Chapter Seven #2
Brandt noticed she was having trouble with her cloak ties so he gently pushed her fingers away and politely undid the tie. Then he pulled the cloak off of her and went to hang it on a peg next to the hearth so the radiant heat would dry it.
Ellowyn watched him, aware that his presence was comforting.
She wasn’t sure why, but it was. She was also aware that she was glad to see him, having traveled essentially alone for the past ten hours with no conversation or company.
She had been lonely, and he offered company.
Unusual for the lady who liked to be alone.
But she was sure he did not feel the same.
She watched him quit the room and close the door softly behind him, a bit disappointed at his departure.
He didn’t even say a word to her. With a heavy sigh, she went over to the fire and began the laborious process of undressing with cold and wet clothing.
Her shoes were the first to come off, placed neatly by the fire before pulling off her hose, which ended up draped over a stool as close to the fire as she could get it without igniting it.
Then came her surcoat, of which the entire bottom of the skirt was soaking and muddied.
She was untying the stays at her waist when the door opened again.
Brandt was there, holding the door open as a heavy-set man with a mashed face and curly black hair entered lugging a big copper pot.
There were a pair of women behind him struggling to carry buckets of hot water, which were dumped into the pot.
As they left to get more water, Brandt turned to Ellowyn.
“I will have someone bring your belongings,” he said. “Do you require anything else?”
Did she? Probably not. Just someone to talk to would have been nice, and she had very much enjoyed their conversation the previous night when the duke had spoken of Deston.
But the entire conversation had been one of polite duty out of respect to de Nerra, she was sure.
It hadn’t been anything personal, because he didn’t want to speak to her personally. She understood that.
“You have been most kind and accommodating, my lord,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “Please know that I appreciate your attentiveness greatly, but I do not want you to feel obligated. Surely you have more important duties than seeing to my comfort.”
Brandt’s dark gaze lingered on her. “None that I can think of,” he replied. “Seeing to your comfort is an important duty as far as I am concerned.”
She gave him a weak smile, ruining the effect when she burst into a series of harsh coughs. “You are very kind,” she repeated. “You are coming to make me feel very guilty about our first meeting. Had I only known I was becoming irate with a saint.”
He broke into a grin. “I thought we were going to forget about that.”
She grinned in response, shrugging as she turned back to the fire. “We were,” she said. “Eventually. I do not suppose there is anything I can do to make up for that encounter except… oh, wait a moment… perhaps there is.”
He was more than curious. “There is nothing to make up for, but I would be willing to listen to suggestions.”
She stood up on her cold, bare feet and pointed to the two beds in the room.
“This,” she said. “There is only one of me but there are two beds in the room. Perhaps we could string a curtain between the two, for propriety of course, and you could sleep in one and I could sleep in the other. It seems an awful waste for one of these beds to remain empty while you sleep outside in the foul weather. That way, you can enjoy a dry bed as well.”
He looked at her, seeing that she sincerely meant what she said.
She also meant it quite innocently, which disappointed him, although he couldn’t figure out exactly why except that an inappropriate offer would have flattered him deeply.
But she hadn’t meant it that way, mostly because he was sure she didn’t find anything about him remotely attractive.
It was a kind offer, but inappropriate. After a moment, he shook his head.
“You are very generous to suggest such a thing,” he said, “but I am afraid I cannot.”
She cocked her head. “Why?”
He lifted his eyebrows at her. “My lady, if your father got wind of such a sleeping arrangement, he would cut off my… head. He would be furious to say the least.”
Her brow furrowed. “But there is no reason why… oh….” She cooled. “Do you mean to imply that I suggested something inappropriate? That was not my intention, my lord. Not in the least.”
He could see she was mildly offended. “My lady, I did not take it as an improper suggestion, but there are others who would wonder why I was sleeping in your room. It is an unfortunate fact that men talk and if word got back to your father, I would be in for a row.”
Ellowyn simply nodded and turned away from him, resuming her stool next to the hearth. She was rather disappointed that he had refused her offer, but she recognized what he was saying. He made sense.
