Her laughter was a delicate thing. Head tilted, she watched as her breath stirred a loose fibre on the spare blanket beneath. "It's how the King speaks," Peggy explained. "Although I suppose the current example isn't an exceptional one."

She swallowed up her playful treason. Carter had been out of British intelligence for a long while, but that didn't make it any less awkward to begrudge His Royal Majesty any of her respect and due deference. No matter how much he stammered -- or how much trouble he had with his speeches. She weaselled her way through the joke's explanation in halting tones, as if pausing to enjoy the slight touch upon her nape between words.

"It's considered quite posh -- albeit artificially so. I meant only that you shouldn't let the sound of it cause you to believe I'm anything less than hardy, Logan. Perhaps not so hardy as you, it turns out--"

But hardy. Hale. A laughable thing to argue now, curled up so tenderly beneath his touch.