She had to admit, the bed looked inviting. “I will. Thank you. You are very kind to offer.”
He continued to smile at her, his smoky dark eyes acquiring something of a glimmer. “And you are very kind to accept.”
Ellowyn giggled, something she didn’t normally do. She wasn’t silly or flighty by nature, but the duke, in a complete swing of the situation, had taken her from suspicious to giggly. It was rather remarkable, Ellowyn thought, but she didn’t give it much thought beyond that. She was a little too naive of her own emotions to realize the man had managed to garner her interest.
“Have… have you eaten yet, my lord?” she asked. “I would be honored if you would partake with me. As you are friends with my father, I would like to hear what you know of his valor. He has been ill most of my adult life, you see, so I do not know the man as a great knight. I only know from the stories I have heard. Perhaps you know more stories?”
Brandt’s lips twitched with a smile. “I have never met a lady who was interested in tales of valor. That is a man’s inclination.”
She shrugged, almost embarrassed. “I come from a long line of great knights. I can remember tales of my grandfather’s exploits as far back as I can remember. And my father… well, I love him dearly and it is sad that so great a knight has suffered such bad health. I am always eager to hear stories of his greatness.”
Brandt’s smile broke through at the tender sentiment, something that, even an hour ago, he would not have believed her capable of. He could see in that statement that she had a very soft side. She was capable of deep emotion, like attachment. He liked that side of her much better than the aggressive side.
As he gazed at her, softly illuminated by the firelight, he found himself thinking of all of the duties he had awaiting him. The king was expecting his report as a result of the Black Prince’s wars in France, plus he had a meeting with his subordinates thatneeded to take place before they could begin moving men and material again. So many things awaiting the Duke of Exeter’s attention, but at the moment, all he could see was a lovely red-head before him who had invited him to sup. He wasn’t a man normally given to accept such a thing. In fact, he made it a policy to avoid women in general. Too much trouble. But her gently-uttered invitation had him thinking of accepting.
“Very well,” he agreed quietly. “It would be my pleasure to sup with you and tell you what I know of your father. We have had a few adventures together, Deston and I.”
Her entire face lit up happily and a strange, giddy feeling fluttered in his chest. It was odd but not unpleasant. It was another of those feelings that made him smile before he could stop himself, a trigger release that was quick and before he realized it, he was smiling in return.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the repartee, returning Brandt to the grim and imposing knight as if he were afraid someone might see him with warmth in his expression. He didn’t reply to the summons, choosing to open the door instead. A serving wench stood outside, a heavy tray of food in her hands, and he silently summoned the woman inside. When the food was set out on the very small table, which leaned a little so the food slid to the edge, Brandt kicked the woman out and shut the door.
When he turned back to the table, he saw that Ellowyn had dragged it over to the bed. She was also trying to keep the tray from sliding over the edge. When she looked up and saw that his attention was on her, she smiled weakly.
“There is only one chair,” she said. “I can sit on the bed and you may have the chair.”
Brandt dipped his head in thanks, in acknowledgement, as he accepted the only chair. He wasn’t entirely sure it would hold his weight, being that it leaned about as much as the table did,so he tested it out before allowing his entire weight to rest on it. Meanwhile, Ellowyn had planted herself on the bed opposite him. By the time he glanced up from the chair, he noticed the butt-end of a knife in his face.
“Please serve yourself,” Ellowyn said as she extended the utensil.
He took it without a word. The meal, as it turned out, was a mostly silent affair, but he didn’t mind in the least. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but it was as if they had moved past the rough introduction, the words of apology, and were now simply settling in to what had now become a tolerable association. More than that, with all of the bad blood between them reconciled, there was a definitive warmth settling. Brandt couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could definitely sense it. He didn’t particularly want to admit it but the more he tried to ignore it, the more it would not be ignored.
As Brandt silently served both himself and Ellowyn, he realized at some point that he stopped viewing her as de Nerra’s spoiled daughter. Now, he was starting to view her as a woman.
And a very beautiful one at that.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ellowyn was fairlycertain she had been miserable for quite some time, but by the time she fully awoke and became lucid, she was coughing her head off and dealing with generally uncomfortable symptoms. Her nose was running, her chest hurt, and her head was killing her. She could only surmise that the dousing of both cold water and mud had somehow weakened her and she was back to a thoroughly grumpy mood as a result. Misery claimed her with swift and unjust claws.
