They were bedded down in the common hall with the other servants, on straw pallets laid behind the benches, and that night Eloise found it impossible to sleep despite her exhaustion. Maybe it was the aching in her feet and shoulders, or maybe the intrusive sounds of those others nearby. Someone was snoring. One couple was taking advantage of the dark to get some swiving in—she could hear a muted rustling, a rhythmic grunting coming from farther down the room. It made her feel strangely restless and lonely. She had Severin there at her back, of course. He never left her on her own after the candles were blown out, for fear of what some bored and horny laborer might attempt on her. He was lying silently, his back to hers, a warm hard wall of protection. She wondered if he was still awake. His breathing was inaudible. She wondered if he could hear those soft giggles and gasps of desire and—if he could—what he thought of them. Her body roiled inwardly. A familiar itch licked between her legs.
