Cat-the-Stray was more than a little surprised, and embarrassed, when her would- be rescuer ventured into the Way the following week. To his credit, the gentleman did not approach her directly, nor did he leer at her or make any remarks whatsoever that made the young woman feel uncomfortable.

For her part, Cat kept her distance, offering a shy smile once or twice but mostly looking the other way. A part of her was very glad that the handsome man had returned, but another part of her, a very large part, was more than a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. She was closer to seventeen than sixteen now, by all appearances no more a girl, and surely the thought of the handsome man imparted intriguing, warm thoughts.

The man left early, tipping his floppy beret to Cat as he exited, his light brown eyes sparkling gaily, and the young woman was both relieved and upset that this second meeting had ended so abruptly. She shrugged it away, though, and went about her work, giving the stranger not another thought.

He came into the Way again the following week.

Again, he was more than polite, the perfect gentleman, not pressuring Cat to even so much as offer a greeting to him. He watched her more closely this time, though, and whenever she looked back, his eyes widened with intensity.

His intentions were becoming quite clear.

That night, alone in her room, Cat-the-Stray found it more difficult to dismiss her thoughts of the man. She wondered what life might be like for her in the years to come, away from Pettibwa and Graevis perhaps. She dared to fantasize about a life without work in Fellowship Way, about a life in a home of her own, with children of her own. That notion inevitably led her back to images of her own childhood, of her mother . . .

Cat-the-Stray shook her head violently, as if trying to launch the disturbing half memories right out of her ear. Suddenly the fantasy became a horrid thing that had no relevance to her present life. Her place was in the Way, with Graevis and Pettibwa. This was her home and, though she did not yet realize it, this place was also her shield against memories too terrible for her to face.

But the handsome gentleman came back again the night after' the next, and then again the next week, and, predictably, the whispers started that his heart had been stolen by a certain barmaid. Cat-the-Stray tried to ignore the whispers and the sidelong glances, but even Pettibwa, cheery cheeked and grinning slyly, caught Cat's gaze and nodded her head in the man's direction more than once.

"Will ye wait the man at the table near to the window for me?" the conniving woman asked often, always with some excuse close at hand.

Cat-the-Stray could hardly refuse, but she went to the man with a cold demeanor indeed, asking what he fancied and pointedly clarifying that she wad referring to food or drink only. Again to his credit, the gentleman did not press the young woman, but ordered some wine only.

He was in the tavern the next week, as well, and this time, Pettibwa, seeming a bit frustrated with the young woman, was more straightforward about insisting that the man was Cat's to serve. Even more disheartening to the frightened young woman, Pettibwa left the Way a short while later, only to return with Grady.

"Gone on about long enough by me own thinking," Cat heard the woman say to her son, to which Grady laughed and eyed Cat directly. He moved from his mother immediately and took Cat by the hand, pulling her along toward the man who had become such a regular in the tavern.

Cat resisted, tugging back, until she noted that half the patrons were watching and smiling, obviously understanding what was going on.

Cat pulled her hand from Grady's grasp. "Lead on, then," she muttered grimly, as if he were some powrie captain walking her to the plank of his barrelboat.

The gentleman smiled in recognition of Grady when he noticed the approach.

"My greetings to you; Master Bildeborough," Grady said, sweeping a low bow.

"And mine to you, Master Chilichunk," Bildeborough replied, though he didn't bother to get up from his seat and likewise bow.

"I believe that you are acquainted with my . . ." Grady fished for the right word, and Cat; blushing fiercely, wanted to smack him on the back of the head.

"My sister," Grady finished. "By adoption, of course."

"Of course," Bildeborough agreed. "She is much too beautiful to be a blood sister of yours!"

Grady's lips seemed to disappear, but in truth, there was indeed little family resemblance between him and Cat-the-Stray. The young woman was undeniably beautiful, even in her plain barmaid's dress. Her hair was long and golden, her eyes a startlingly clear and rich shade of blue,

and her skin silken smooth and slightly tanned. Everything about her seemed to fit perfectly -- her nose, eyes, and mouth in perfect proportion, her legs and arms long and slender but certainly not skinny. Her gait enhanced that perception as well, for she walked with ease and fluidity, always balanced.

"Cat-the-Stray is her name," Grady said, eyeing the young woman somewhat contemptuously. "Or at least, that is the name Graevis, my father, gave to her when she was taken in."

"Orphaned?" Bildeborough asked, seeming genuinely sympathetic.

Cat nodded, and her expression told the gentleman to let it go, which, of course, he did.

"And Cat," continued Grady; "I give to you Master Connor Bildeborough of Chasewind Manor. Master Bildeborough's father is the brother of Baron Bildeborough, who presides over the outlands of County Palmaris, third only to the duke, and of course, they both to the King himself."

Cat realized that she should have appeared more impressed, but in truth, little about society had ever meant anything to her. She smiled at the man, at least -- and from Cat-the-Stray, that was something! -- and he returned the grin.

