He grinned as he crouched next to her, joints in his knees popping. His gaze never left her face. “How is your shoulder?”
She moved it gingerly. “It is sore,” she admitted. “Honestly, I do not need to lay here like an invalid. I am perfectly capable of sitting up.”
He shrugged. “Why would you want to?” he asked. “It is late and we will be getting an early start in the morning. It would do you good to rest until then.”
She knew he was right, so she managed a reluctant nod. They were gazing at each other quite openly and Ellowyn could feel something warm in the air between them. It was that same warm feeling she had experienced with him after the battle, that moment when they had finished off the Welsh soldier together. It had been an oddly bonding event and most unexpected. At least, it had been a bonding event for her. She realized at that moment she was coming to feel something towards him morethan simply camaraderie. It was both a terrifying and thrilling realization.
“I want to apologize for my behavior earlier,” she said, finally averting her gaze. “In the battle… I suppose I was more frightened and overwhelmed than I realized. All I could think of was escaping to safety. I did not mean to put you in such danger and I know I did.”
His expression was rather gentle as he looked at her. “You did not put me in any more danger than I already was,” he said. “I was simply terrified that you were going to be killed. I apologize that my efforts to remove you from the battle were not immediately successful. That you should be in such peril for so long is inexcusable.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “You did your best,” she insisted softly. “With you as my protector, I never had a doubt that I would come through safely. You are quite impressive to behold in battle.”
He gave her a half-smile. “Have you seen many battles, then?”
She shook her head. “None, in fact,” she said, her eyes on him growing intense. “But I know an excellent warrior when I see him. No wonder the French call youl’ange noir.”
He could feel the intensity from her beautiful eyes. It sucked him right in and rather than curb himself, as he had been doing all along, he allowed himself to feel it.
“Compliments?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. “I told you I was not sure I am at all comfortable with them.”
“Because you want to believe them.”
He stared at her before nodding, faintly. “I do.”
“You may believe them, because they are the truth,” she murmured. Then, she smiled. “I would lie to a nun, but not to you.”
He smiled because she was. He even chuckled. Whatever was brewing between them had gone from a small spark to a healthy blaze fairly quickly, at least as far as he was concerned. It was so alien to him, these feelings of warmth and attraction, that he found he was actually somewhat giddy. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his palms were beginning to sweat. It was odd but wonderful. But being a man unused to romantic games of any kind, he had no idea how to deal with them.
“I appreciate that,” he said after a moment. “I would never lie to you, either.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation fell into warm if not slightly awkward silence. He didn’t want the conversation to die and struggled to come up with something more to say to her. He didn’t want to leave.
“You said you were going to find me a wife,” he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Did you have anyone in mind?”
She laughed softly. “Didyouhave anyone in mind?” she countered. “I told you that I do not have many friends, at least friends that I would consider an appropriate match for you, so surely you must have someone in mind? Tell me and I shall write her forthwith with an introduction.”
Brandt had no idea how to play these flirtatious games, at least with a woman he genuinely respected and was genuinely attracted to. But he gave a good stab at it. If nothing else, perhaps he could discover what she thought of him. It might end his little infatuation with her fairly quickly without leaving him feeling too much like a fool. But he knew it would disappoint him a great deal if she was she not receptive.
“I am not sure,” he shrugged, lowering himself to his buttocks next to her pallet. “Women are not usually interested in me and if they are, it is only for my reputation and title.”
Ellowyn grew serious. “Surely there is someone who would see you as a man and not as a war machine.”
“I am one and the same.”
She shook her head. “Untrue,” she countered firmly, softly. “Who you are as a man is completely different than who you are as a warrior.”
He sat back, one big arm propped up on a bended knee. “Explain.”
She looked thoughtful. “Well,” she said, “as a warrior, you are bent on death. I saw you in the battle today and you were focused, alert, and skilled. That is the man they call the Black Angel. But right now, as you sit here and converse with me, you are kind, interested, and thoughtful. You are concerned for my shoulder and concerned for me. To me, that speaks highly of who Brandt de Russe is as a man. You are more than the Bringer of Death. You have a heart and a soul as well.”
He just stared at her. “Do you think so?”
She nodded firmly. “Of course I do.”
He gazed at her a moment longer before slowly shaking his head. “I have never heard anyone say that to me,” he said quietly. “I am not quite sure how to respond.”
