Chapter Eleven #2
“I do not deserve you,” she said after a moment, removing her hand from his arm. “You deserve a woman who will return your feelings, body and soul, and unfortunately that is not me. I do not know if I will ever be capable and that is not fair to you.”
Brian took a deep breath, nodding his head quickly.
“I understand,” he said. “If the feelings are not there, they cannot be forced. But that does not mean I will give up trying to win you over. I will not give up, you know. I will be eighty years of age and still be coming to Ashleven to speak to your father about marriage.”
Wynter laughed softly. “And I shall be old and gray, throwing rocks at you and telling you to go away.”
“I will not go away.”
Her laughter faded as she looked at him. “Do you know what I would like?”
“What is it?”
“That we become friends,” she said. “I would like it very much if we could become friends. I am afraid that if you continue along the path you have chosen, eventually, we might have a falling out and that would not do. Mayhap we can simply be friends without the pressure of romantic intentions. That might be better for us both.”
His gaze lingered on her. “For how long?”
“I do not know.”
“Are you asking me to stop in my pursuit of a betrothal?”
Her smile was back, a regretful one. “Can we just be friends for now? I would like that very much.”
He could see that she was trying to be kind about it. She had no interest in a romance, but Brian wasn’t going to take her at her word. He was convinced that if he was persistent, sooner or later, he could break through. At least, he hoped so.
But for the moment, he would oblige her.
“If that is your wish.”
“It is.”
“I am still coming to visit you at Ashleven when this is over.”
Out of the corners of her eyes, through the misty morning, Wynter caught sight of Gage.
He was with Laurence and some other mercenaries, having just come in through the gatehouse.
Quickly, she turned back to Brian so he wouldn’t see that she had been looking at Gage.
She had just convinced the man not to romantically pursue her and she didn’t want him to think she was doing it because of Gage.
She was, of course, but he didn’t have to know that.
She was trying to let him down easy.
“Visit as much as you wish,” she said. “But be prepared for many, many more plays and tedious hours of telling me and Spring how marvelous we are. In fact, I am writing a play about Abraham and Hagar.”
Brian grinned, resigned to the inevitable. “I see,” he said. “Well, I have sat through many a play. I suppose I can sit through many more.”
“You are my best audience.”
He wagged a finger at her. “Do not think to flatter me now,” he said. “You have had your chance. Friend.”
With that, he grinned and walked away, heading off towards the Ashington escort.
Wynter watched him go, feeling much better about the dynamic between them.
He wasn’t happy and she knew it, but at least he wasn’t completely resistant or miserable.
He was relenting as a gentleman should. She supposed they could be friends and nothing more.
At least, nothing more for her.
Time would tell how long Brian could hold out.
Pushing that thought aside, she turned for Gage, who had seen her by that point.
She took a few steps in his direction and came to a halt, standing there, looking at him as he conversed with the men around him.
But he had eyes only for her and it was just a matter of time before he broke away from his friends and moved in her direction.
Wynter went to meet him.
“Did you sleep well, my lady?” he asked. “It is very early for you to be out and about.”
Wynter frowned. “I did not sleep well,” she said. “Spring flails about when she sleeps and I’m surprised I have all my teeth this morning the way she smacked me in the mouth.”
Gage burst out laughing. “Sounds exhausting,” he said. “You have my sympathy. I hope you can stay awake for your ride home.”
Wynter turned to look at the big carriage, now waiting for Maryann and the rest of her brood to emerge from the keep.
“I plan to ride in the wagon today,” she said.
“There are two cushioned benches. I shall sleep on one all the way home. Maybe I shall cuddle with Autumn’s new kitten, whom I could hear mewling all night. Surely the little thing is exhausted.”
“Probably,” he said. “But it will be a long ride home. Your escort should not delay much longer if you plan to make it back to Ashleven by nightfall.”
Wynter nodded. “I know,” she said. “But I am glad my mother and sisters are not ready yet. It gives me time to speak with you.”
He almost said and speak with Brian, but he held his tongue.
