Chapter Ten #2
Allaston was curious. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because I am not entirely sure there is a need,” he said. “What could my cousin possibly say to me? We do not know each other. We are simply related by blood and, I am sure, worlds apart in philosophies.”
Allaston thought on that. “Mayhap you could discover how he knew where to find you,” she said. “If it were me, I would be most curious to know.”
He cocked his head in agreement. “I will admit that I would like to know.”
“Then mayhap you should meet with him,” she said, her eyes glimmering in the weak firelight. “I would also think… well, at least by my reckoning… that I would want to find out why they did not try to find me after Four Crosses burned. They could have a sound reason for it, you know.”
He looked at her, studying her lovely face across the flicker of the oil lamp. “Why would you encourage me to seek people who abandoned me?”
“That is my point. You do not know if they did for certain.”
“Aye, I do. No one ever came for me.”
“Mayhap because they did not know where to look,” she stressed.
“You said yourself that you escaped with a few servants and that they took you away. If anyone is to blame, it is the servants. They should have contacted your grandfather but they did not. It’s not for me to say, of course, but they could have even ransomed you to your grandfather.
It seems to me that they thought there was more money to be had in selling you. ”
She always seemed to make sense. Bretton was coming to admire that quality about her.
His men would essentially tell him what he wanted to hear, dependent upon him as they were for riches, but Allaston wasn’t dependent upon him at all, at least not like that.
She had the luxury of speaking without prejudice.
Maybe that was why he had asked her to stay and listen to his tale of the mysterious missive.
He knew she would have an opinion on it. He was glad she did.
“You have an excellent point,” he said. “To be truthful, I never thought on it that way.”
“Then mayhap you should meet your cousin and see what he has to say.”
Bretton mulled her words over, thinking that perhaps her advice was sound.
Truth be told, he did want to see Rod. He wanted to know why no one had ever looked for him and he thought Rod might have the answers to questions that had pestered him for years.
It was a sorrow he buried deep, but something that had fed his anger against de Velt.
Were he to admit it, there was a lot of anger against his family, too. He had felt abandoned.
As he sat there and deliberated what to do, Allaston rose from her seat.
“If that is all you needed, then I have duties to attend to,” she said, making her way to him at the head of the table and picking up the pitcher to see if it was empty.
“Would you like something more to eat? There is plenty of stew left.”
He shook his head, sitting forward with his elbows on the table as she moved around him.
He watched her as she poured the last of the wine into his cup and collected the pitcher.
But before she could move away from him, he reached out and grasped her left hand.
Allaston stiffened, preparing to fight him off, when he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss.
It was soft, gentle, and warm. Just as quickly, he released her.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Allaston could hardly breathe for the shock of that kiss had bolted through her.
But it wasn’t a frightening shock in the least. It was a thrilling one.
After what had happened earlier in the day, she was torn and confused with her reaction.
It didn’t make any sense but, then again, nothing revolving around Bretton de Llion made much sense to her.
She was attracted to a man who wanted to kill her father, a man who was reasonable and moderate one moment yet vile and terrible the next.
He was a paradox. Without another word, she grabbed the empty wine pitcher and fled the room.
Bretton sat there, reflecting on the misty memories of his grandfather and family, for the rest of the night.
*
The next morning dawned clear and mild, a weather pattern that seemed to be holding.
Allaston rose before dawn and stoked the fire in her chamber, heating some water over the flickering flame for her morning ritual.
The day she had learned about the fate of the lady of Cloryn, she had gone to the room where the family’s things were haphazardly stored and she had neatly bundled everything, a show of respect for the family that had so terribly lost their lives.
She even returned the majority of the garments Grayton had brought her, and the combs she had borrowed, until she realized she had absolutely nothing of her own to use or wear.
It seemed sacrilegious to use Lady Miette’s personal items and she was quite torn in her thinking that the lady no longer had a need for them.
