“I understand,” she said, wriggling her eyebrows. “She would give the man no peace.”
Gray fought off a smile as Annalora drew closer, her fair face pinched pink with excitement.
“Your father is escorting the duke into the keep,” she said excitedly. “God’s Beard, but he is an enormous man. I have heard tale about him and how he is the Black Prince’s henchman. I would believe him evil simply by looking at him.”
“He isnotevil!” Ellowyn said indignantly, bolting to her feet. When she saw the expression on her mother and grandmother’s faces, she hastened to recover. “He… he was very kind and diligently protected me during the journey from London. I… I would like to change into fresh clothing. Please excuse me.”
With that, she nearly stumbled from the table, making haste to the great flight of stairs that wound its way to the upper floors of Erith’s four-storied keep. But before she could reach it, her father and Brandt entered the keep and Ellowyn nearly ran into them. In fact, Brandt had to reach out and steady her to keep her from bumping into him.
“My lady,” he said, making a conscious effort to drop his hand from her arm when he very much wanted to keep it there. “Are you well?”
Ellowyn gazed up into his handsome face, now without his helm. He was so incredibly handsome with his angled jaw and black hair. Her heart was fluttering wildly.
“I am well,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “I am simply going up to my chamber.”
“Bon voyage, then,” Brandt said, humor in his voice. “Now you will finally have a solid room about you and not a tent.”
Ellowyn’s smile turned real. “I did not mind the tent.”
There was a glimmer in her eye when she said it, something only Brandt could see. And then she was gone, scampering up the stairs and disappearing from view. Brandt’s gaze lingered on her until she vanished before tearing his focus away. He knew Deston had seen the exchange so he hastened to sound as if he had shown concern purely for chivalrous reasons. He didn’t want the man to suspect anything more, at least, not until he was ready to plead his case.
“Your daughter showed remarkable strength throughout the journey,” he told the man as he began to pull off his gauntlets. “She never complained once.”
Deston stood there with his hands on his hips, watching Brant remove his gloves and the ruff around his neck that soaked up sweat and protected his neck from his chaffing helm. It was a soiled and bloody mess.
“Ellowyn is a good girl,” he agreed. “She is strong of mind and heart, but I would imagine you have already discovered that for yourself.”
Brandt looked at the man, wondering if he meant beyond the usual acquaintance. Maybe it was his paranoia suggesting it as he gazed at the man whose daughter he was in love with, but he thought perhaps Deston was only making a statement and nothing more. Still, he was careful in his reply.
“She is a proud daughter of the House of de Nerra,” he replied. “And how is your son?”
Deston’s prideful expression faded. “Being holy, I suppose,” he said, heading into the great hall with Brandt in tow. “We have not spoken in almost two years. He has taken a vow of silence, you know. It is an unnatural thing for a de Nerra to be silent.”
Brandt could see that the man was genuinely unhappy, which he found rather humorous. As they approached the table, the women who had been seated stood up, their polite attention on Brandt. He bowed respectfully when he came to the table.
“Lady de Nerra,” he said to Annalora, whom he had already greeted out in the ward. His attention moved to the second woman. “Lady Gray, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been a long time.”
Gray came out from the table, extending her hand when she came close to Brandt. He took her small hand in his enormous one, shaking it gently.
“Brandt de Russe,” she said softly, her amber eyes twinkling up at him. “Except for the fact that you are bigger and older, you’ve not changed a bit since we last met.”
Brandt grinned, displaying his big white teeth. “And you have grown more lovely,” he replied. “I can see where your granddaughter gets her astonishing beauty.”
Gray laughed softly. “Did they teach you such flattery on the battlefields of France? Somehow, I do not think so.”
He took her hand and gently helped her to sit on the bench around the table. “I learned many things on the battlefields of France, but flattery was not among them,” he said as he sat down next to her. “I missed your husband there, my lady. Braxton was one of my mentors, you know. I miss his wisdom as well as his sword.”
Gray’s eyes were still glimmering. “He did so enjoy fighting with you,” she said softly. “He said there was no one like you. He swore you were the first and last of your kind, the greatest knight he had ever seen.”
“He was a liar, too.”
Gray giggled. “He was no such thing, my lord,” she scolded lightly. “He always told the truth. That is, he did until he became ill. Then, by the time he told us the truth, it was too late. I do not believe I shall forgive him for that.”
Brandt’s gaze was soft as he took her hand and kissed it. “How many years has it been now? Six?”
“Six years, two months, three weeks and seventeen days,” Gray replied softly. “He is buried at St. John’s in Levens if you want to go and yell at him, by the way.”
“I miss him.”
