The Traitor's Escape

Chapter Nine

Everything was warm and silky soft and Sansa wished she never had to get up. The sun was already shining through the window, disturbing her sleep because of a crack in the heavy fabrics covering the opening. She grumbled and reached out to tug the fabrics closed. "What the hell is that?" Sandor rasped behind her, irritated. He buried his face into her hair and spread his hands across her bare belly. Sansa sighed in content and snuggled deeper into the softest pillows she had ever slept with.

"The curtains must have been disturbed last night," she mumbled, answering his question. "I'm sure we will have to get up soon. Willas wanted to break our fast together today."

"Fuck that. He can wait as long as we want." She giggled and cracked open her eyes so she could peek over at him.

"I told you last night we needed to go this morning. Maester Lomys is going to check how I'm carrying this morning and I need to let him know when that will be best. You did still want to be there as well... right? I know you were a bit distracted last night after the evening meal..."

"I remember," he grumbled, pressing his lips to her neck and tracing his fingers from her belly and up her ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, nearly making her arch into his touch. She could feel his hardness pressing against her and, for a brief moment, she played with the idea of letting the morning slide away. He had already taken her three times in the room; at the washtub last night after he'd bathed, when they'd settled into the bed for the night, and then sometime this morning before the sun had begun to rise. And, while she certainly would enjoy another round...

She wiggled away from his touch and told him, laughter in her tone, "Not right now. We need to get up." Sansa giggled at the displeased expression on his face and stood up. His eyes roamed over her nakedness, dark with want. She was unexpectedly pleased with his attention. Some days, she worried whether he truly found her attractive, rather than just the pretty she had always been complimented for. She was years younger than him and perhaps he had certain tastes that she didn't meet...

A knock to the door interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, Sansa turned around to find her shift. Behind her, the bed creaked and Sandor ambled up beside her. He had already found his breeches from the night before and he had her shift in one hand and his sword in the other. The shift was passed off and then the ex-Knight was walking towards the door. Quickly, she managed the fabric over her head and padded over to the chamber door. Sandor had opened the door with a heavy scowl, but his sword was lowered, so Sansa assumed it was safe.

A little girl scurried in, her arms laden with fabrics. She couldn't be more than nine or ten, with wide hazel eyes and dark locks of hair piled up on her head in a sort of bun. She looked a bit terrified, likely from Sandor's brash attitude, and nearly froze when she saw Sansa standing there. "O-oh, milady," she squeaked out, dropping into an informal sort of curtsey. "L-lord Willas asked to bring these up for you. He was afraid neither of you had any clean breeches or tunics a-and to let you know food would be served soon."

Sansa smiled kindly and asked, "What is your name?"

"K-Kyme F-f-Flowers," she stammered, her hazel eyes widening impossibly more. A bastard then, Sansa thought, crouching down so she could speak with her on an equaled ground.

"Thank you for bringing these up Kyme. I'm sure Sandor should be able to help me dress. Still, I don't believe either of us know our way around here. Would it be too much trouble to ask if you would be willing to escort us to the dining hall?"

"O-of course I can, milady. I will wait outside." She couldn't even look at Sandor as she handed off the fabrics, curtseyed and scurried out of the bedchamber.