Chapter Eleven #2
She struggled to overcome her shock. Pushing herself from his arms, they ended up facing each other just outside of the kitchen entrance.
Warmth and noise radiated from the open door as they stood in the dark and quiet yard.
Ellowyn was working herself up into one of those lathers he’d seen when he had first met her. He could see it in her eyes.
“Stop this instant,” she said, holding up her hands to him in a halting gesture. “Do you mean to tell me that your own men are so disloyal that they try to kill you for… for money?”
He sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he shook his head.
“I have French in my command,” he said as if it was all quite normal.
“Or I have men in my command who have French brothers or cousins. Our two countries are so intertwined that such things are not unusual. Men fight for those who pay the most. A few coins to a soldier under my command, a promise of finer rewards, and he becomes an assassin for my enemies. Loyalties to a liege are bought and sold, my lady. This is the world I live in.”
Ellowyn gazed up at him, digesting his words. “What about loyalty to a man simply because you respect him?”
“There is far less of that than you think.”
“So fealty goes to the highest bidder?”
“Poverty, hatred, and greed do desperate things to a man’s character.”
Ellowyn stared at him. Then, she shook her head. “Your world scares me,” she said softly. “Look around you. This is my world. It is a world of peace and contentment. Your world is frightening.”
“Then it is best you learn what you will be marrying into before the deed is done. Shall I still speak with your father or have you changed your mind?”
Ellowyn felt sick to her stomach. She held his gaze a moment longer before looking away. “I fear I am already attached to you,” she murmured. “I do not want anything to happen to you, Brandt.”
“That is not an answer. Shall I speak with your father or not?”
She looked at him, sharply. “Are you so cold to all of this?” she snapped. “Do you not care what I am feeling?”
“Of course I care what you are feeling, but as I explained, it is the way of things. Marriage to you will not change it.”
He was so cold in his delivery, so matter of fact. Ellowyn’s injured expression regarded him carefully.
“Is marriage just another business transaction to you?” she asked softly.
“Because if it is, then we can stop it right now, shake hands, and go along our separate ways. I do not consider marriage a business transaction. I told you once before that when I marry it shall be for love, not because I can broker a better deal or find a richer man. It is because I feel something for him. I wonder if you can feel anything at all for me of if you look at me as another acquisition.”
He was gazing seriously in the moonlight. “Do you love me?”
“I am very fond of you. I am sure it will turn into love at some point.”
He continued to look at her, pondering her reply.
These emotions were so foreign to him, so confusing because he had never experienced them before.
Once, he believed that love was a fool’s emotion.
As he gazed at Ellowyn, he wasn’t so sure of that any longer.
“I do not know what to say to that,” he said softly.
Exasperated, hurt, Ellowyn sighed with frustration and turned away from him, gathering her red skirts as she started to march away. But Brandt caught up to her, grasping her by the arm to stop her.
“I am sorry,” he said, his deep voice soft and sincere.
“I did not mean… Wynny, you must understand that love, or to be loved, has no place in my life. At least, until now. I do not understand the emotion because I have never felt it before. I am not very good with words so you must forgive me if I am blunt or abrupt. I do not mean to be, especially with you.”
Ellowyn wasn’t entirely soothed, though he had softened her considerably. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If an assassin were to pounce on me at this moment and kill me, how would you feel about it? Think carefully before answering.”
He did. “Rage,” he finally muttered. “Deep and unbridled rage.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Would you feel sadness?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Aye.”
“Why?”
“Because… because you would be dead.”
“Why would you feel sadness, Brandt? What emotion deep inside you would cause you to feel sadness for my death?”
He blinked, not quite sure what she was driving at, but reaching out with his thought processes to try and figure out what it was. He could tell she was very serious about it. And then, the answer struck him.
“Fondness,” he conceded. “I am fond of you also. I would miss you a great deal. Your death would fill me with anguish because of my fondness for you.”
She smiled faintly. “Fondness can turn to love quite easily,” she said quietly. “Perhaps one day you will indeed introduce the emotion of love into your life, Brandt. You have the capability. I can see it.”
“You give me the capability, Wynny. You and only you. When I love, it will only be you.”
