Page 50 of The Captive Knight
“Come, Ally. The whole castle is abuzz waiting for you to make up your mind. I’m not the only one who has heard you say you’d rather throw yourself off the ramparts than take the veil.”
She frowned, nonplussed. “You know I’m not going to a convent.”
“Ah, then you’re going to marry.”
She stumbled on the flagstones, righting herself with effort. “I’m landless and without fortune,frai.No man in his right mind would bind himself to poverty.”
“Sir Jehan has your land and your fortune. He’ll marry you.”
The winter wind gave a howl as it poured over the ramparts. Laurent couldn’t possibly think…. But of course he did. Before she’d learned about Jehan’s betrothal, she’d hoped for the same.
Suddenly, her brother scraped to a stop. He placed the platter of food on the ground, and then took the figs from her and placed them beside the platter. When he straightened up to gather her hands in his, she had to arch her neck to look into his face.
When had he become so tall?
“Aliénor, you’ve gone pale.”
“Laurent,” she said, gathering her wits, “you don’t understand the situation. I’m chatelaine here. That’s enough.”
“You can’t be chatelaine here forever. And religious life is definitely not for you. But marriage is also a sacrament—”
“Listen to you. Father would sooner see me dead than married to an Englishman.”
“Father is probably dead.”
Startled, she searched Laurent’s face but saw no grief. “We don’t know any such thing.”
“Our father may as well be dead, for all the effort he’s made to re-take the castle.”
“Laury, it’s dangerous to leap to such conclusions. Our father is probably with the Count of Armagnac or the king himself—”
“—but he’s nothere.” He tilted his head like Thibaud at lessons. “Sir Jehan is strong. He’s kind and generous and honorable.”
She tried not to wince.
“He’s a favorite of the prince and likely to be titled—”
“—with our father’sowntitle.”
“All the better. You’ll finally be the lady of this house and not a servant within it. Free to live your life as it pleases you, in your very own home.”
“Laurent—”
“Before I leave here, I want to see you happy.” His cheek flexed. “Before I leave, I need to know you’re settled.” He lowered his head to capture her gaze, and the smile that stretched on his face squeezed her heart. “He loves you, Aliénor.”
Her heart did a flutter-roll in her chest.
“His gaze follows you whenever you’re in the room. His voice changes when he talks to you.”
She stared at their entwined hands. With every bone in her body she wanted to believe what her brother said, but she couldn’t trust her own heart, never mind the conclusions of a man too innocent of the ways of the world.
“Love in marriage is an unexpected gift, so I’m told.” He pulled her into a brotherly hug. “Don’t scorn it.”
She laid her head against her brother’s shoulder, breathing in the lingering scent of frankincense in the woolen fibers of his tunic from the morning’s Mass, as well as the faintly unpleasant stink of him, sweaty from sparring. All through their lives, she had been the one to offer Laurent kind words and comfort. How strong he had grown in the past year, strong and true and full of goodness, and suddenly she couldn’t bear telling him a truth that would destroy his happiness.
Her courage, what there was of it, flew away like a flock of sparrows in October.
“I haven’t made my decision yet,” she mumbled against his shoulder, despising herself for lying. “I’ll send word to you after you’re settled in the monastery.”
