“Perhaps… well, if you find the prospect an attractive one.”
She was genuinely shocked. It was more than she could have ever dreamed. “You findmean attractive marital prospect?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
He gave her a half-grin. “Because I had no idea how dark my days were until I met you. In this short amount of time, you have shown me the sun and it is blinding. I would be very happy to be blinded by you.”
“Surely you jest.”
“I do not jest.”
Ellowyn could hardly believe her ears. She began to giggle, growing louder as she threw her good arm around his neck again. Brandt, overcome and out of his element, hugged her so tightly that she grunted when he squeezed the air out of her. He also cracked her back. But neither one of them let go. They simply held one another in the first real and true romantic embrace either one of them had ever experienced. It was magic.
But Brandt eventually loosened his grip. The feel of her, the scent of her, was overwhelming him and he found that he had to taste her. Her lips were soft and sensuous morsels, calling his name, and he answered the call with the fires born of passion.
Ellowyn was startled at first when his mouth descended on hers but her surprise was only momentary. His touch was firm but not harsh, soft but not sloppy, and she couldn’t help but respond. She’d never kissed a man in her life but instincts took over and she began to suckle his lips just as he was suckling hers. Her belly began to quiver and her heart began to race, and soon she was pressed against him, her hand in his dark hair as they suckled one another feverishly.
But Brandt wanted more. His tongue licked her lips, snaking between them and licking her teeth, and when Ellowyn opened her mouth, he took great liberties in tasting her deeply. He could feel her hesitation at something so new and intimate, but she began to relax quickly. She even began to mimic him, something that drove him mad with desire. He pulled her closer, his hands in her hair and his mouth devouring her, when a voice from outside the tent stopped their building passion.
“My lord?” It was Dylan’s voice. “A word, my lord?”
Ellowyn, lips red and wet from his seeking mouth, loosened her grip on his neck but Brandt didn’t loosen his at all. He continued to hold her tightly. He could not believe de Lara had chosen this moment to interrupt them.
“Can it wait?” he called out to the man.
“Nay, my lord.”
With a grunt of frustration, Brandt looked at Ellowyn apologetically. “I am sorry,” he whispered, letting her go with reluctance. “I will return.”
Ellowyn watched him rise, an extremely tall man who had to duck as he moved to the tent entry. He turned before he quit the tent, however, giving her an awkward little smile and a wink before ducking out completely. Once outside, Ellowyn could hear him speaking with de Lara but she could not hear their words. All she was aware of was the soft, deep warmth of his tone.
With a sigh, she went back over to her pallet and lay down, trying to get comfortable with her bad shoulder. She still could not believe what he had said to her and that kiss… it had been everything a first kiss should have been; passionate, sweet, and overwhelmingly sexy. Just thinking about it made her feel weak. But perhaps she was asleep, dreaming everything that had happened. As she lay there and stared at the ceiling, she knew that she would be terribly disappointed if that was true.
Brandt de Russe, as she had noticed from the beginning of their association, was an enormous and handsome man, much more perfect than any man she had ever seen. To think that somehow, someway, she had endeared herself to him was astonishing. She had no idea how she had done it.
Whatever it was, she would have to keep doing it. Now that she had his attention, she most assuredly didn’t want to lose it.
CHAPTER TEN
Erith Castle wasa massive two-hundred-year-old bastion that had been built for Henry II. It sat at the base of a range of mountains and protected the gap that led into an area of Cumbria that was heavy with ports along the western coast. The castle had remained in royal hands for over one hundred years until it was given as a gift to Simon de Montfort when he married Eleanor, Henry’s granddaughter. After that, it had passed to their son, Richard, and then to his daughter, the Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux who had eventually married Braxton de Nerra.
Upon their marriage, De Nerra had given the castle to his step-daughter, Lady Gray’s daughter Brooke and her husband Sir Dallas Aston as a wedding gift, but Dallas returned the castle to Braxton when his eldest brother died and he inherited his father’s barony in Devon. That was how the castle came into the hands of Sir Deston de Nerra, Braxton and Gray’s eldest son, and it was this man who waited impatiently in the bailey as Brandt brought the man’s army home.
Deston wasn’t a particularly tall man, like his father, but he had a muscular and powerful build. He had his mother’s amber-colored eyes, his father’s graying blond hair, but his personality was all de Nerra. He was aggressive, loud, passionate, highly intelligent, and lived for a good fight. However, a disease of the joints had hit him at a very young age, like his grandfather and one of his uncles, and his hands were so gnarled that he hadn’t been able to hold a sword in many years. Still, he had fists like hamhocks and could still ball one up to deliver a devastatingpunch. When he saw Brandt ride into his bailey, he began to crow with delight.
“The great duke himself!” he yelled happily. “I see you survived your years in France!”
Brandt flipped up his visor, smiling at the loud man. He was glad to see him. Wearily, he dismounted and handed his snapping charger over to a soldier as Deston marched up and slapped him on his armored arm.
“You look whole enough,” Deston said with satisfaction.
Brandt pulled his helm off, peeling his hauberk off his wet black hair. The army was trickling in after him, weary men kicking up the dust and dirt of the bailey, creating clouds of grit.
“I am, fortunately,” he replied, eyeing the worn army. “But it was not for their lack of trying. The French have been trying to kill me for years.”
Deston sized up the man he hadn’t seen in at least three years. He started to say something more but a woman on a palfrey caught his eye and he turned to see his daughter entering the gates. Deston forgot all about Brandt and walked towards her, very quickly.