Her smile broadened. “Then you may speak with my father tonight about marriage,” she whispered. “And I will try to accept the terror of your world, but know it gives me no pleasure to fear every moment of every day for your safety.”
Brandt didn’t say any more. He just went to her and swept her up into his arms, his lips seeking her warm mouth.
The kiss was tender at first but quickly roared to life with fevered intensity as the scent of Ellowyn filled his nostrils.
He’d never known anything like it. Soft and sweet, creamy and buttery, she was all things delicious. His blood was beginning to boil.
Aloft in Brandt’s arms as his mouth ravaged her, Ellowyn could do nothing more but hold on to his neck, embracing him, feeling his life and warmth against her. Every taste, every suckle, was better than the last. Just as she pulled him tighter, they were interrupted.
“Wynny!”
A hiss came from the direction of the kitchen door. Ellowyn and Brandt turned to see Gray standing in the kitchen yard a few feet away, waving her hands at them. Brandt quickly set Ellowyn to her feet.
“What it is, ma mère?” Ellowyn asked, concerned as she moved towards her grandmother.
Gray took her granddaughter in hand, glancing at Brandt as she spoke. “Your mother is heading in this direction,” she said softly, quickly. “The duke will go to the feasting hall and I shall bring you in shortly.”
Brandt bowed swiftly and headed for the opposite side of the keep.
But both Ellowyn and Gray caught the warmth in his eyes as he moved away.
Ellowyn’s gaze lingered on the man until he disappeared from view, thinking warm and wicked thoughts about him.
When she finally turned to her grandmother, she caught the mirth in Gray’s eyes.
“What is it?” Ellowyn asked. “Why do you look at me so?”
Gray smiled as she began to lead her back into the keep round about through the kitchen yard.
“Because I remember what it is like to be young and lusty,” she said softly.
“Your grandfather and I met when your Aunt Brooke was about fourteen, so I was still relatively young. Poppa was quite taken with me and I with him. I remember the first time he kissed me. He had brought your aunt and I a great many gifts. I was still leery of him, you understand, so I did not want to accept the gifts but your aunt was mad for such things. Poppa took my hand and kissed it so tenderly that I nearly fell over and that, my dearest, was the start of it all. Poppa pushed his way right into my heart and he has stayed there ever since.”
They entered the warm, dim kitchens and Ellowyn looked at her grandmother. “I miss him,” she said softly.
Gray smiled faintly, a distant look in her eye. “I miss his presence,” she replied, “but he is still with me. We speak daily. He does not answer me, but we most definitely speak. I can feel him all around me.”
Ellowyn sighed sadly, thinking of her grandfather gone these six years. “I wonder what he would think of Brandt. Will you ask him then next time you speak with him?”
Gray laughed softly. “I believe he liked the duke,” she said. “He served with him in France years ago when the duke was a very young man. Even then, he thought a good deal of the man, so I believe he would have approved of such a match.”
Ellowyn smiled. “I hope so.”
As they entered the narrow, barrel-roofed corridor that led from the kitchens into an alcove that then connected with the great hall, they ran into Annalora. The woman was in a rush, like she usually was, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw her daughter.
“Wynny,” she gasped, grasping her arm. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Some of the duke’s knights are already in the hall and they have asked for you. Where have you been?”
“With me,” Gray said before Ellowyn could speak. “We have been walking.”
Annalora only halfway paid attention to the explanation as she whisked her daughter towards the great hall. In fact, she hardly gave it a second thought.
“Go, now,” she told her daughter. “Entertain the duke’s men. They seem quite taken with you.”
Ellowyn gave her grandmother a rather desperate expression, causing the older woman to follow her granddaughter right into the hall.
The great hall of Erith was a two-storied monstrosity with a gallery that ran along the western wall.
There was a massive fireplace that, twenty years before, had been a big open pit with a hole high above for the smoke to escape.
Ellowyn’s grandfather, Braxton, had the fire pit enclosed with masonry so the unusual enclosure and chimney ran all the way to the ceiling now.
It was surrounded by a sort of cage built from wood to hold it steady.
The result was a two-sided hearth in the center of the enormous hall that warmed it quite adequately.
The massive feasting table for the family and visiting guests sat on the east side of the hearth.