“Lord, no!” Betsy laughed. “Not these days. I spent the night with my man. I’m marrying Peter, the blacksmith, in a month o’ two. I jus’ popped in here a while ago, to see how you both were. Besides,” she continued to a relieved looking Rook, “you were immune to any advances last night. Tansy, the other girl, tried ter sit in yer lap, but you weren’t having none of it. Only wanted for someone called ‘Clara’?” she questioned smiling. “You went on and on and on ‘bout her, begging your pardon, me lord. It was only when you started describing her ‘hot mouth’ that Lord Jack and I carted you off to bed. He tried to take yer boots off, but he passed out on the bed as well. So, I did both yer boots, shoved a blanket over both of yous’ and left yer to it.”

Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, Rook felt better and worse at the same time. Relieved that he had done nothing untoward, bad because dawn had broken some time earlier, and he had yet to apologise to Clara.

“How was it for you?” An arm snaked over his shoulders, and Jack grinned at him inanely.

“Aw,” he heard Betsy say, “don’t you look sweet together?”

“Betsy.” Rook looked up at her sternly. “There used to be an ancient Babylonian King called Hammurabi. He drowned barmaids for giving short measures, and I may start up a similar tradition here for cheeky maids. Especially, if I hear a whisper of this in the village.”

She grinned at them both. “ ’Course, me lords. Me lips are sealed.”

Both of the lords groaned in unison: they knew they were doomed.

ΦΦΦ