Her conversations with de Luci weren’t his business, not in any fashion.
At least, that was his first thought, but when he recalled their conversation last night where had proposed a conditional marriage, he realized that it was his business.
He had a stake in this whether or not he wanted to.
Part of him was unprepared for how quickly the situation had moved, but in the same breath, he realized that nothing had ever felt so right.
The next few days would tell the tale of whether or not he would be a worthy husband.
If, in fact, she was even considering him after the turmoil of last night.
“I am glad you want to speak with me,” he said, lowering his voice. “After last night, I wasn’t entirely sure you would.”
Wynter looked at him, her gaze drifting over his handsome face. He was in full armor this morning, dressed for battle. Her gaze fell on his neck and the marks on his skin that she had originally thought to be dirt or injury. Now, she could see that it was writing.
“What is on your neck?” she asked, pointing.
He had a hauberk on, the mail hood peeled back, so very little of his neck was exposed. But he knew what she was referring to. “It is called estigmas,” he said. “That is the word for stigmata, or skin art.”
She looked puzzled. “Skin art?”
He nodded. “I have it on my arms, chest, neck, and back,” he said. “All of El Vibora’s men have it.”
She still wasn’t clear. “Why?”
He peeled the hauberk back a little so she could see what was on his neck. “It serves two purposes,” he said. “The first purpose is that it is a powerful talisman. On my neck, it says ‘Mi Dios es mi fuerza y mi canto. Me ha dado la victoria.’”
Wynter was properly awed, looking at the beautiful writing that was dark brown in nature, as if it had been burned into his skin. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘My Lord is my strength and my song, and has given me victory,’” he said. “It is a prayer of protection when I go into battle.”
She was still peering at the writing. “And you say you have this all over your body?”
“Most of it.”
“What is the second purpose?”
“So our bodies can be identified if we fall in battle,” he said. “Sometimes faces can become distorted. This way, El Vibora will always know his men.”
“Does Bull have it, too?”
“He does.”
It made sense. She was still rather fascinated by it, something that was foreign to Christian knights. “How is it written?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “A tiny old man in Pamplona uses very fine bone needles and ink,” he said.
“He makes a tiny mark and inserts the ink. Then he makes another and repeats the process. All of the marks create a picture or words. It takes him weeks to do just one line of words, but he writes it beautifully.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “How unusual,” she said. “English knights do not use ink to write on their bodies.”
“I have not been an English knight for six years.”
“True,” she said. “Mayhap someday you will show me the writing on your arms. It is quite beautiful.”
His eyes glittered. “Someday, I hope to show you more than that,” he said softly. “Have you considered my proposal from last night? I will again apologize if I offended you by it. That was never my intention, truly.”
Wynter held up a hand to silence him. “I know,” she said.
“As Spring was thrashing about and keeping me awake, I had time to think on it. I know you did not mean to offend me, but it wasn’t offense I felt.
It was hurt. Hurt that you should put conditions on something that should have no conditions beyond the obvious. ”
He nodded, lowering his gaze because she was right. “In any case, I did not mean it the way it sounded,” he said. “But I, too, have thought about what I said to you. If I told you that I would like to marry you no matter what the coming battle brings, would that be enough for you to consider it?”
Those were words Wynter hadn’t expected to hear that morning and she tried not to appear too elated.
She had to resist the urge to throw herself at him like she did when she first saw him at The Rabbit Burrow.
It was everything she’d ever wanted to hear from the man, but common sense told her that he hadn’t changed his mind so quickly without a reason.
She wanted to know what it was.
“If you assume Stagshaw, we shall remain in England,” she said softly. “But if you do not assume Stagshaw, what then? Do you plan to continue your life as a mercenary and I am to remain behind while you do? You told me you could never subject a wife to that kind of life.”
He was still looking at his feet. “I know,” he said. “I meant it. If you would agree to be my wife, then I would not take you away. Mayhap your father would accept my fealty and we would live at Ashleven.”
Her jaw dropped. “Do you mean that?” she gasped. “Gage, are you truly serious about that?”