As a Templar, Thomas could’ve asked for an overnight at the nearby priory, but such places had pigeons and he wanted none of that. Best to be known as a ne’er-do-well merchant and eat with the peasants, rather than end up a target for thieves. Merry slept soundly, tucked close to his body. With the tension gone from her angelic features, she could be the girl of six and ten summers he’d left behind. His gut wrenched as if hit by the blunt edge of a sword. Since he’d spoken crossly to her earlier in the afternoon, she’d not said a word. What was a man of honor to do? Since arriving home in England, his integrity had been questioned at every turn and it chafed. He’d spent the last six years honorably in the service of his masters. He’d brought home enough wealth for three generations and he’d done it all for her. What did a bastard son have to offer a woman of good birth? If he’d not taken the opportunity when presented, it would’ve been given to someone else.
