“I thought you were a whore,” he said bluntly. “What message does your father have for me?”
If she had been outraged before, his forthright reply set her to fuming. Her delicately arched eyebrows flew up.
“Do Ilooklike a whore?” she nearly shouted.
He felt that odd urge to smile again. “Nay, my lady, you do not,” he thought perhaps he’d better make some attempt to ease her before she exploded in all directions. “As I said, you did not identify yourself and….”
She waved a sharp hand at him. “Bite your tongue,” she barked. “Listen to me and listen well. My father wants all of his men rested and ready to return to Erith Castle immediately. He expects a full accounting of how many men he has lost and expectations as to when he can expect monetary or manpower compensation for those losses. I am staying at Grey’s Inn on Holborn Road and you will have all of my father’s men delivered to me tomorrow at dawn. If you delay, I shall return home and tell him of your utter lack of respect for him and his directives. Is this in any way unclear?”
It had been years since he had been intimidated or fearful, but looking down into that beautiful red face, he realized that not only was he intimidated, he was contrite. He really was. Shocked, and somewhat amused at himself, he simply nodded his head.
“It is, my lady.”
“Do you have anything more slanderous or offensive to say to me?”
“Nay, my lady.”
“Then I bid you good day.”
With that, she turned around and hustled off, dodging errant soldiers and beasts of burden. The warrior just stood there and watched her storm off, eventually surrounded by her escort who had, throughout the exchange, simply stood by in shock as their lady raged at a man three times her size.
More than that, she was raging at the deadly and legendary Duke of Exeter, Brandt de Russe. There was no one living in recent memory that had managed to do such a thing and emerge unscathed. Brandt reached up and scratched his head as if the entire circumstance had confused him.
“Thatwas de Nerra’s daughter?” he turned back to the knight standing next to him. “I did not even know he had one.”
Sir Dylan de Lara lifted his dark eyebrows, catching a glimpse of the well-dressed woman as she faded down the avenue.
“He does indeed,” he replied. “His son and heir committed himself to the Benedictines some time ago, a sincere shame because from what I heard, the man had the makings of a great knight. But he lives in a monastery somewhere in Lincolnshire while de Nerra’s only other child is the lady you just met.”
Brandt digested the information. “With that courage, she would make a fine knight herself,” he muttered, scratching at his neck because his mail was chafing badly. “I do believe I have just been threatened.”
“I concur.”
“Then I suppose I should do as I have been instructed and have her father’s five hundred and sixty-two men waiting for her at Grey’s Inn come dawn.”
“That might be wise.”
He stopped scratching his neck and pulled at the mail irritably. “Perhaps I should simply take them over to the inn tonight and be done with it. I shall let her worry about how she is going to house and feed almost six hundred exhausted men.”
“I am not entirely sure that is fair to the men.”
De Russe was at the end of his part in the discussion. He mounted his massive warhorse, scarred and muscular, and spurred the animal up the avenue where the hordes of men had gone.
De Lara watched him go, thinking that perhaps he should follow. He was, after all, the man’s second-in-command, a position that few men could hold simply because de Russe did not allow anyone, man or woman, to get close to him. He had known Dylan and his twin, Alex, for a few years and they all had much the same brooding, intense and courageous personalities.In that respect, they could tolerate each other. It was enough to keep them bonded.
Mounting his big bay stallion, Dylan spurred the edgy horse off thecogand followed de Russe’s trail, heading into the heart of London.
CHAPTER TWO
Grey’s Inn wasa popular place on the northern outskirts of London, a busy establishment with a very large main room and plenty of bodies to fill it. Now that the sun had set, it was full of the rabble of the city seeking shelter and comfort for the night.
Ellowyn sat in front of the big window near the front door. Her escort sat at tables surrounding her, for she would not let them sit with her. She wanted to sit by herself and enjoy her meal in private. Presented with boiled beef, turnips and carrots, she had quite a feast.
Wrapped up against the chill air snaking between the slats of the window, she unwittingly found herself in conversation in spite of her desire to remain alone. The head of her escort, seated at the table next to her, had mentioned something to his colleagues about de Russe, a comment that had fired up Ellowyn. Now the old soldier found himself easing a woman who was fairly quick to temper. He’d made what he considered a fairly innocent comment and she flared.
“Nay,” Ellowyn snapped. “Youdo not understand. I care not of the man or his reputation. What he did was… was inexcusable.”
“I am not excusing him, my lady,” he insisted calmly. “But in fairness, de Russe is a wealthy and powerful man. I am sure he has women approach him by the dozens. He simply thought you were one of the rabble.”
