Noah waited with Michael on the wharf of St Katherine Dock as the Santa Isabella moved out into the Thames, where the blustery wind quickly filled her sails. Though it was early, heat was already building, and the river was beginning to take-on that quicksilver look it often had on a hot day in midsummer.
Hal stood at the taffrail waving farewell and Noah felt a lump in his throat watching him go, but what choice did they have? Sam had to be protected. Quite what use this man of Monmouth’s would be remained to be seen, though he imagined him skilled with a sword, if nothing else.
‘Are you all right, Papa?’
‘I am, lad.’ He rubbed his hands together, though his eyes remained fixed on the departing ship. ‘Now we must look to this reverend gentleman of yours.’
Michael snorted. ‘Hardly mine
