Free Lord of War: Black Angel by Kathryn Le Veque

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 refuted 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 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 an enormous 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 had the wench 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