BAD TIMING

Kneeling in the small alcove, the Nightwatchman opens the treasure chest – and hears steps at the door.

Guy.

Bad, bad timing.

Closing the box, she barely has time to slip behind a curtain before he enters the bedchamber.

She hears him moving around. A soft thud; another. The rustle of clothes.

She can't resist a peek.

She watches, mesmerized, as Guy pulls off his black shirt, his bare chest and arms washed in the amber candlelight.

The Nightwatchman blinks, fiddling nervously with her cloak. For the moment, she forgets the loot and the danger.

She wonders if he sleeps naked.