Munro enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the busy market in the Bull Ring. “Reminds me of Edinburgh,” he remarked.

“Where’s that?” Giles asked.

Sarah rolled her eyes when Munro glanced at her and winked.

“Dost thou know naught?” Mary asked the lad.

“Edinburgh is the capital of Scotland,” Munro explained, putting a reassuring hand on the pouting boy’s shoulder. “I attended the university there in my younger days.”

“My parents wanted me to go to university,” Giles replied. “But Mr. Battersby told them he thought it unlikely.”

Munro chuckled. “Sounds like ye dinna care much for yer headmaster.”

“I hate him,” Giles retorted with surprising vehemence.

He was about to reply such schoolboy sentiments weren’t unusual, but Sarah took his arm and drew him aside as Mary and Giles walked on. He bent his head as she stood on tiptoe to speak close to his ear, elated she’d touched him voluntarily. He covered her hand with his own, hoping she was about to whisper some sweet nothing.

“I am fairly sure Battersby made a practice of beating Giles,” she said.

Anger took hold. “He’s just a bairn.”

She hesitated. “I suppose one shouldn’t question the grammar school’s discipline, but it doesn’t sit well with me.”

Her words confirmed his belief in her kind nature. “What about yer mother? Does she believe in beatings?”

She increased her grip on his arm. “I barely know her, as you’ve probably guessed, but I’ll not allow it.”

He took a chance. “How long is it since ye’ve seen yer parents?”

She stared at the street for several minutes before answering. “It’s twelve years since my mother and I parted ways.”

Munro was frustrated that he was no closer to understanding Sarah’s past. He had a feeling she’d given him a clue—albeit reluctantly—but Giles reappeared before he could continue the conversation.

The apprentice pointed to a stall a few yards ahead. Mary Ward was haggling with the mercer over a small black cape.

“Good Lord,” Sarah exclaimed. “I can’t afford that.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. “Dinna fash. I’d like to buy it for the lad.”

She looked up at him with a mixture of indignation and relief that tore at his heart. “’Tis a pleasure to do little things for ye, Sarah. Ye canna be angry with me.”

“No,” she replied. “I can’t. That’s the problem.”

He took it as a hopeful sign, despite the sadness in her eyes.

Sarah watched her mother and Munro haggle with the mercer. Their glee in securing a bargain was evident. Mary managed a smile when Giles swaggered back and forth in his new cape.

“Feel the wool, Mrs. North,” her apprentice enthused. “My dad used to say Old Brown never gave an inch when it came to prices, but Mrs. Ward and Mr. Pendray wore him down.”

She was happy to see a smile on his face. If Munro was her husband, she’d have been filled with joy at his obvious pleasure. But such a union could never be, and it would be better to face that fact.

She was known in the market, though she had to hope Reginald had never revealed her history. Birmingham was still a hotbed of Puritanism, but there were many, even among fervent proponents of republicanism, who condemned the killing of a king.

Fellow merchants were already giving sideways glances, probably gossiping about the tall Scot who seemed so friendly with her. “How long do you plan to stay in Birmingham?” she asked when Munro returned to her side.

He raised his eyebrows as he linked arms with her. “Until Thursday, but…”

Even through the thick woollen tunic, his warmth and strength sent a wave of longing into her womb, but a chill raced up her spine. She’d spent most of the Guild’s death benefit on the journey to Chepstow. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to repay you by then.”

Once again he covered her hand, turning to face her, a hint of anger in his gaze. “Listen weel, Sarah North. I dinna intend for ye to repay me. I’d take it as an insult. And I’ll stay in this town as long as ye enjoy my company.”

She looked away, afraid she might drown in the depths of his blue eyes.

He crooked his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Ye do enjoy my company?” he teased.

She’d never been a liar, and Munro would recognize a lie when he heard one. “Too much,” she murmured, filled with an insane urge to kiss his fingers.

Munro gazed at Sarah’s slightly open mouth, quickly dismissing the notion of brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. Instead, he bent his head and nibbled it. Her taste and the scent of her skin invaded his senses, stirring his male urges. A squeak emerged from deep in her throat, and for a moment he thought she might respond to his kiss.

But she pulled away, eyes downcast. “I’m only recently widowed,” she muttered. “People will gossip.”

She was right, and he cursed his insensitivity. He’d allowed his need for her to overtake his common sense. “I apologize, Sarah. ’Twillna happen again.”

He detected a hint of disappointment in her brown eyes, so he tried once more to pierce the protective armor. “’Til the next time, at any rate.”

Her smile came as a relief. “You’re incorrigible. Come on. Let’s find the meat pies. I’m hungry.”

“I’m hungry, too,” he growled close to her ear, so there’d be no mistaking his meaning.