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“At times, I find myself wondering if you truly are from a different time,” he said. “I speak three languages and have never heard of many of the words you use.”

“Three languages? I’ve always admired that about Europeans. Most Americans only speak English.”

“Americans?”

“My country. In any case—” she took another sip, “—it’s unusual, right?”

“Nay, it is not common for someone like me to be sitting here.” He indicated the dais on which they sat. “But neither was my mother common. Most houses such as The Swan are owned by either married couples or the church.”

Hannah nearly choked on a fig. “The church?”

He appeared amused by her surprise. “Aye. It is a profitable business, and one which keeps the vices of men contained.”

The church. Her Roman Catholic mother would have been appalled to learn such a thing, if it were indeed true.

“The year she died, she had enough coin to donate a new altar to the church.”

“She donated an altar?”

“My mother was a religious woman. Never missed mass, although it took years for the church officials to permit her entry.”

She had so many questions.

“By the time I was ten and two, she’d saved enough coin to persuade the local armorer to accept me as his apprentice. Four years later, our work was noticed by the Earl of Kenton.”

For the first time since they’d met, Tristan didn’t look so hard, as if he were about to cut someone down at any moment. He’d clearly loved and admired his mother. The notion that this man, from a time when women had no rights to speak of, valued strong women made him more appealing.

“In exchange for our exclusive services, the earl agreed to train me.”

“What kind of services?”

“Helmets,” he said, taking a bite of meat.

She did the same, waiting for the rest of his tale.

“The armorer who trained me specialized in helmets.”

“And you were that good?”

This time, there was no mistaking his slow, sensual grin. It would appear the double entendre was alive and well in the Middle Ages. “I am.”

She might be stuck in another century, but she could flirt with this hot medieval knight, couldn’t she? Why the hell not? Hannah could flirt with the best of them.

“Am? So you are still an armorer then?”

He held her gaze. “Nay.”

“Then you are good at other things, I assume.”

“Very many things.” His voice was low and seductive. She swallowed and looked away, wondering if this was a game she could not win. Getting pregnant by a man from another century was not a part of her plan for the future.

“As I said . . . ,” he continued.

She dared to make eye contact.

“I was raised in a bordello.”

Visions of his perfect body naked on a bed surrounded by women, teaching him how to . . . dear Lord. But then the reality of his statement hit her. If he were raised in a brothel . . . were there diseases in this time too? Likely.