(A/N: This work contains explicit sexual content, beginning in the second chapter.)

The sliver of sunshine was warm and gentle on her face, the stone of the bench cool on her back. Rey drew the needle through the cloth, repeating the motion for what must have been the thousandth time, coaxing out the pattern that was slowly emerging. Vines curled along the fabric, flowers and leaves twisting out from the stem, her stitches vibrant in red and blue.

Jessika stood behind her, twining her hair into elaborate plaits that wound along her head. "There you are, my lady," she said, stepping back with a nod.

Rey smiled her thanks, shifting a little closer to the window. In truth, she missed her simple three buns, but Jessika was kind to make the effort.

She put her sewing to her lap. "Any word from Master Luke?"

"I'm afraid not."

Rey fiddled with the thread. "Right. Thank you." Suppressing a sigh, she looked back out the window, towards the curtain walls of the castle and the forest that stretched into the horizon beyond.

Her first memories were of sand.

Somewhere, in and amongst the grit and the months of travel, she remembered her parents as well. Mostly as big hands that propelled her along as they walked, pilgrims on the way to the Holy Land.

She reached the holy sepulchre. They did not.

So she imaged herself a changeling without parents, brought into this world by her own pure will and spite, a creature with no moorings to anchor her.

The other members of their convoy completed their pilgrimage and left, but she had nothing to return to. Without a plan, she made a home in the winding streets of Jerusalem; she bartered with travellers, passing along her scraps to Unkar and his wretched shop for precious few deniers in return. She slept under the roof in a storehouse of grain, taking comfort in the tight space and shelter from the heat. She was almost always alone. Living a hand-to-mouth existence didn't exactly allow for the luxury of trust.

So things might have continued indefinitely, had she not met Master Luke.

Jessika had barely been gone an hour before Rey stiffened her resolve and set her needlework aside. This confinement was unreasonable. Yes, there were skirmishers about. Yes, Master Luke had forbidden her to leave. Yes, she knew nothing of this land and its laws.

But she had journeyed here over gruelling months with the promise of an education at her fingertips, not for needlework and long hours spent waiting while Master Luke fought at the border.

Rey cast another look at Carterhaugh, the trees inviting and the promising glimpse of a pond in the shade.

She would be visible from the castle. She could be back before anyone even noticed her absence. It would be a lovely spot to pour over her new psalter, a precious gift pressed into her hands by Master Luke only a week before. Rather than sitting in her room and squinting in the slats of light allowed by the narrow windows, she could read in the sun, slowly puzzling out the dots and dashes along the page and transforming them into words. Perhaps she could even dip her feet in the water.

Just a little walk. A short wander and no more. Surely no harm could come of that.

When she first met Master Luke he wore a black tunic with a white cross emblazoned on the front. That was back before she knew what it meant; before she knew that it represented his vows of chastity and poverty, his commitment to caring for pilgrims arriving in the city, his belonging to the Order of St John.

She had only meant to ask if he had anything to barter, but he had spotted the swelling bite marks on her ankle and offered to ease her pain.

Rey was suspicious at first. She knew what men usually wanted with young girls, and that allowing that only lead to a babe in the belly and ruin. But the ankle did hurt unbearably.

So she let him help, swearing that she had nothing to offer in return.

He asked for not a thing and treated her with naught but the greatest respect. To her, this was foreign, a curious thing that made him all the more interesting. And then, on the third time when she returned to have her bindings changed, he caught her staring at the Bible on his table.

"Can you read, child?" he asked gently.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

He looked at the book and then back at her, expression thoughtful. "Would you like to?"

It was easy enough to leave the bailey. The majority of the men at arms were away with Master Luke, and the servants were busy about their daily tasks.

Rey edged along the walls, ducking behind corners whenever she heard voices. In another lifetime, she would have wrapped her hair in a scarf, grabbed a basket or pot, and marched out through the kitchens bold as brass.

But her kirtle was far too lovely to pass for servant's garb now, a soft green that clung to her legs when she moved.

Timing her run as a pair of stable boys left by the front door of the gatehouse, Rey sprinted and hedged through the door just before it closed. Straightening her gown with a proud smile, she stretched her arms and set out at a brisk pace towards the forest.

Rather than tackling a new skill and a new language at once, Master Luke decided that they would start with French.

It was an agonizingly slow process. She would find him in evenings and they would take advantage of the last vestiges of daylight, working through the letters over and over. Many a time Rey wanted to throw her hands up defeat. But Master Luke was patient and persistent, and she gradually began to pick meaning out of the page.

She was finally starting to make some real progress when the summons came for him to return to his country. His efforts were needed for war, the messenger said, for help in quelling the rancorous north.

