Gray laughed softly. “I believe he liked the duke,” she said. “He served with him in France years ago when the duke was a very young man. Even then, he thought a good deal of the man, so I believe he would have approved of such a match.”
Ellowyn smiled. “I hope so.”
As they entered the narrow, barrel-roofed corridor that led from the kitchens into an alcove that then connected with the great hall, they ran into Annalora. The woman was in a rush, like she usually was, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw her daughter.
“Wynny,” she gasped, grasping her arm. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Some of the duke’s knights are already in the hall and they have asked for you. Where have you been?”
“With me,” Gray said before Ellowyn could speak. “We have been walking.”
Annalora only halfway paid attention to the explanation as she whisked her daughter towards the great hall. In fact, she hardly gave it a second thought.
“Go, now,” she told her daughter. “Entertain the duke’s men. They seem quite taken with you.”
Ellowyn gave her grandmother a rather desperate expression, causing the older woman to follow her granddaughter right into the hall.
The great hall of Erith was a two-storied monstrosity with a gallery that ran along the western wall. There was a massive fireplace that, twenty years before, had been a big open pit with a hole high above for the smoke to escape. Ellowyn’s grandfather, Braxton, had the fire pit enclosed with masonry so the unusual enclosure and chimney ran all the way to the ceiling now. It was surrounded by a sort of cage built from wood to hold it steady.The result was a two-sided hearth in the center of the enormous hall that warmed it quite adequately. The massive feasting table for the family and visiting guests sat on the east side of the hearth.
St. Hèver, both de Laras, and le Bec stood up when they saw Ellowyn and her grandmother approach. Le Bec had cups of wine in both hands, double-fisting his drink, but quickly set them down when Alex elbowed him. Ellowyn smiled at the men as she came upon the table, especially at Brennan with whom she had grown friendly. The young, blond knight smiled back.
“Good eve, my lords,” she greeted the group, listening to their polite replies. “This is my grandmother, the Lady Gray de Nerra. Her husband was Braxton de Nerra.”
The name Braxton de Nerra carried a great deal of weight. The knights shifted their attention to Lady Gray.
“Lady de Nerra,” Dylan greeted. “’Tis a great honor to meet the wife of Braxton de Nerra.”
Gray smiled politely and indicated for the men to sit, which they did. Ellowyn sat down next to St. Hèver as Gray took the chair at the corner of the table.
“It is an honor for us to have the House of de Russe as our guests,” Gray said, waving on the servants to bring forth more food and drink. “I understand that you have all seen an arduous year this long past.”
Dylan reclaimed his cup. “No more arduous than most, I suppose,” he replied. “Edward of Wales has a claim to France and the French people do not wish to honor it. We must convince them.”
As the knights snorted, Gray grinned at the warring man’s humor. “I am sure you see it that way.”
Dylan looked surprised but it was all for show. “What other way is there to see it?”
Gray shook her head reproachfully, delicately sipping at her wine. “No other way, young man,” she assured him. “You sound as if you have generations of warring spirit behind you.”
Dylan nodded. “My father is Tate de Lara, the Duke of Carlisle,” he replied. “My grandfather was Edward Longshanks. My brother and I are bloodthirsty from way back.”
Gray’s eyebrows lifted, impressed. “De Lara,” she murmured. “Of course I have heard of him. My husband said many times he is the man who should have been king.”
Dylan shrugged. “I believe he is often glad that he was not,” he replied. “Although he was Longshank’s firstborn, my grandfather and grandmother were not married. My father was an indiscretion of the king’s youth, but he was treated as a royal son. My uncle, Edward the Second, granted my father the title of Earl of Carlisle but his son, Edward the third, granted my father the dukedom of Carlisle. My father is quite content, I assure you.”
“He is still alive?”
Dylan took another gulp of wine. “Indeed he is,” he replied. “Alive and stronger than I am.”
Gray smiled. As she and Dylan engaged in further conversation, Brandt entered the hall with de Reyne trailing after him. Brandt and Magnus had gone back to the kitchen yard when Ellowyn and Gray had vacated it to quickly remove the assassin’s body. Clad in leather breeches and a rough linen tunic, with boots to his knees, Brandt looked utterly masculine and divine. At least, that was Ellowyn’s first thought when she saw him. Another thought occurred to her also. He wasn’t wearing his armor. She’d never really seen the man without all of his armor. Even outside in the kitchen yard, he’d had pieces of it on. He must have changed out of it rather quickly. Ellowyn’s heart fluttered madly.
Brandt’s gaze lingered on her as he headed for St. Hèver, who was seated immediately to her left.
“You are in my seat,” he told the knight.
Brennan, ever obedient, jumped up without question and went to sit further down the table. Brandt took his seat next to Ellowyn and accepted a cup of wine handed to him by a hovering servant.
“Lady Ellowyn,” he greeted evenly, as if they had not just seen each other moments before. “You are looking lovely this eve.”
Ellowyn flushed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, rather innocently. “It seems strange not seeing you every moment of every day, as I did when we were traveling. Have you been busy today?”
