the Tale of Sir Isaac



Summer eased herself from Isaac’s hold, picking up a rich robe from the tumbled fabrics at the foot of the bed. “In just a moment,” she murmured, unconscious of how far her bearing had come from the nervous serf-girl. She slipped into the robe, lifting her hair out from the neck of it to spill down her back in burnished waves. Opening the door a crack, she exchanged low words with the guard on duty. When she turned back her gaze lingered on Isaac, stretched out in the bed.

“The seneschal wants to see you. He came by earlier, but my people sent him away,” she explained. “I’ve sent for breakfast, but in the meantime,” she climbed slowly back into the bed, “you should tell me some of those thoughts now.”

Laying sprawled out atop the covers, Isaac made absolutely no effort to hide himself away, comfortable being this open and vulnerable in the company of the woman he loved. Sweat glistened on his long body, muscles rippling under his pale skin as he shifted a little, eyes locked intently on her moving form as he smiled tenderly.

“He can wait — I want to spend as long as possible with you before other people begin monopolising our time,” he stated defiantly and sat up on his elbows, eyes glinting with mischief and just a little nervousness. “Yeah? Do you want me to tell you what I think of, what thoughts I allowed to fill my mind in your absence?”

“Yes,” she breathed, laying gentle kisses up his torso. “Tell me everything.”

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