Page 67 of The Knight's Pledge
Chapter 17
The chamber above the inn didn’t get much lighter with the dawn, but Lucan sensed the new day had comejust the same.
He didn’t wish to open his eyes. He knew he would feel the copious amounts of drink he’d consumed the night before, and he didn’t feel at all rested—his dreams had been too vivid, too real, too wonderful to have allowed him the dark nothingness of drunken oblivion. He had no desire to return to the mundane world of road travel and kingly decrees and benevolent bandits. He had made love to Effie Annesley all the night, and it had been so real, so passionate and consuming. He could still smell her skin, her mostintimate parts…
He opened his eyes at last to regard the black beams and time-darkened thatching of the underside of the roof. Naught but a drunken dream. His head was splitting already.
He rolled over to his side to prepare to stand, and his back and thighs twinged as if he had walked a score of miles in his sleep. He slid his legs over the side of the bed and sat up with a groan.
I’m not married to Gorman, he heard in his mind.
Please,please, please…
His breathing stopped, and he slowly looked over his shoulder. The bed was empty, of course, but then his gaze stuttered over a little dark string and he wondered at its origin. He took it between his fingers and realized it was a leather thong, which one might use to tie up a parchment, or a small packet of fire starter, or…Effie Annesley’s braid.
He drew his fingers through her hair, tangling in the plait, slid the leather tie from its end as she rode him…
It all came flooding back to him then, every touch, every stroke, every sigh. He’d made love to Effie Annesley in this very bed, for hours—she’d fallen asleep in his arms.
In that moment, his heart leapt. It was real. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, until at last it had been impossible for either of them to resist. What did it mean for their future? Lucan’s heart was still beating too fast for the early hour and so he took a breath and found his way to the pot, his naked skin prickling in the frigid air of the chamber—the brazier had gone out long ago, but the heat he and Effie Annesley had generated in the bed they’d shared had rendered it useless, any matter.
His immediate physical needs attended to, Lucan’s next priority was dressing so as to stop his chattering teeth. He found his trousers and undershirt, stockings and garters strewn about the shadows of the floor, his gambeson where he’d left it, and pulled them on as quickly as their stubborn fastenings would allow. He sat back down on the edge of the ticking and donned his boots in deference to his frozen toes, and then gave an irritated sigh.
Should he woo her now? Werethey to couple?
Ridiculous.
He was no starry-eyed virgin. Yes, he and Effie had shared a night of phenomenal physical release, but he didn’t know if it would have any outcome whatsoever on their official relationship.
Regardless, he must make his way below. The band needed to be on the road as early as possible in order to reach the White Swan that evening, and Lucan was starving. He would take his cue from Effie Annesley and behave accordingly. Likely, it was no matter to her. A bit of sport. A release of pent-up passion as a result of the tumultuous few weeks she’d experienced and the strainshe was under.
But Lucan’s heart beat faster once more at the ideaof seeing her.
Lucan gave another sigh and stood up. There was no use delaying it—he’d faced worse in his life. He turned, reached to the bedpost for the strap of his satchel and froze.
He stepped quickly and looked to the other post—nothing. A frantic glance at the headboard revealed no worn bag, heavy with the square outline of the portfolio inside.
Blasted Effie Annesley.
Anger flared for a moment and Lucan struggled to remain calm. She’d taken it when she’d left his room. For what reason, he knew not, but there was no other explanation.
She was so drunk, she didn’t even know into whose bed she’d crawled, he chastised himself.So drunk that she stayed with youall the night.
He shook his pounding head free of those troublesome ideas. Effie had the bag. Lucan just didn’t know why she’d taken it.
He threw open the door and skimmed down the treacherous steps.
Thief.
Manipulative,thieving woman.
The door at the bottom of the stair was closed, and he flung it open, sending it crashing into the wall behind. All eyes in the common room raised to him upon his entrance—the whole of the party, breaking their fasts in morning silence at the trestles.
Only Effie Annesley kept her eyes on her bowl. Lucan’s heart stuttered at the sight of her despite his fury. She looked like a figure from a da Panicale painting, the light finding the side of her face and giving it a glow like polished ivory. Her hair was plaited and knotted at her nape, and Lucan knew it was because she had been unable to locate her leather tie—which he still hid in his gripped fist.
The toadish, aproned matron of the inn tossed him a glare. “Mind thedoor! What is itwith you lot?”
“Good morrow to you, Sir Lucan,” Thomas Annesley called out. “Plenty ofporridge left.”
