Free Love Never Lies by Rachel Donnelly

Isabeau ignored these unwelcome confidences, steering their conversation in a more wholesome direction. The less she knew the better.
    Fortin could bed every whore in Northumbria as far as she was concerned, and likely had, but she had no desire to hear the details. His indiscretions were no concern of hers, nor would they ever be. He could riddle the countryside with bastards for all she cared.
    “Keep your distance from those jackals.” Hilda sent Isabeau a warning look as they plodded toward the gatehouse. “Lest they forget you’re a lady and decide to take liberties.”
    Isabeau didn’t take Hilda’s counsel lightly. On more than one occasion she had spied Beaufort’s men eying her with heated looks they quickly sought to conceal. She would never dare go to the gatehouse alone or to the bathhouse without Hilda to stand guard.
    But with Hilda at her side, Isabeau held no fear and hastened her steps. Hopefully, after delivering the blankets they would have time for a quick scrub in the bathhouse before Fortin and his men arrived.
    The scuff of their footsteps rang hollow on the stone stairs of the tower as they ascended to the dormitory on the second floor. Weapons were stored on the first floor—pikes, maces, all manner of deadly devices of warfare. The third and final floor was the constable’s solar and office. Luckily she would not need to tread that far, as Hilda always took charge of changing his pallet.
    After Hilda had gone aloft, Isabeau hustled about sweeping the old blankets off of the straw pallets and into her basket. She did not wish to be caught alone, should any of the men happen to wander in.
    She had just finished laying the fresh blankets on the ends of the pallets and was on her way to the door when Edric, the young man-at arms whose tunic she had mended, appeared in the doorway.
    She smiled in relief. “Ah, Edric ‘tis you. You gave me a start. I left your tunic on your blanket.”
    His handsome features flushed below his head of tossed golden curls. “Many thanks. ‘ Tis the only extra one I own.”
    “Tis nothing,” she said with a smile. “The evenings are long. I’m grateful to have something to pass the time.” She moved to brush past him, expecting him to stand aside as she could not pass carrying her basket with his great bulk blocking the door. When he failed to do so, she lifted an inquiring brow. “Is there something else you wish me to mend?”
    His voice came husky and thick, as though his tongue had suddenly grown too fat for his mouth. “My heart if you could, but I’d settle for a kiss.”
    Isabeau endeavored to keep her voice calm, though her knees trembled beneath her blue kirtle as she gazed up into his earnest young face. “That’s very kind, but I don’t think my betrothed would approve.”
    He flashed her a brazen grin, his eyes aglow with more than friendship. “Yea, but your betrothed isn’t here, is he?”
    She tried again in a firmer tone. “I don’t think Lord Fortin would approve of you accosting his prisoner.”
    “He won’t care.” Edric grabbed her by the arms, pinning her against the opened door, a feverish gleam in his eyes. “Why else would he leave you here, so ill-disposed, to work as a serf in Lord Beaufort’s hall?”
    “You forget yourself, Monsieur!” Her voice rose with indignation. “Edric please!” She twisted her head from side to side in an attempt to avoid his descending mouth. But with the basket between them and his hands biting into her arms, she could not escape.
    “Edric!” Hilda’s voice screeched like a wild song above the mad pounding in Isabeau’s ears. “Come aloft to the constable’s chamber and you’ll behold the biggest rat you’ve ever seen.”
    At mention of the constable, Edric dropped his hands. He blinked, then stepped away. “’Twas only a kiss, my lady,” he said with a pained look, his face growing flushed. “I meant no harm.”
    Isabeau sucked in a long grateful gulp of air as she watched