’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. " "I understand," replied Thames; "be it as you will.
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