Page 47 of The Captive Knight
She dipped in a curtsey as he approached. “Sir Jehan.”
She was as cool as the autumn wind, he thought, but he suppressed a spurt of irritation. This mummer’s play was temporary, and per her wishes.
He turned his attention to the boy who still sat in a sprawling slump. “So, Aliénor. This is your brother.”
“Laurent,” she said, turning aside to open up the space between them. “This is Sir Jehan de St. Simon—”
“I know who he is.”
Jehan gave the sullen creature a look-over. His black, disheveled hair was blunt-cut, his face dirty, but in a deliberate way, showing the tracks of his fingers in the ashes. The hilt of a dagger jutted from a rope belt that drew folds of a long tunic against him, making it impossible to see the boy’s true size. The boy had the viscount’s eyes, as black as midnight, wary and resentful.
“Had I seen you before now,” Jehan said, “I’d have known in a moment you were your father’s son.”
“Iammy father’s son.” The boy’s voice was a basso timbre, not a crack in it. “And I will hide no more behind pews and altars.” He tilted his chin at his sister like a dare. “No, Aliénor, not ever again.”
Pushing himself off the altar platform, her brother unfolded to his full height.
Aliénor had been mistaken.
This was no boy.
Jehan slid his gaze to where Aliénor stood, glaring at her brother with nostrils flaring. “Your sister is very protective of you, Laurent.”
“And I of her.”
“Please, Laurent—”
Ally,” the young man interrupted, pre-empting his sister’s retort in a sibling way that brought Jehan a pang of memory. “Do you believe I am as useless as our father thought me to be?”
“Ofcourseyou’re not.” She huffed in annoyance. “But already you’re acting foolishly overprotective.”
“You said I had reason to fear for my life. Are you to kill me, Sir Jehan?” The young man turned to him. “Will you hang me from the ramparts to get rid of any lingering doubt about who owns the land and title?”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“So, Ally, who is the overprotective one?”
“I wasn’t wrong,” she argued. “It was the prince I feared, but he’s gone now. Sir Jehan has an obligation to me. He promises to protect us both.”
“I believe my sword,” Laurent retorted, “is the only proper protection against the English.”
“Stop.”
Aliénor laid a hand on her brother’s arm, but her brother strode away toward the altar rail. The tunic he wore was too long to see his crippled foot, but Jehan heard it drag across the wood in time with his jagged gait.
With a long sigh, Aliénor trained her attention on him. “You see, Sir Jehan, my brother speaks with great passion but little sense.”
“Admirably so,” he said. “A brother should worry about his sister. You mention a sword,” he said, raising his voice to get the young man’s attention. “How well can you wield one?”
“Well enough.”
“And what if I were to allow you possession of your sword,” Jehan added, “as long as you promised not to use it against me or my men, except in sparring?”
“Why would you do such a foolish thing?”
“It’s no foolish thing.” Jehan wandered to the altar rail, shifting a hip upon it to get a better look into this boy-man’s face. “If you are half as honorable as your sister, you will be bound by good behavior to keep it sheathed while remaining within the castle walls.”
Her brother gave him a look out of the side of his eye, all suspicion and wariness.