“I understand,” she said softly. “Please know I was not truly trying to suggest something inappropriate. I was rather hoping we could continue our conversation from last night. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed such conversation and… well, I do not have the opportunity to converse with many people so I suppose I was… forgive me, I am rambling. I am sure you must return to your men, so I will thank you again for your kindness and bid you a good eve.”
Brandt’s gaze lingered on her as she faced the fire, holding out a hand trying to rub some warmth back into it.
As he stood there, the heavy-set man and the two women came into the room again, dumping more buckets of hot water into the copper tub.
When they left, Brandt followed. He quit the room without a word and shut the door.
Ellowyn turned when she heard the door softly shut, seeing that she was quite alone in the room.
With a sigh, she rose from her stool and went over to the door, bolting it.
Going over to the pot, she put a hand into it to feel that it was very hot.
She wanted to get into it badly but decided to wait for her things first. It would be of no use were she to get in now and then have to get out again when her satchel was brought about.
Fresh clothes and toiletries were in the bag.
So she went back over to the fire and sat, waiting for one of de Russe’s men to bring her possessions as she tried to figure out why she felt such a sense of disappointment with de Russe’s departure.
She didn’t have to wait long. Several minutes later, there was a knock on the door and she rose to open it.
A wench with a loaded tray of food entered, moving to set the tray down on the small table next to the hearth.
The wench fled, leaving Ellowyn to inspect the tray of mutton, carrots and turnips boiled together in gravy, plus a big slab of cheese and an entire loaf of bread.
There was also a cup with something steaming in it, which turned out to be spiced wine.
Ellowyn slurped it down as it soothed her irritated throat.
It was so good that she called for the wench to bring her another one, but the wench brought two more.
They were large tankards nearly filled full.
Ellowyn was almost done with the third large cup of spiced wine when there was another knock on the door.
Feeling tipsy and warm, Ellowyn went to answer the door. Brandt was standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin, with her large traveling satchel in his hands. Before he could say a word, she grabbed her bag, then his hand, and yanked him into the room.
“Come in,” she demanded. “ ’Tis cold and wet outside, and you should sit.”
She punctuated the “sit” by shoving him into the nearest chair. Brandt let her do it, mostly because he was baffled by her behavior and wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but when he saw her taking a deep drink out of a fairly large tankard, he began to suspect what had happened.
“How many of those have you had?” he asked.
Ellowyn stopped sipping and looked at him with big eyes. “Of what?”
He pointed at the mug. “That.”
She stared at his pointed finger, then looked around until her gaze came to rest on the cup in her hand. “This?”
“Aye.”
It looked as if she were thinking very hard on the question. “I am not sure,” she said. “I may have had two or three.”
He was coming to understand the situation. “I told them to bring you something hot to drink,” he said. “Wine, I would presume?”
She stared into the cup as if trying to figure out what was in it. “Aye,” she said, then walked over to him and shoved it in his face. “See? There are bits of things in it.”
He had to dodge his head quickly or risk getting hit in the nose when she tried to show him what was in the mug. He was mostly watching her face as he spoke.
“Things? You mean bits of spice?” he said.
She was staring down into the cup, her brow furrowed. She was also very close to him. In fact, their heads were nearly touching. Brandt just watched her face, studying her long lashes and creamy skin, as she gazed into the cup.
“Things,” she repeated as if unsure how else to describe it. “Floating dark things. Mayhap they are bits of bugs.”
“I doubt they are bugs.”
That was good enough for her. She proceeded to toss her head back and drink the last bit of spiced wine, at least three big gulps worth.
She nearly toppled as she tried to set the cup down and would have fallen had Brandt not reached out a long arm to steady her.
She smiled at him when she realized he was trying to help her.
Brandt tried not to smile back but it was difficult when she was grinning so openly at him.
“Perhaps you should go to bed,” he suggested. “It has been a long day and we will depart at dawn.”