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“I am sorry.”
“There is no need.” Donning her cloak in the crowded room had been a mistake. She started toward the door and the cooler outside air. “I do not desire your pity, Brecc.”
He caught up to her in two long strides. “My pity? Whyever would you think that I felt pity for you?”
“Why would you not? You know me as a young lady who lost her father too soon, who was left in ignorance of the circumstances too long, and who is far more used to observing her sister dance the carole than participating in the dance herself.”
They had reached the door. If he accepted her response, he could leave her now. But there must have been something in Aisley’s voice, some hint of the desperation she felt to truly know his answer to this question, that caused him to do the opposite. Clasping her elbow firmly in one hand, he opened the door with the other. “Come,” he said, propelling her forward.
The cold air swirled around Brecc’s ankles and stung his cheeks. He took a deep breath, hoping the icy lungful would do something to clear his head. Aisley’s question had left him reeling. Had he truly given her the impression that his interactions with her were motivated by pity? If so, he had significant repair work to do.
The door to the great hall opened again, emitting half a dozen laughing, talkative people.
He lowered his head to Aisley’s ear. “I was not so wise as you and did not reclaim my cloak before leaving. If you are not opposed to conversing in the company of horses, mayhap we could relocate to the stables.” He managed the ghost of a smile. “I might be easier to understand if my teeth are not chattering incessantly.”
“Very well.”
Keeping his hand on her arm, he guided her away from the path that led to the women’s and men’s longhouses and toward the large building at their right. A faint flicker of candlelight showed between the chinks in the stable door, guiding them to the entrance. As they stepped closer, Brecc released Aisley’s elbow and reached out to feel for the latch. A gust of wind swirled around the corner, and Aisley’s cloak flapped. He sensed her pulling the fabric closer.
“I have it,” he said, grateful that his fingers were not yet so chilled that he could not manage the lever.
The door swung open, and a band of pale-yellow light illuminated their way inside. A candle flickered on a nearby shelf. Brecc closed the door carefully. Somewhere nearby, a horse nickered and a hoof hit against the hard-packed floor.
A shadow materialized in the darkness. “May I ’elp you, sire?”
The stableboy could not have been more than eight or nine years of age. His ruffled hair sported a few pieces of straw, and Brecc guessed that they’d disturbed his sleep.
“Where is the stablemaster?” he asked.
“In the loft, sire. Would ye have me fetch ’im?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
The lad looked from him to Aisley, confusion clouding his expression. “Will ye be needin’ a mount, then?”
“No mount,” Aisley said, coming to his rescue. “But Ealdorman Brecc would benefit greatly from a blanket. Once he has something to protect him from the cold, we shall leave you and your horses in peace.”
Understanding lit the lad’s face. “The wind’s bin ’owlin’ all evenin’. Not the kind of weather t’ be outdoors without a coverin’, I’d say.”
“And you would be right,” Aisley said.
The boy looked pleased. “I’ll find a blanket. If I go t’ the back, there’ll be some that are a bit fresher ’un the ones up ’ere.”
“That would be ideal.”
The boy needed no second bidding. He disappeared in a flash.
“I thank you for explaining our appearance to the lad,” Brecc said, “even if he is now convinced that I am a fool.”
Aisley laughed softly. “If it is of any consolation, you accepted his bafflement very well. Most gentlemen I know would have attempted to justify their cloakless condition no matter how senseless the argument.”
He studied her in the candlelight. “The truth is important to you.”
All hint of humor in her expression disappeared. “It is.”
“Then we have that in common.” He reached for her hand, grateful when she did not pull away. His fingers were cold, but she did not flinch. “I give you my word that I will always speak the truth to you. And to that end, you must believe that not once did I approach you out of pity.
“We lost our fathers at a similar age. The circumstances were different, but a child’s emotions are less complicated than those of adults, so I would surmise that our feelings regarding those difficult events were alike. I never wished for pity. Love, certainly. Reassurance, and even, on occasion, some assistance. But not pity. I would never offer you something I did not desire myself.
