As much as she would've liked it, Morgan couldn't linger at the inn, over her clothes or over the bath. She couldn't stay and have a drink with her father. Besides the fact that he was busy, she also had a job to do. She had to head back to the Ward's home so that she could keep an eye on Samantha Ward. It wouldn't have been a chore had it not come at such an odd time.
Ian Vanness, one of these days... One of these days she'd show him. She'd beat him so soundly that everyone watching would know that all of his boasting was empty, and all of his vanity was nothing but a thin facade. It wasn't that she wanted a bigger troop, or felt the need to lead armies to fulfill her job as a knight; she liked her small band, and knew that--for the most part--the work that they did was important. And, while it wasn't her favorite thing, being known as the knight that dogged his heels wasn't the worst thing about it. It was the constant need to look over her shoulder. She couldn't do it forever. She didn't want to.
But I've got a job to do, she told herself with a frown, and I'm going to have to tell him so tomorrow. His petty challenges are going to have to wait. The fallout would be worse than usual, of course, but she couldn't both watch Samantha Ward and fight Ian. As closely matched as they were, she never left those bouts unscathed. Morgan shook her head as she dressed, cleaning and packing her armor away for the following day. Odds were against any more excitement this evening.
With her armor tucked carefully away in its crate, Morgan was left looking more like a short man of the town; brown slacks tucked into tall boots, a cream colored shirt and a green vest with brass buttons. They were sturdy and practical, which was the most important thing, but they were also of some quality; she could afford quality now. The vest had been almost as much as the shoes, of all things, but the woman that had made it for her had assured Morgan that it offset her eyes. Perhaps there was a streak of feminine vanity left, after all. She shook her head, both in mocking amusement--at herself--and to clear her mind of the thought. She had other things to worry about.
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Amor Vincit Omnia
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