Rey was bereft. She told herself that it was about losing this skill that she had only so tentatively began to grasp.

The uncomfortable truth, though, was that she had never had a friend before.

Which made it all the more surprising when Master Luke extended an invitation for her to join him. "It's a bit of a lonely place," he said. "I could use the company."

Rey hesitated. Jerusalem was what she knew. But lying in her cramped alcove that night, she decided that for once in her life, she wanted to make a decision not based around fear and self-preservation. She wanted to take a giant leap into the abyss and trust that she would land, safe and sound, on the other side.

Master Luke approved of her reasoning when she explained it. Have faith in the Lord, he advised.

So she went.

The journey was miserable. She hated boats. It was unnatural for human beings to be in the water balanced only on wood, she decided, and it was almost enough to make her regret the entire expedition.

But when they first arrived in his country, the damp wind and rolling grass took her breath away.

Master Luke turned and furrowed his brow when he saw that she was frozen, eyes wide, hands clenched in her kirtle. "Are you well?"

"I never knew there was so much green in the whole world," she murmured.

That earned her a small smile and a pat on the shoulder.

The lake was just as beautiful up close. She carefully set her book down far away from the edge and took her boots off, lightly stepping into the water, feeling the perfect squelch of mud in between her toes. Holding her chemise and kirtle to her knees, she waded in a little deeper, giving a little splash with a laugh.

So much clean, cool water. It was miraculous.

She glanced around and noticed something that she hadn't been able to see from the distance of her bower: a glimpse of a rosebush, its flowers larger than any she had ever seen before, beautiful and enticing. She waded back to the shore, wanting a closer look.

Slipping back into her boots and picking up her psalter, she padded towards it, ducking under the bough of a tree.

The roses nearly took her breath away once she was near. They were larger than her hands, full blooms that were somehow robust and delicate at once. The petals looked like they would be soft to the touch, velvety and smooth as silk.

Taking her knife from her belt, she lightly clipped one of the biggest blooms off the bush, bringing it to her nose and taking a deep whiff. It smelled divine, a soft sweetness that dizzied the senses and perfumed her skin. Quickly shaving off the thorns with a smile, she tucked the rose into her hair.

And then, all of the sudden, she was not alone.

It was only years of living in the streets that abruptly warned her of that fact, the hairs along the back of her neck standing in fear. Holding her knife out defensively, she spun around.

He was standing barely three paces away.

It seemed impossible that a man so large could have sneaked up on her without making a sound. He was tall and pale, clothed in black from head to toe, his tunic, leggings and cloak all made from the same dark and soft looking fabric. While not exactly handsome, his features were striking, with black hair that curled around his neck and brushed the tops of his shoulders.

Most disarmingly, his eyes had a yellow tinge to them, clearly visible even from this distance.

"Rey," he said quietly, the word soft on his tongue.

She took deep breaths, willing her heart to slow and her hands to stop shaking. "How do you know my name?"

He ignored her question. "Why is it that you come here without my leave, to break my boughs and take my roses?"

Rey's hand lifted to the flower in her hair. "Carterhaugh is not your own," she said, pleased that her voice came out steady. "And there are many roses."

He raised his eyebrows slightly at that, silent and cold.

To Rey, it felt like a challenge. So she lifted her chin, her jaw set. "I'll come and go as I please."

"By Fey law," he said gravely, looking a bit irritated, "you now owe me a debt."

"I owe you no such thing."

It only took two steps for him to close the space between them. God's teeth, but he was big. When he was this close, she could see that his skin had an almost grey tinge to it, sallow and strange. "It is not for you to dictate law."

"I don't-"

The kiss was sudden and disarming, his hands cupping her face to pull her chin upwards. His fingers and lips were cold, the chill seeping into her own skin, making her gasp against his grip. And yet, somehow, she was flooded with heat; the warmth curled in her belly and spread out through her limbs, making her dizzy and lightheaded with longing. She felt her book slip from her hands, landing on the ground with a thump.

He pulled away with a frown at the sound, looking down. Remembering herself, she grabbed the chance to shove him away, sputtering wildly. "How- how dare you-"

"Your debt," he said simply, still frowning. "Obviously."

When he reached for her cheek again, she turned and fled, holding her skirts and racing back to the safety of the castle as fast as she could.

Author's Notes:

For an ever so brief period from 1099-1187, The Kingdom of Jerusalem was an (ostensibly) Christian nation. With its exemption from customs charges, there was a roaring trade on selling imports to pilgrims. I imagine Rey as clinging to the underbelly of that business.

Luke is part of the The Knights Hospitaller of St. John of Jerusalem.

Deniers were a form of currency used in medieval Jerusalem.

There are a lot of different versions of the ballad of Tam Lin. I'm playing fast and loose with several of them.