Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 9.2 - Dicing with Death (Scene 2: The Morning After)

Sandrine's head was splitting. She rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her face, pressing its cool linen against her forehead. Never again! Despite the pain, her heart fluttered with excitement. She'd found him! The events of the previous evening were unclear, but she had found Jerome, and he'd promised her information that would help. After today, she'd have everything she needed for the Lord High Abbot's contract!

She clamped the pillow tighter to her face. Its coolness soothed the throbbing in her temples, and she moaned with satisfaction. She was back on track. And yet, there was something else; a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite as it should be. She breathed deeply and became aware of a weight lying across her stomach. She shifted her position and felt it coil tighter around her waist. Cautiously she lifted the sheet and peered down. Her eyes widened in horror. It was an arm; someone else's arm.

Suddenly very much awake, she turned her head and saw a shock of fair, tousled hair on the pillow next to her: Naylor?!

No, no, no! She pushed his arm away, and scrambled from the bed. No, no, no!

She wrapped the sheet around her, and backed hurriedly to the far side of the room. Naylor slowly forced his eyes part-way open, and peered at her.

"Morning, Boss," he mumbled.

Sandrine stared at him in disbelief. Her head hurt and she was having trouble concentrating, but one thing was clear.

"You're naked!" It was an accusation rather than an observation.

Naylor managed to sit upright on the edge of the bed, and tried to focus.

"Well, I am now," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "You just took the sheet."

"That's not what I mean!" Her temples throbbed, but she was more angry with herself than with him. She'd accepted the need to be naked in the soak house as the price of getting to Jerome. But being naked with Naylor – alone and in a bed – was different. "What happened last night?" she prickled. "Did you and I ...?"

"You won," he said, flashing her his customary grin. He eased himself off the bed and took his trousers from a chair in the corner.

What did he mean "won"? A horrible thought began to take shape in her mind. Had she insisted they sleep together? Had he tried to resist her advances, and she'd ignored his protests? She could feel her forehead pressing down heavily on her eyes. The Open Sky had affected her more than she'd expected.

"Won what?" she asked.

"Nardal's Run. You challenged a bunch of drunken Mureens to a race."

Something inside her writhed horribly as she remembered the story of Nardal and the sailfish, and the race run in their memory.

"I didn't!" she groaned. "Tell me I wasn't naked!"

Naylor pulled on his shirt. He grinned, which only made her angrier still.

"Don't worry," he chuckled. "You beat the record by a good two seconds. It really was something to watch. The crowd went wild."

Her legs weakened and a wave of nausea washed over her. She thought she might collapse. The crowd? A lifetime of protecting her anonymity, destroyed by racing naked in public? She turned on Naylor, furious.

"Why didn't you stop me?!"

Naylor broke into a loud burst of laughter. Sandrine glared at him. And then she realised.

"You're teasing me?"

Naylor laughed again.

"Just trying to help you focus."