![]() ![]() It was Benneit’s turn to grunt as he dragged off his nightshirt and went to the basin. ‘You can sleep when you’re dead, Your Grace.’ What the devil is wrong with that woman?’Īngus’s scarred face twisted into a momentary and awful grin. ‘Nine? Nine? I’ve barely slept three hours. She shall have to accept me in all my glory. It was more a suggestion than a question and, instinctively, Benneit dragged his hand over his jaw, wincing at the rasp. ‘Over my dead, drawn, quartered and pickled body.’Īngus grunted. Benneit shoved his head into his pillow.īenneit tossed the covers aside and scraped himself off the bed. With his scarred face he looked like one of the gargoyles carved on to the embattlements at Lochmore Castle come to perch by Benneit’s bed to remind him of his duty. ![]() ![]() ‘Aye,’ Angus replied and positioned himself at the bottom of the bed. Benneit didn’t know what was worse-those words or the explosion of light that struck him as Angus hauled back the curtains. ![]()
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