Sir Cerdic was in trouble. Again. He stood outside the preceptor’s office studying his steel shoes and rehearsing the arguments that might or might not save his spurs.
The office door opened and a brown-clad clerk indicated by a jerk of his head that Cerdic was to enter. The knight walked in.
Preceptor Erasmus looked over his spectacles.
“Clerk. Out,” he snapped before turning his attention to Cerdic. “I suppose you know why you are here.”
“Not really.”
Erasmus sighed.
“What is not to understand about waking the maiden with a chaste kiss?”
“I kissed her.”
“On the lips, man…”
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