She yelped as he picked her up, involuntarily wrapping her arms around his neck. She opened her mouth to argue, and closed it at the look on his face. She pushed herself upright, though, pulling her skirts down around her ankles. “This isn’t right,” she told him.
“I’m failing to comprehend why you’re protesting so much. After spending hours on a horse and spending the night on the ground, you think you’d welcome a soft bed,” he stated with helpless wonderment, before taking a step back. “Should you need nightclothes, feel free to borrow one of my under-shirts — I have plenty.”
“I hate being — ” she hesitated for a word, ” — helpless. I don’t know what’s expected of me. What you want of me.” She smoothed the bedcovers with one hand. “Anyway serfs don’t get soft beds.”