When Gawain came to the stable, the light had faded almost to naught, though I could see his silhouette. He paused on the threshold, then made his way across the stables with care. He stroked the horse and spoke to it, then peered up at the loft. “Are you there?”
“Have you drunk all the ale so soon as that?”
Gawain chuckled, untroubled by my tone, and climbed nimbly to the loft. He bowed low. “I bring an offering of peace, if the lady will hear of it,” he teased.
“It had best be a fine offering,” I said with a hauteur I did not quite feel. Indeed, my pulse already quickened at his proximity, though I knew I should heed his own warning.
“Venison stew, bread and, remarkably, a cup of ale for your very own.”
I fell upon the fare like a hungry wolf, unable to feign disdain before the pros
