Twenty

 

For the first time in his life, female voices arguing woke Erik. As his last dream faded, he realised he only heard one voice, but it was arguing loudly enough for two.

"I still don't see what you need me for. I am so close to getting the cloth right, I might have it finished this week. Instead, you want me to wake some man when you could easily do it yourself. You don't even need to touch him. Just throw a bucket of water over him, or whack him with a book, or..."

Erik jumped to his feet and met the annoyed gaze of the grey widow, who folded her arms across her chest.

"See?" the woman said. "He's awake. You don't need me. I'll go find someone to fetch food for him to break his fast."

A hand grasped the widow's sleeve, and Erik realised the girl stood behind her, using the widow for a shield. From him.

Pain smote his heart. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, my lady. The books you gave me yesterday were so interesting I stayed here late into the night to finish reading them. I must have fallen asleep on the table. My apologies if my snoring made you fear there was a monster in your library. I swear to you I mean you no harm. I am just a man."

The widow snorted. "Lady Margareta isn't frightened by much, sir. But a man who swears to do no harm had best keep his word, or evil will befall him. That I promise you."

Don't harm my charge or you will answer to me, Erik translated in his head.

"I spoke the truth. I mean her no harm. Both yourself and Lady Margareta are safe with me, Mistress...?"

"Lady Penelope," the widow supplied. She offered her hand, and Erik kissed it lightly. She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. "You should probably shave before you kiss her. She's not used to stubble."

Erik's hand flew to his face. Sure enough, he did need to shave. Muttering something about needing to wash, he hurried back to his chamber.