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even gotten sick with gut rot like the rest of us. Did you kiss the ring while the Pope was wearing it?”
    A third voice joined the discussion, that of Able, the young squire who carried King John’s standard. “You must have, didn’t you, Sir Thomas, kiss the Pope’s ring ’afore he gave it to you?” he asked quietly. “The ring is blessed. It keeps you safe.”
    A hush fell over the ragtag camp.
    Thomas opened his eyes. The hint of fear in the boy’s voice and the edgy silence at the fireside warranted a response.
    Thomas smiled. “That it does, lad. I don’t know how I would have survived without it. Now close your eyes and sleep. In the morn, we battle back some fifteen thousand Frenchmen. God willing, England will prevail and we shall all go home.”
    Â 
    In the late hours of the night, Thomas turned his gaze to the campfires scattered in the fields across the countryside, the twinkling lights oddly foreboding. If he listened hard enough, he could hear men’s voices in the meadows below, and the sound of armor and horses. Then silence.
    He closed his eyes, fatigue settling over his bones. He dreamed of Meri and how she’d come to him the night before he’d left, for in his dreams he could relive what he could not well remember…She’d met him at the chapel steps and walked with him in silence, hand in hand, into the stables and waited while he checked his horses.
    â€œHow can I live without you?” she’d whispered when he was finished, resting her head against his chest. “Do not leave.”
    Thomas ran his knuckles over her smooth cheek. “I must, my lady.” He kissed her forehead. “The king has summoned me directly. Not to answer would be an affront.”
    â€œCan he not wait until we are married? The banns are posted.”
    â€œMy ship sails at dawn, Meri. I’ll be back within a year, I promise. We’ll make quick work of the French.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, then pressed her palm to his chest. “When I return we’ll have a grand wedding feast, with music, fine wine and sweet cakes in the shape of magic beasts.”
    She stifled a quiet cry.
    He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his chest, burying his face in her hair. He could feel her heart beating hard against his own and the rise and fall of her chest with her every breath. God’s breath, she smelled like summertime and new wine and she fit him perfectly, her belly molded against his, her long legs the spanning length of his own. He’d loved her since he was a just a boy. And now her silken touch, her scent, the sound of her voice—all assaulted his senses, beckoning for more than just youthful and chivalric kisses. He ran his hands down her supple back, to the curve of her waist, cognizant of the effect she had on him. His heart raced. His breath quickened and the stirring in his gut ignited a man’s full grown desire.
    â€™Twas worse than a sentence to hell, knowing he might never lay with his Meri, and know her the way a man should know the woman who holds his heart.
    â€œThomas,” she said, stepping away, loosening her hair from its long plait. “If I cannot have you for the year to come—” Her voice broke and she glanced to the loft above. “Then at least let me have you until dawn.”
    Her gaze fixed on his face; she unfastened the laces of her kirtle and drew the bright yellow gown over her head. “Give me these last few hours before you leave. I have loved you since the day we met. Please…”
    Standing there in her fine chemise with her long, wavy hair spread across her shoulders, her eyes pleading, asking him to take her—’twas enough to tempt a saint. And Thomas Addecker was no saint. What had he ever done to deserve the love of this vibrant, passionate woman?
    He reached to run his fingers