"I do thank you for the introduction," Connor said to Grady, his tone begging the man to take his leave. Grady was more than willing to comply, practically shoving Cat right onto the man's lap. as he moved behind her. Grady then gave a curt bow and rushed away, back to a wide-smiling Pettibwa.

Cat backed away, glanced over her shoulder, and straightened her dress. She knew that her face was bright red, and felt the perfect fool, but Connor Bildeborough was no novice to the ways of courting.

"For all these weeks, I have comeback to the Way hoping that you would once again find yourself in danger," he said, taking Cat completely off her guard.

"Such a wonderful wish," the young woman replied sarcastically.

"Well, I merely wanted to prove to you that I would be willing to rescue you;" said Connor.

Cat did well to keep the grimace from her face. Her pride didn't appreciate that condescending notion -- she was never one to think she needed anyone's protection -- but again she managed to check the defensive reflex, consciously reminding herself that this man truly meant no harm.

"Is not that the way it is supposed to happen?" Connor asked lightly, pouring half his wine into an empty glass on the table, then handing Cat the original glass, from which he had not yet sipped. "The young damsel, caught by fiends, rescued by the gallant hero?"

Cat couldn't quite decipher his tone, but she was quite certain that he was not mocking her.

"Rubbish," Connor went on. "Perhaps I came here hoping that I would get into a bit of a stew, so to speak, that you might rescue me."

"And why would I want to be doing that?"

Cat could hardly believe she had spoken the words, but her horror vanished when Connor laughed heartily. "Why, indeed?" he said. "After all, I was a bit late in getting to the three who came after you, and as I said on that night, I believe that I did more to help their cause than your own!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"I am admiring you, young lady," Connor replied without hesitation.

"Am I to swoon, then?" Cat asked, growing bolder and more sarcastic. "Should I run from the Way and hunt up some willing rogues, that your pride be assuaged?"

Again came the heartfelt laugh, and this time, despite herself, Cat found herself laughing with Connor.

"You are the spirited one," Connor remarked. "A bit of the wild pony in you, not to doubt!"

Cat's laugh was buried in confusion as soon as she registered the analogy. Something about the comparison, something she could not grasp, tugged hard at her, begging for release.

"My apologies," Connor said a few moment's later. "I meant, no disrespect."

That wasn't it at all, Cat silently replied, but to Connor, she said nothing.

"By my heart, my remark referred not at all to your virtue, which I would not question," Connor went on sincerely.

Cat nodded to him and managed a smile. "I have my work..." she started to say.

"Might we walk when you are done?" Connor asked boldly. "I have waited these weeks -- more than a month it has been just to be told your name. Might we walk?"

Cat didn't know what to reply. "I must ask Pettibwa," she explained, only to buy herself some time.

"I will assure her of my honor," Connor asserted and started to rise.

Cat caught him by the shoulder -- her strength seemed to surprise him -- and held him back. "No need," she assured him. "No need."

She smiled at him again, pushed the wineglass, from which she had not sipped, back in front of him, and took her leave.

"Oh, by me eyes, he's a handsome one!" Pettibwa beamed when she caught up to Cat in the small kitchen behind the bar area a short while later. The older woman clapped her pudgy hands before her, her toothy smile nearly taking in her ears. She clapped her hands again, then wrapped Cat in a bone-crushing hug.

"I had not noticed," Cat replied coolly, not returning the hug and trying hard to keep her expression blank as Pettibwa jumped back to arm's length.

"Hadn't ye, now?"

"You embarrassed me."

"Meself?" Pettibwa said innocently. "Ah, but, me girl, ye'd never find one sweet for ye if I left ye to yer own doings. Why, ye act like no man's a good man!" The woman gave a bawdy wink. "So tell me now that ye're not feeling a bit warm in yer belly, and a bit o' the tingling, when ye look upon Master Bildeborough."

Cat blushed fiercely, all the confirmation Pettibwa needed.

"No reason for embarrassment," the woman said. "It's all so natural." She hooked one finger in the cleavage of Cat's dress, pulled the dress lower, and shook her hand about, so that the young woman's breasts jiggled. "And what are ye thinkin' these are for?" Pettibwa asked.

Cat's look was one of pure horror.

"For catchin' men and feeding babies," the woman said with a wink. "And ye can't get the latter without the former!"

"Pettibwa!"

"Oh, go on then!" Pettibwa shot back. "I know ye think he's handsome, and who wouldn't? And well mannered and up to his waist in the gold, too. Nephew of the Baron himself! Why, even me Grady's speaking highly o' the man, and ye be knowing, by Grady's words, that the man's speaking highly o' Cat-the-Stray: Sure there's a sparkle in his eye when he's looking on ye, and his pants are gettin' a bit too ti--"

"Pettibwa!"

The older woman laughed riotously, and Cat took the welcomed break in the conversation to consider her words. Grady was all for this, so said Pettibwa, but Cat knew that had little to do with the demeanor of her would-be suitor. If she was set up with a nobleman, the gain fox Grady would be twofold. First, he'd have the prestige of being related to the nobility, a sure invitation to any important social event, and most of all, with Cat's needs attended to by outside money, she could have no claim on the lucrative Fellowship Way.

