the Tale of Sir Isaac



“Why don’t I believe you?” she murmured, turning her back to him and pulling the embroidered robe more tightly around her. “Come on, Isaac. Get up.”

He grinned wickedly and sat upright enough to slide off of the bed, moving to reach for his own robe and wrap it tightly around his waist. “Do we have time to bathe, or are we on too much of a time restraint?”

“It would take the servants half an hour to bring enough water to fill a bath up here, let alone heat it.” Summer poked at the food on the tray; oat porridge and eggs and preserved fruits, sweet and thick with honey. Not for the mornings the delicate finger foods sent to tempt them last night; she held out a piece of bread heavy with bits of dried apple and nuts for Isaac.

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