Darcy Branwyn

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Worth Fighting For

England 1192:

She came to her feet, limping on one that had fallen asleep. It was done now. She might as well be brave enough to give it to him. Her palms were sweaty and she rubbed them on her tunic.

“Stop acting like you have no control over yourself, Alana,” she whispered.

She tied back her loose hair with a strip of leather and made her way down the corridor. She wasn’t sure where John was or if she’d be able to find him. She checked his solar first.

The door was open a crack and Alana peeked in. He was at his desk, alone, scratching away with a feather quill on parchment, his sandy hair falling over his forehead.

She backed off, leaning against stone next to the door, breathing for a time and letting the coldness of the wall seep into her. She pressed her hand against her face, willing it to return to a normal color. She bit her lip in a moment of indecision.

Maybe she should do this later.

“Alana just do it already,” she whispered.

 She turned to the door, hiding the surcoat behind her back. Touching the door gently, she gave it a little push. It must have been greased recently because there was nothing to keep it from swinging open. She stood there silently.

 It took him a moment. “Hold on.” He finished writing something and then looked up. He saw her and froze; she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Slowly, he smiled, Alana’s face flushing all over again.

He stood, pushing his chair back. “Come on in,” he said, moving around the desk toward her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Just a little sore.” She came across the wooden floor and produced the coat, wincing as she thrust it toward him. “Here.”

He took it, looking confused.

“It was almost finished anyway. I found it in your mother’s solar. I assumed it was meant for you. All I did was finish the elk’s head and his antlers, as well as the fleur-de-lis. It didn’t take that long.” She hoped the puncture marks on her fingers weren’t visible. She clasped her hands together just in case.

He leaned back on his desk, the surcoat in his hands, still folded. She wondered if he breathed. When he looked up it almost knocked her back a step. She wasn’t prepared for the intensity of those green eyes of his.

“If I overstepped my bounds, then I’m truly sorry,” she blurted.

“No.” He turned, setting the coat aside. He still hadn’t looked at it. It took him a moment and then he turned quickly, closed the space between them, and folded her into his chest.