Darcy Branwyn

Part Five

England 1192:

(The same fictional world as Enduringly Yours.)

“I earned my knight’s spurs when I was seven and ten.”

“Not six and ten? How careless of you.” She bit the end of her tongue, reminding herself to be more respectful. 

 “My father refused. He said I was too young.” If he’d been offended by her bitterness, he was careful not to let it show. “It’s not easy to go against one’s training, my lady. Since I was a boy I was taught to protect those under me.”

She had the impression that he’d wanted to say more. She finished it for him. “Protect the weaker vessel you mean to say?”

He hesitated, and then nodded.

“I thought you were the one man willing to take me to the next level. That’s why I’m here. No one else will.” She looked away, feeling defeated. “Even my brother said he would go no further in my training.”

“I assure you, I am that man, Alana.”

A thrill that had nothing to do with swordplay shot through her when he’d said her name. She dropped the poultice.

Luckily, the clay pot didn’t shatter. It rolled along the stone pavers on the floor until finally butting against an uneven square. Alana retrieved it.

“You have the right to know how to protect yourself,” he said.

“How charitable of you.”

“But any man that wanted to hurt you would have to kill me first.”

Those were strong words. Too strong. She had no idea what to think of them. She clutched the clay jar against her leather jerkin. “Me, specifically? Or me as in any lady,” she said, her voice wavering.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting in his chair. Wood creaked. “You’re Matthew’s sister,” he said, as if that settled everything.

She was John’s friend’s sister. Yes, that was her. Matthew’s. Little. Sister.