England 1192:
(The same fictional world as Enduringly Yours.)
Matthew’s eyes widened. John needed to be more careful. He knew he stood in the best position to help Matthew and Alana out of this predicament, but unfortunately for them whenever he was around Alana… well, instinct took precedence over logic.
John the Merciless, John of the endless straight lines, John who had been drawing meticulous boxes around everything in his life since he was a child could only think of one thing—and God, it would feel so good.
“Yes,” Matthew sounded. “Exactly.”
Not really, no.
John reined himself back in. “What are you thinking?”
“I could forfeit my land.”
“Matthew, you can’t.”
“I know. It’s just a thought. And only if I have to.” He faked a smile as if trying to convince John that he hadn’t meant it anyway. “Say nothing to Alana, it’ll upset her.”
“I won’t say anything.”
She came across the great hall with two goblets, stopping before them. “Where were you?” she questioned, shoving one at Matthew.
Wine slopped onto his hand as he took it. “Not here, naturally,” he murmured, shaking off droplets.
Alana passed John the other cup, using more decorum with him. “I’ll be back.” She turned on her heel, her brown braid swaying behind her.
Poor girl wasn’t their servant for pity’s sake. However, he had to admit, he liked watching her walk across the hall, her hips swathed in supple brown leather. John crossed his ankles out in front of him, smiling to himself.
Darcy Branwyn 
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