Page 53 of The Captive Knight
“Ally! I have a message from the abbot at Toulouse!”
She grunted at her brother’s voice and curled into herself. Her mouth felt as dry as the lees of last night’s spiced wine. She heard the whoosh of the bed curtains being knocked aside as light flooded over her.
“He invited me,” he said in that pummeling voice, “to join the order as soon as I can get there.”
“Laury, for the love of Mary.” She raised a hand to shield her eyes. “What ungodly hour is it?”
“Long past when you should be awake—”
Laurent’s words halted with a wet, glottal sound. Assuming she wasn’t fully covered, she clasped at the furs and pulled them higher. If her lark of a brother was embarrassed by her nudity, then so be it. It was no more than he deserved barging in on her like this. And on the morning after Twelfth Night, no less.
Then her eyes flew open and the daylight blinded her. She shot up to a sitting position, a move made all the more difficult by the naked arm lying heavy across her waist.
“So,” her brother said in a high, strained voice. “Now I understand why you lingered abed.”
“Laury, I can explain.” She licked her dry lips with a sandpaper tongue as she struggled to adjust to the brightness of day. “Twelfth Night is—”
“Please don’t.” He raised the flat of his hand. “It’s enough for me that you’ve finally made your decision.”
Words gathered in her throat but she couldn’t muster them to her lips.
“You’ll have to say penance, of course, the two of you, but this won’t be the first time a bedding was made before the wedding.”
Her brother stood before her with a shaky half-smile on his face, flushing crimson to the roots of his hair.
He didn’t understand, she thought, her heart sinking.
He didn’t understand at all.
Then the warm mass of the naked man in her bed moved behind her, jiggering the hay-stuffed mattress.
“I confess, Sir Jehan,” her brother said, raising his voice as if Jehan stood across the room instead of supine on the bed with his backside against her own, “I’d expected better of you, but I suppose my sister needed some…convincing.”
Jehan’s warmth shifted as he sat up behind her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You said you received a message, Laurent?”
“Yes, yes.” Her brother lifted the folded parchment and stared at it as his skin began to blotch. “It arrived with a peddler from Toulouse.”
“Any other messages?”
They’re talking about messages, she thought, while she lay naked in bed with a bachelor knight.
“None but this.” Laury waved the thing so it kicked up a breeze. “My news will be overshadowed by yours, but happily so.”
“So,” Jehan persisted, “you’ll be going to the monastery.”
“And this shall make my leave-taking all the more joyous.” He took a trip-step backwards toward the door. “I’ll speak to Father Dubose about the arrangements for the ceremony. It can take place before breakfast—”
“No!” She’d all but shouted the word.
“Would you prefer a midday ceremony, Ally?” He gave her a sweet tilt of the head, as he dragged his leg along. “Because the time for hesitation is clearly past.”
“I made my choice some time ago.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Laurent paused and spread his hands. “Will it be a breakfast feast, or a dinner one?”
“Not that choice.”
She ached for a cup of wine, as much for fortitude’s sake as thirst. With a squeeze of her shoulder, Jehan retreated as he reached for his clothes, rumpled at the end of the bed, and slipped off through the drapes on the other side. He was trying to give them some privacy, she supposed, for she’d told Jehan from the start that Laurent would have to hear the truth from her lips alone. But bereft of his warmth, her will faltered, while every silent moment stole another measure of brightness from her brother’s face.
