It was a rather quippy question, one that had Dylan giving her a half-grin. “Nothing of note, my lady,” he said, eyeing Brandt. “I have simply come to relay a message to your husband.”
She sat in the chair and spread out the blanket, which he noticed was something she was knitting. She had a big ball of woolen yarn, colored a dark blue, and she had a single very large needle with which she was looping the material with. She seemed very calm for a woman who had a hostile army at her front door, but Dylan suspected it was because Brandt was here to keep her company. He also suspected Brandt was here to keep her from running off to talk with her father. The man had left the walls of Guildford hours ago and had not returned since, unusual for the normally hands-on commander.
“A message?” she repeated curiously as she straightened out her yarn. “From whom?”
Brandt looked over at her. “Your father,” he said. “It seems he wishes to speak with me.”
She stopped fumbling and looked at him with wide eyes. “Iwill speak with him,” she told him. “Brandt, the only conversation he wishes to have with you is one full of threats. He will not do that to me. Please allow me to speak with him and inform him of the situation.”
Brandt sighed heavily. He knew she would question him again about speaking with her father and he’d been thinking for the better part of the evening on how to dissuade her. The problem was that he really couldn’t think of a solid reason whyshe shouldn’t and he realized he was seriously considering her request. Still, his pride stood in the way. He ultimately shook his head.
“That would be the coward’s way,” he told her quietly. “What man would send his wife to do his talking for him? Nay, sweetheart, I will speak with your father face to face and explain the way of things.”
She grunted in frustration. “Would you not wish for a peaceful end to all of this?”
“Of course I would.”
“Then you must let me speak with him. You will only upset him.”
Brandt gave her a disbelieving glance before returning his attention to Dylan. “Tell Deston I will speak with him,” he replied. “But I will set the terms– we will meet at the gatehouse in one hour.”
Dylan bowed and silently quit the keep. Brandt watched the man go, thinking on the conversation he would have with Deston, when he caught sight of his wife from the corner of his eye.
Ellowyn was staring at him, her big needle in hand. Her expression was one of disapproval.
“It is not cowardly to want a peaceful end to this,” she said quietly. “I do not want to see you hurt and I do not want to see my father hurt. There are many men out there with sharp weapons and if I can end this without a drop of blood being shed, I will happily do so. Why do you resist me?”
He shook his head. “Why must we discuss this again?” he asked. “Do you think me so weak that I must have my wife do my talking for me?”
She appeared rather taken aback. “Of course not,” she said softly. “But if I can help….”
“If I want your help, I will ask,” he said, rather sternly. “But if I do not, you will kindly cease badgering me.”
A frown appeared on her delicate features. “I do not badger.”
“Aye, you do.”
The frown deepened. “If I do, it is because you are hard-headed and stubborn.”
He rolled his eyes and stood up. “I will not have this discussion with you,” he said, moving for the plate armor he had removed a few hours before, perched as they were on a frame near the door. “You will stay to this keep until I come for you. If you do not, I will catch you and lock you in a room. Mayhap I will even throw away the key. I do not like to be constantly questioned as if you do not trust me and I will like it even less if you disobey me. Do you comprehend?”
Still frowning, now feeling scolded, Ellowyn dropped her face and focused on the knitting in her lap. She kept her mouth shut as Brandt silently donned his plate armor and strapped on his weapons. When he was finished, he came over to her as she sat by the fire with the great half-knitted cover on her lap.
“Give me a kiss,” he said, bending over. “I will return as soon as I can.”
She turned her face petulantly and he ended up kissing her cheek. Fighting off a grin, he could see that she was pouting.
“You will be sorry you did that,” he told her as he moved for the door. “What if I am struck down by lightning in the bailey? What if the earth opens up to swallow me as I move down the motte? You will be very, very sorry that you did not kiss me farewell. You will regret being so terrible to me.”
By now, Ellowyn was trying not to grin at his dramatic account of the dangers awaiting him outside, none of which had anything to do with an impending battle.
“Nay, I will not,” she said callously, focused on her yarn. “If you are struck down or swallowed up, it will be God’s way of punishing you for being so mean to me.”
He stopped at the door, his eyebrows lifted. “Iam mean?” he repeated, feigning outrage. “Madam, you have a twisted sense of perception. Are you going to kiss me or not?”
She lifted her gaze, fixing him in the eye. “Why should I?”
“Because you love me. You said so yourself.”
