Chapter Seven #5
She stared at him a moment before dropping the bread and slapping her hands over her face. “You are correct,” she muttered through her hands. “I will not look if you wish to dress.”
“Did you not even notice that I only have my breeches on?”
She nodded. “I did, but I did not give it much thought. Forgive me.”
He fought off a grin. “My, but you are comfortable around half-naked men.”
She shook her head, hands still over her eyes. “I suppose I was not paying attention,” she said. “I was more focused on eating. My head is beginning to spin from too much drink.”
He pursed his lips wryly. “So much for making an impression on you,” he grumbled. “Take your hands off your eyes. I suppose if you do not even notice me, then it is of no worry. I might as well be a horse sitting here for all you would notice of my state of dress.”
She giggled as she uncovered her eyes. “I have noticed you,” she insisted as she resumed her bread. “You are a very handsome man, Brandt. I am sure if you decide to marry, your wife will be a very fortunate woman and she will notice you all of the time.”
His eyes glimmered at her. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said in a low, and nearly flirtatious, voice, “but I am still not sure if I am comfortable with your abject kindness. It scares me.”
Her hands came away from her face. “Why?”
A smile played on his lips. “I am not entirely certain,” he said, looking down at his food. “Perhaps I want to believe it.”
Ellowyn gazed at him, still somewhat inebriated, but there was lucidity to her thoughts now as well.
As Brandt cut off a hunk of cheese, she did, in fact, take a look at the man’s naked torso.
Not being an expert on men’s naked torsos, she really didn’t have anything to compare it to, but she did know that he was exquisitely muscled with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He had the biggest arms she had ever seen and his fair share of scars, all illuminated softly by the orange firelight.
She could see his veins through the skin.
As she looked at him, she realized she was feeling quite warm and breathless at the sight and she knew, instinctively, that she liked it.
“You should believe it,” she said, averting her gaze to find her bread. “It is the truth. I wish you much success with a future wife. She will be a fortunate woman.”
He looked at her, noting she was focused on her food and not on him.
Strangely enough, her comment didn’t sound like a passing remark.
It sounded sincere, something that piqued his interest more than he cared to admit.
He also noticed, even in the weak light, that she was rather flushed.
It didn’t occur to him that it was, in fact, because of him.
He thought it was her illness. Wiping his hands off on his breeches, he reached across the table and trapped her head in his big hands. Feeling her forehead, he hissed.
“You have a fever,” he said somewhat grimly.
Head contained in his massive palms, Ellowyn looked surprised. “I do not believe so,” she said as he felt her warm cheeks. “It is because the bath was warm.”
He just shook his head. “This has nothing to do with the bath,” he told her. Then, he stood up and went over to the bed closest to the fire and pulled back the linens. “Get into bed. I will go in search of a physic.”
He said it in a manner that invited no resistance. Ellowyn stood up, bread still in hand, and looked at him with curiosity and bewilderment.
“I am fine, truly,” she said, punctuated by first a sneeze and then a hiccup. “I do not have a fever.”
“Get in bed. That was not a request.”
He had the innate ability to give an order that sounded as if the Devil himself had just given a command. Ellowyn tried not to be intimidated. “But I am hungry,” she said, pointing at the food behind her. “Can I please eat first?”
Brandt grunted, unhappy, but he relented.
“Very well,” he said, ripping the coverlet off the bed and wrapping it around her like a babe in swaddling.
He guided her back to the chair next to the table and pushed her down on it.
“Sit there and finish your meal. But the very moment you are finished, I want you to get into bed. Is that clear?”
She gazed up at him, indecisive, preparing to refuse, but the look on his face killed any sense of resistance. She nodded with resignation.
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“I do not need a physic. I am sure I do not have a fever. It is only the warm bath.”
“I would feel better if we had a physic make the diagnosis.”
With that, he pulled on his nearly dry padded tunic, his boots, his armor, and his overtunic with the dark green and black dragon of the Duke of Exeter.
Ellowyn picked her bread apart, dipping it in the cold gravy, as he dressed.
She found herself watching him more than she was paying attention to her food.
When he was finished dressing, he quit the room with a lingering glance.
But not a word came forth out of his mouth.
He didn’t need to speak, however. Ellowyn understood the silent words radiating forth from his eyes more than if he had shouted at her.