Joan Wolf - To The Castle

“You can look at me,” he said softly.

She shot a swift look in his direction, then returned her stare to the ceiling.

“Will it be all right if I kiss your forehead?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said on a soft breath.

He moved closer to her, pushed himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. He bent lower and touched his lips to her forehead. Her skin was soft as silk and her hair smelled like lavender. He inhaled. “Your hair smells nice,” he said.

“Mama washed it in lavender soap,” she said.

“I like it.”

“I’m sure I can make some myself if you really like it,” she said.

He flopped on his back. “I like it on you. I’d lose all my status with my knights if I showed up smelling like lavender.”

She chuckled.

It was a charming sound, he thought. He was relieved to find she had a sense of humor.

“Good night, Nell,” he said.

“Good night, Roger,” she replied softly. With a wry smile, he settled himself to sleep.

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