In Which Atasha Turns Around

October 4, 1187

The last of the midnight church bells tolled from the nearby tower as Atasha hurried away from the count's study. There was a labyrinthine design to the corridors in this wing of the keep, but Felron had summoned her after hours enough times that she could navigate them with her eyes closed. It wasn't an uncommon ability among female staff of her age group. Count Felron preferred his study because sex, to him, was a business transaction. It was something expected of an employee should it be asked.

So if she didn't want to find herself and her son out in the cold, all she could do was as he demanded, lie back and wait for it to be over.

The instances had become more frequent since the old count had died. Count Tertius hadn't seen a servant's body as an obligation to her employer.

Something sounded--leather on wood. A boot. A nerve in Atasha's neck twinged. It was a heavy enough footstep that it was most likely a man. Another woman would have known, would have understood, but a man...

Another step--right from the intersection of the corridors. She couldn't run. Whoever it was, they would have seen her.

So she turned around.

And indeed, it was a man. But not one she'd thought she'd ever see again. "My lord?"

He didn't look at her, didn't even move when she'd called. It couldn't have been. It couldn't have been.

But it was.

And he was heading for his son's study.

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