve been lucky. She glanced toward the downpour visible through the open front door of the church. “Until now.” She shrugged. “Perhaps Osney Abbey will take me in for the night.”
    Rainulf conjured up a disconcerting mental picture of Constance—or rather, Corliss—bedded down in the straw in a monastic guest house with dozens of indigents... all male, and many the lowliest form of knave. Granted, she passed amazingly well for a boy, but that alone wouldn’t protect her as much as she seemed to think. There were those who would just as soon force themselves on a defenseless-looking youth as on a girl. And when they discovered her true sex, she’d be fair game for them all. Doubtless the young woman standing before him, so secure in her tunic and chausses, knew little of such matters.
    “I’d better go now,” she said, “or they may not have room for me by the time I get there.” She nodded toward the reliquary clutched in his fist. “I just wanted to give that back. Thank you for... everything.” She looked down momentarily. Even in the shadowy nave, Rainulf thought he could see a slight blush suffuse her cheeks. “I was sad to wake up and find you gone.”
    “I was sad to leave,” Rainulf said quietly. She looked directly at him, her eyes huge in the darkness, as if his declaration had surprised her. He cleared his throat and held the reliquary out to her. “I’m not taking this back. It was meant as a gift. It’s yours now.”
    “Mine?” Her disbelieving gaze met his. “Nay, I couldn’t keep it!”
    “Whyever not?”
    “It’s... it’s much too fine.”
    “You deserve fine things.” He took her hand, opened her fingers, and closed them around the reliquary. “Keep it.” Wrapping both his hands around her small fist, he added, “Please.”
    She nodded gravely, her gaze locked with his. “I’ll treasure it. ‘Twill be a reminder of you and... and everything you’ve done for me. And perhaps it will continue to bring me good luck.”
    Rainulf looked down at his hands enclosing her small fist. He didn’t want to release her, but he did, and took a step back. Constance— Corliss —stepped back as well. Lifting her satchel from the floor, she secreted the little reliquary in it. For a moment they simply