This was the first man she’d seen since coming to Burgundy who didn’t have either a beard or mustache.
It took her a moment to find her tongue. “Are... are you the Priest?” she asked gracelessly.
The man shrugged. “I’ve never claimed such a title, but some people have called me that,” he said. “I prefer the name Thomas, myself. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”
“I’m Martia. Martia Rosenthal.”
“Ah, our new sub-legate. An honor indeed. Won’t you please come in?”
Martia stepped inside the threshold perhaps a bit too quickly, meanwhile saying, “I hope it’s not an imposition, this late at night.”
Thomas eyed her disheveled appearance. “Given that a young lady of your background is out in public in such a state, the situation may warrant extraordinary concern.”
“Yes, I think
