Chapter 9: No Storm Clause

The storm took the bridge at Marrowford, and the Pewter Goose had one room left.

"One bed," said the innkeeper. He held a candle and looked sorry about it. "A good one. Feather."

Ansel and I stood in the doorway, soaked to the skin.

We were three days from Rothgar Hall and a day from my father's house.

We had a carriage with a broken wheel and a coachman asleep in the stable.

"Article one," I said, "says separate bedrooms."

"I am aware of Article one."

"The Terms don't have a storm clause."

"Then I will sleep in the chair."

"The chair has a broken leg," said the innkeeper.

"Then the floor."

"It's stone. A man could die of it by morning. The last gentleman who tried had to be carried."

Ansel shut his eyes briefly.

"I'll take the floor," I said. "I'm smaller. It's colder for you."

"You will not."

"You're the Duke of Rothgar and I'm a viscount's daughter. I can sleep anywhere. I once fell asleep standing on a train."

I stopped. There were no trains.

"A what?" said Ansel.

"A cart. It was a very slow cart."

He looked at me for a moment longer than the cart deserved.

"We will both use the bed," he said. "You will keep your side. I will keep mine."

"I'll draw up a line."

"A line."

"With the rolled coats. And a rate."

"You cannot charge me for sleeping in a bed I'm paying for."

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