“Esme, wake up, you are safe,” she heard, as strong hands shook her, slightly.
Opening her eyes, Esme realized that she was wrestling with Justin, and quieted. Lady Ann appeared in the doorway within a few moments, looking greatly alarmed, and a little winded, as if she had come running from some distance away.
“Oh, my,” Esme mumbled, shaking off sleepiness. Then stronger, with tears welling up in her eyes, she said “I am sorry if I scared you. I had a bad dream. I was trying to scream, but could not, at first.”
"Well, you certainly succeeded in the end," Justin said, smiling as he brushed a tear off her cheek. "You are safe here for now. Although, I am sure you would like to be with people you know. There is still some danger to Isabel, and your brother, that needs to be worked out."
"I want to go home. Mayhap, I would feel better there," Esme said.
"Aye, I am sure you would," Ann said, coming to sit on the bed. "We cannot send you home, though. Avery was threatening all of us, in one way or another. Isabel and Brant wed yesterday, greatly weakening Avery, as far as an army goes. That means deceit is even more of a necessity, if he is to best your brother."
Justin rose, and moved toward the door, as he said, "Mayhap, you should get yourself together, then come downstairs, Esme. Richard can explain the situation to you, as clearly as he feels is wise."
"Aye," Ann said. "He knows all the details, of what is going on. However, I am not sure if he will tell you, any more than he has told me."
A little later, Richard explained to Esme, why she would have to stay with Ann, for some unknown amount of time, in a way that explained very little. Although, the knowledge that Avery was likely, as involved in the death of Isabel's sire, as he was in the murder of Esme's father, convinced her there was genuine danger. The documents he had, showing that her brother had wed the Lady Isabel, also helped to ease her mind somewhat. Justin confirmed what Richard had to say, swearing he had been present, for Brant's wedding. She was far from happy with the idea of staying there, but there seemed to be no other option for her, until Brant came to get her. She certainly could not leave on her own.
Her rescuers, Justin and Richard, stayed there to rest up for two nights, before leaving to continue their maneuvering, to contain Avery, they claimed. Esme hoped it had nothing to do with her screaming in the night, now that she had managed to dislodge the hand that had kept her silent when she was kidnapped. Mayhap, Justin just wanted to go someplace, where he could sleep, Esme thought. He had been given the chamber across the passageway from her, and seemed to be the first one, to hear her screams.
Chapter 6
It had been a couple of days since his "wedding", during which time, Brant had been given water to wash with, in the mornings. Serfs brought him food, and drink, at appropriate times of day that he found himself consuming with some trepidation. He half expected to discover that they had drugged him, again. The guards frequently got tankards of ale for him, that he had not been given, during his first few days there. In between meals, he mostly lay on the bed, waiting to see what came next. Other than the guards, and serfs, he had seen no one since the wedding.
At first, he expected them to make other demands of him, but now he realized the proof of the wedding, was all they really needed. Robert was known by all, to be his trusted friend. Richard seemed to have close ties to Isabel, so he could act on her behalf. The two of them could control both forces, with just the proof that Brant and Isabel had wed, for some time. Though it was a depressing thought, he could be held here for weeks, possibly months, before anyone got suspicious.
When the serf came to get the tray from the evening meal, Brant was informed that they would bring him water for a bath, if he wanted them to. When he indicated he wanted the water, he was directed to the other part of his cell. He went in, and lay on the bed, knowing they would not open the outer door, unless he was securely locked in. He knew there would be no chance to escape, unless some one made a mistake. When he heard the chains that operated the center door, for the second time, he rose, and walked into the other room. He was surprised to find the serf, Alisa, there inside his cell.
“I am leaving the girl to check yer wounds, and help ye with yer bath. If ye do not like being in there, with just yerself all the time, ye better not give me any trouble, when I come back to get ‘er at midnight,” an older serf, outside of the cell said.
When the older woman finished her speech, she gave the younger one a disapproving look, before closing the outer wooden door.
“Good evening, Alisa,” Brant said, as he noted that several fresh wine skins, had been left on the table.
“Good evening, My Lord. You are looking much better, than when last I saw you,” the girl replied.
She reached up to remove the mantle, that was wrapped around her head, and shoulders. Brant watched as the wrap was neatly folded, and hung over the back of a chair. He noted the delicate neck, and collarbone, that had just been exposed, indicating the serf’s small frame. What the rest of her figure looked like, remained a mystery, under the loose gown that she wore.
“I am feeling much better. In fact, the only lasting reminder, is a slight soreness in my shoulder. Come, and help me with my tunic,” Brant said.
“Aye, My Lord,” Alisa replied.
She moved forward to comply, but he sensed a coolness, a reservation, that made him wonder if the task at hand, was not to her liking. Once his torso was freed of clothing, she looked at the wound on his shoulder.
“You may have a slight infection in that cut,” she offered, in assessment. “When your bath is done, I can put a salve on that, to relieve the discomfort.”
Brant untied the laces on his chausses, and had her assist in removing the tight fitting garment from his legs, while he gauged her mood. The girl stood tensely averting her gaze, from his now naked form. The wench was definitely not pleased that they had sent her to him.
As he moved to step into the tub, Brant offhandedly asked, “How old are you, Alisa?”
“One and seven, My Lord,” she answered, as she stood waiting, to provide what assistance he requested.
Brant lowered himself into the water, and reclined back, resting his head on the side of the tub. As he relaxed in the warm water, he pondered why they would send this obviously reluctant serf, to him. Normally, male guests, traveling alone, were provided with some tart, if they so desired, who was more than happy to bathe them, and let them toss her skirt, for some type of reward. He had several of them at his Castles. He had tried most of them out himself, to see that they were not likely to offend a guest. All of them had lewdly, ogled his naked form. This girl did not even look at him. Was she sent here as some punishment? The old woman who had brought the girl here, certainly gave the girl several disapproving looks as she left her here. Or, were they just testing him, to see how he would deal with the reluctant girl?
Brant sat up in the tub, and instructed, “Come, and scrub my back and hair, Alisa.”
She picked up the soap and sponge, to lather his back, silently. After lathering his hair, and rinsing it with fresh water from a bucket, she moved to his side. Holding the soap, and sponge, she questioned, "My, Lord?" awaiting word, as to what he desired she do next. Brant reached out, and she placed the bath items into his hands, so he could finish washing himself. She moved back several steps, to wait for him to finish.
As he rose from the tub, Alisa stepped forward, with a bath sheet in either hand. Brant took one, and standing naked in front of her, dried his face, and torso. Her gaze remained level, looking at his face, yet not quite meeting his eyes. He reached out to return the damp sheet to her, and motioned for the dry one. When she handed it to him, he wrapped it around his waist, before turning, and instructing her to dry his back. When that was complete, Brant sat down at the table, so she could dry his hair, and see to the achy, wound on his shoulder.