“Yes, it does. And we don’t realize how much of our lives are dictated by the lies we’ve believed, and we walk around with chains dragging…but truth cuts those away. And you…you did that. And what I’m trying to say is, I’d have to be a truly selfish creature to want to keep that power all to myself and not appreciate how your skill does and will impact the world.”

Joan took a slow breath, her body trembling. With an abrupt shift, she lifted her head from his shoulder, tugged her hands free from his grip, then reached up and grasped his chin, pulling it down to meet her lips in a tender and moving kiss.

Her lips captured his, the flavor of salty tears making the kiss even more dear as she cupped his jaw and leaned into him, melting.

Gently, he kissed her back, his hands reaching up to hold her arm and draw her in closer.

He nibbled on her lower lip, savoring its petal-soft texture as his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, only to have the carriage come to a halt.

Stealing one final kiss, he leaned back. “Well, Joan of England…what’s the plan?”

Joan’s hazel eyes sharpened, and she looked from him to the carriage door and back. “Call me Saint.”

And with a determined stiffening of her back, she looked out the window and nodded. “So here’s the plan…”

Twenty-six

I do not fear men-at-arms; my way has been made plain before me. If there be men-at-arms, my Lord God will make a way for me to go to my Lord Dauphin. For that am I come.

—Joan of Arc

The plan was simple: wait till she was certain Morgan was in that particular location and then intervene. Whomever it was wouldn’t be looking for a woman, so she had the element of surprise going for her, as well as the powerful stance of the duke beside her. The goal was to get Morgan out of danger as quickly as possible before anyone was the wiser.

It should be easy.

But Joan’s heart was pounding like a drum, and her hands were damp beneath her gloves. She’d never done anything like this before. It was all “what if” whenever Morgan walked her through protecting herself.

Little did he know he was also teaching her to protect him.

“Over there by the inn,” Joan whispered as she pointed to three men standing idly next to a hitching post for horses. They had mounts close but seemed restless, as if searching for something. One patted his chest, then rubbed as if ensuring something was secure. She made a mental note.

Rowles nodded. “What if Morgan isn’t here, but at one of the nearby places?”