The fire in the small room had gone out some time ago. All that remained was ash. Coughing, she struggled up from the bed and called for warm water and firewood from a serving wench lingering in the corridor outside her room. By the time the woman returned with a big, burly man who smelled like a privy, Ellowyn was sitting on the bed, wrapped in the coverlet and shivering uncontrollably.
The smelly man in torn breeches had brought wood with him and started the fire, waiting until it sparked up before fleeing the room with the serving wench. When the door slammed, Ellowyn shuffled over to the leaning table, now with a big bowl of steaming water that was leaking over the side due to the angle of the table, and inhaled the steam deeply. Then she coughed some more, trying to clear her lungs.
At some point towards the end of her meal with the Duke of Exeter, her escort had brought her satchel. Ellowyn wondered where they had been the entire time she had been unconscious, and subsequently alone with de Russe, but no one seemed to offer an explanation and, by that point, she didn’t much care. DeRusse had ceased to become a horrible beast and had somehow morphed into a man capable of amiable behavior. Sniffling, Ellowyn turned away from the steaming water and heaved her bag upon the mattress. Digging through her belongings, her thoughts drifted to de Russe.
He’d not spoken a great deal through their meal. In fact, he’d only really answered her questions. He’d never offered anything of his own volition. Ellowyn had asked him a dozen questions about her father, what de Russe knew of him, of the adventures they’d had together. De Russe had answered thoroughly, speaking of a man of great power and cunning before the ravages of swollen joints had forced him to retire.
Now, Deston could scarcely walk, a true tragedy for so great a knight from a long line of great knights. As de Russe had recalled a story involving saving several knights from captivity in a well-guarded castle, Ellowyn had been enthralled at the prowess and daring. She could picture her father, young and strong, and his much younger and much stronger companion, de Russe, as they charged out to save the world.
But the stories or answers to her questions had been dotted with stretches of silence. Although not uncomfortable, Ellowyn had found herself thinking on what more to say to him just so they wouldn’t have to sit in silence and as she pondered her next question, she stole glances at the man sitting across from her.
De Russe was enormous, as she’d noted from the start, and he had the biggest hands she had ever seen. She’d noticed his male comeliness before but at close range she noticed his thick dark lashes and the surprisingly smooth skin of his face. And his eyes… she had thought they were the color of smoke but upon closer inspection, she could see they were a very dark hazel. They were quite attractive, as was the rest of him. When she stopped viewing de Russe as her mortal enemy and started seeing himas a man, she realized that he was an extraordinarily handsome one.
But that was where those thoughts ended. She knew nothing about the man other than what her father had told her and she suspected she didn’t want to know any more. Men weren’t something, as a group, that particularly interested her, although she’d had more than her share of suitors. She was far too pretty a lass not to, but she had no patience for pretty words or wretchedly sweet wooing. Men of bravery and skill on the battlefield interested her most, but those men were usually so wrapped up in their own glorious ego that she could not, and would not, compete with such a thing. After her conversation with de Russe the previous night, as great as the man was, she suspected he fell into that category.
Digging into her satchel, she removed a clean shift and the only other surcoat she brought with her. She also brought forth a carefully wrapped bar of white soap that smelled of lavender. Whereas most people bathed infrequently, Ellowyn was not that sort. She washed, and washed often, mostly because it kept her skin clear because she was prone to ugly blemishes on her chin. She had found that washing daily kept her skin clean and unfettered, so it was something of a daily routine.
Using the same linen cloth that the soap had been wrapped in, she quickly lathered up the soap in the steaming water and proceeded to wash herself down. Thoughts of de Russe would not go away as she washed her body before the snapping fire, rinsing off as best she could and drying herself with her worn shift. Dressing in the clean lamb’s wool shift and heavy dark blue woolen surcoat, she put on the rest of her warm things before wrapping the soap back up and re-packing her satchel. Her last act of dressing was to run a bone comb through her long red hair and braided it, draping the single braid elegantly over herright shoulder. And with that, her bags were secured and she was prepared to move out.