So Grady's enthusiasm for this alliance held little weight with Cat, but Pettibwa's exuberance was a bit harder to dismiss. Through all" the bawdy talk, Cat could see that her adopted mother was indeed thrilled at the prospect of Cat being courted, especially by one as influential and handsome as Master Connor Bildeborough of Chasewind Manor.

So what did Cat think? That was the real question, the only one that truly mattered, but the young woman couldn't look at things that way, not now, not with Pettibwa beaming more brightly than ever.

"He asked me to walk with him when I am done with my work," Cat admitted.

"Oh, do!" Pettibwa said. "And if he means to kiss ye, then let him," she said, tapping Cat on the cheek.

"But these," Pettibwa went on, hooking her finger again and giving Cat's breasts another jiggle, "these'll wait a bit."

Cat blushed again and looked away, pointedly did not look down. Her breasts had developed late, just past her sixteenth birthday, and, though by any standards they only added to her beautiful, feminine form, she had never been comfortable with them. They represented another side of the girl, a womanly side, sensual, sexual -- a part that Cat's free and girlish spirit was not yet ready to admit. Graevis used to wrestle with her; had helped her to mature her fighting skills, but once those breasts had swelled, the man stayed away. It was as if they were a boundary between Cat and her beloved adopted father, a signal that she was not his little girl any longer.

In truth, Cat had never been his "little girl." That had been reserved for another man, in some place far away, a place that Cat could not remember.

She wasn't ready to grow up yet, not all the way.

And yet she couldn't ignore the advances of handsome Connor Bildeborough, not at the price of breaking Pettibwa's heart.

She went for the walk, and truly had a lovely time, for she found that Connor was as easy to talk to as he was to look, at. He let her lead the conversation, down any avenue of her choosing, and was careful not to question her too personally on any points. She told him, only that she was not really the daughter of the Chilichunks, but had been adopted in a faraway village called, according to Graevis, Weedy Meadow. "Have you ever heard a name so foolish?" she said, embarrassed. She went on to explain that she didn't know where she had been before that, didn't know of her family or her real name.

Connor left her at the door of the private quarters behind Fellowship Way. He didn't even try to kiss her, not on the face anyway, only took her hand in his own and put it gently to his lips.

"I will come back," he promised, "but only if you so desire."

Before she could even consider the question or the implications, Cat found herself mesmerized by the way his lashes closed upon those beautiful brown eyes. He was tall -- he had to be close to six feet -- and slender, but his body was hard with well-honed muscles. Strange emotions swirled in Cat as he lightly touched her arm, vaguely familiar feelings but ones she had not felt in several years.

"May I, Cat?" he asked.

"No," she replied, and his expression became crestfallen. "Not Cat," she explained quickly, and then, with a most curious expression, she said, "Jilly."

"Jilly?"

"Or Jill," the young woman replied, seeming sincerely confused. "Jill. Jill, not Cat. They used to call me Jilly."

Her excitement mounted with each word, and so did Connor's. "Your name!" he exclaimed. "You've remembered it!"

"Not Cat, never Cat," Jill said firmly. "It is Jilly, Jill. I am sure of it!"

He kissed her, right on the lips, but he backed off at once as if in apology, as if to let her know that it was unintentional, a consequence of his sudden joy.

Jill let it go without a word.

"You must go and tell Pettibwa," Connor bade her, "though surely I hate to part with you now." He tipped his chin toward the door behind the young woman.

Jill nodded and moved to leave, but Connor caught her by the shoulder and turned her about to face him.

"May I return to Fellowship Way?" he asked in all seriousness.

Jill thought of some smart remark about the tavern being a public place, but she held her tongue and merely nodded, offering a warm smile. Theme -- followed a tense moment -- Jill, and probably Connor, not sure if he would try to kiss her again.

He didn't; he just grabbed her hand in both of his, squeezed it warmly, then turned and walked away.

Jill wasn't sure if she was glad of that or not.

Pettibwa accepted the news with the purest joy Jill was afraid that the woman would be hurt when she cast off the name Graevis had given to her. Far from it, though, the woman bubbled with joyful tears. "Not fittin' to be calling ye Cat when ye're no more a girl," she said, wrapping Jill in a hug, falling over her so heavily that the strong young woman could hardly hold them both upright.

Jill went to bed that night full of warm feelings, some pleasant, others too intense, too uncomfortable for her to understand. Her thoughts careened back and forth between the realization of her true name and her experience with Connor. So much had happened in a single night! So many emotions and memories had come rushing to the surface. Now she knew her name: Jill -- though she knew that she was more often called Jilly.

And that feeling when Connor was close to her! How could she sweat so much on such a cool night?

That feeling, too, seemed something out of her past, something wonderful and terrifying all at once.

She couldn't place it, and didn't try. She knew her name now; and suspected that alone would begin to bring other memories back to her. And so it was with a true jumble of emotions, a purely teenage churning of confusion, fear and warmth, happiness and the verge of terror, that the young woman, no longer Cat-the-Stray, drifted off to a sleep of the sweetest dreams and the starkest nightmares.