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[Continued from here!]

Sheila has been pacing the length of her chamber for an untold amount of time. Arthur is busy, she reasons to herself, and her urgent note - sent down with a giggling maid - wasn't very clear. Still, how will she account for this?

She casts a brief look of fond disgust at Ash. "And thou sits like a stone?"

On her bed.

Oh, Arthur will not be pleased...

The Wisemen are in consultation - where, Sheila knows not, but while they consult Ash has little to do but sit around and bask in his victory.

And she'll be damned if he's going to bask with Arthur's serving wenches.

It's her idea that they go riding, somewhere close enough to the castle that they shouldn't bump into any straggling but well-armed skeletons and far enough away that they may enjoy each other in privacy.

She is the envy of some, the baleful regret of others, as she combs the mane of her mare and waits for him to find her in the stables. He is something of a late riser, but she knows he will arrive.

Late or no.