After saying a few prayers over the family’s possessions, she thought perhaps that Lady Miette would not have minded if she continued to use a few things.
At least, she hoped not. Therefore, she took back the garments she had borrowed, and the combs, and she also found a small phial of rose-scented oil, which she reluctantly took as well.
Her skin was very dry to the point of cracking and she knew the oil would help.
She silently said a little prayer of thanks to Miette for her generosity and tried not to feel guilty for taking it.
It was this rose-scented oil that ended up in her morning water, and she used a rag to wash her body down with the warmed water.
With the weather warm, she tended to sweat, and she hated the smell of her body, so the water washed away whatever she considered an offensive odor.
She couldn’t help but notice the oil was getting very low and soon she would have none, which would present something of a problem.
Even the nuns at Alberbury would let her use grease or oil on her cracked hands.
She realized she would soon have to do the same thing here and end up smelling like a side of pork from the grease smeared on her skin.
The yellow surcoat from yesterday that Bretton had torn down the front was in a pile on the chair by the fireplace, waiting to see if it could be acceptably mended, so Allaston dressed in a linen shift and then a heavier linen surcoat the color of eggshell because it wasn’t as heavy as some of the woolen dresses.
It was a simple garment with a square neckline, long sleeves, and two strips of cloth fastened to the waist that were meant to tie in the back, pulling the bodice snug.
She put it on, braided her hair, slipped on her worn leather slippers, and headed out for her morning tasks.
Coming down the steps to the entry level, she couldn’t help but peer into the open room where she had last seen Bretton.
She had left the man there after his meal and he was still there when she had gone to bed.
He had been sitting with that open missive, undoubtedly pondering the many things the parchment represented.
He was clearly still upset by it. She didn’t disturb him as she went up to bed and half expected to see him still sitting in the same spot this morning.
But he was gone and the room was cold and dark.
The parchment on the table was gone, too.
Opening up the keep entry, Allaston headed out into the mild gray dawn.
She came to a halt at the top of the steps, looking with surprise at the collection of armed and mounted soldiers gathering in the bailey.
Grayton was also there, wandering among the soldiers, and another knight with long auburn curls.
She kept her eyes on the group as she descended the steps, wondering why they had gathered, when her attention was pulled away by the sound of Bretton’s voice.
He was emerging from the stable area leading a big, silver horse that was wearing expensive and heavy tack, including chain mail across the front of its chest. Bretton was in full armor, speaking to a big bald knight who was also in full armor.
As she came to the bottom of the stairs, Bretton caught sight of her and he interrupted his conversation with the knight to lift a hand and flick a wrist, summoning her.
Obediently, Allaston headed in his direction.
As she came close, the knight he had been speaking with quietly excused himself but Bretton stopped the man from going any further.
“Lady Allaston,” he said. “This is Dallan de Birmingham. I do not believe you two have formally been introduced, so let me do the introductions now. Dallan will be in command of Cloryn while I am away. You will obey him as you obey me.”
Allaston nodded nervously at Dallan. He had a very grim look about him that she didn’t like. He acknowledged her politely but ran off before any words could be exchanged. Allaston watched him go before turning her attention to Bretton.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “You said nothing of leaving yesterday when we spoke.”
Bretton’s gaze glimmered at her in the early morning light. “I am taking your advice,” he said. “I am going to Newtown to meet with my cousin.”
She was pleased to hear that. She was also rather touched that he took her advice on the matter. She honestly didn’t think he would.
“Then I will pray that the meeting goes well,” she said. “I pray that you find the answers you seek.”
He nodded, pulling tight his gloves. “We shall see,” he said ambivalently, as if he held little hope for the truth. “Meanwhile, you will stay to the keep and to the kitchens. The majority of my army is in residence and I do not want men unnecessarily tempted by the sight of a woman.”
Allaston’s expression tightened with fear. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Will they harm me? They’ve not tried to harm me yet and I have been around them a good deal in the great hall.”