the Tale of Sir Isaac



Summer pleaded, “Maire, please go away,” scrabbling to pull at least one bit of fabric over them. “I promise we’ll get up. Just please go away?”

The housekeeper tsked, but somehow managed to bustle across the few steps to the door. “I’ll be back in half a candlemark, darling, see that you do. Don’t let the handsome lad distract you, now.”

And then she was gone, the door closed behind her, and Summer dropped flat on the bed with a huff. “Oh my God,” she said, half-laughing. “I swear I didn’t know she would do that, I promise, that wasn’t supposed to happen, she usually leaves me alone.” She peeked at Isaac. “Are you angry with me?”

A blush blossomed across his cheeks at the woman’s compliment, and he decided then and there that he liked her, even if he was uncomfortable with her seeing him like this. Burrowing under the security of the blankets, he watched her leave with wide eyes, a furrow forming in his brows as the door closed behind her.

He made to speak, when Summer’s comment registered and his eyes widened and he immediately sat up, blankets sliding down to pool at his hips as he shook his head furiously. “No!” he protested instantly, anger and disbelief infusing that single word as he reached out for her hand. “Why on earth would I be angry with you, Summer?”

“The way she just barged in here and … oh, I don’t know. For the awkwardness of it.” She lifted his hand and kissed it, lingering over each knuckle. “She really will come back in here if we don’t do as she says.” With a mischievous glint, Summer hopped out of bed, taking the blankets totally off the end of the bed with her.

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