A Dishonorable Knight(92)
"Well, for all that I care for him and admire him, sometimes he forgets himself."
"Forgets himself? What do you mean, Bryant?" Elena was quickly growing weary of Bryant's meanderings, but since he always treated her with the utmost respect, she tried to be patient.
Bryant must have sensed her impatience, however, because he said in one quick rush, "Sometimes he forgets who he is and where he comes from. Sometimes he forgets what his father taught him and what he should know as a knight about treating ladies with respect."
"I agree completely," Elena said, ruefully thinking of Gareth's mockery of her position in court. "Wait until we return to England and he tries to call me 'Elena' or speak to me like I'm his horse. Richard will have his head!" She finished with a laugh.
"That wasn't exactly what I meant."
Elena looked at Bryant, surprised to see him flushing furiously.
"What I meant was that he seems to forget sometimes that there are...women...with whom a man may be more—uh--forward. But a lady such as yourself should never be treated in the same manner."
Elena quickly looked back to their path, wondering uncomfortably how much Bryant knew of Gareth's and her new relationship.
"You certainly deserve to have a beautiful new dress, my lady, don't misunderstand me. But I would caution you that Gareth may have forgotten himself when he purchased the fabric and he may forget himself even more when it is finished and you are thankful to him for his generosity."
"What exactly are you saying, Bryant?"
From the corner of her eye, Elena could see Bryant flush more brilliantly red than he had been moments before.
Bryant came to a stop and Elena turned to face him. "I'm afraid he may put undue pressure on you to share your favors with him in an unseemly fashion."
Elena wanted to shriek with laughter. If Bryant only knew that it had been she who had forgotten herself and forced her favors on him in a most unseemly fashion!
"Please know, my lady, that you owe nothing to Gareth, or any of us for that matter. If you should ever feel that anyone is acting the least bit unchivalrously towards you, you have only to call and I will come at once to defend you and your honor."
Elena had heard many a flowery speech from a lovesick man, but Bryant's struck her as being truly sincere and heartfelt. Making a point not to smile, lest he think she was making fun of him, she said as sincerely as she could, "I thank you, Bryant. I will rest assured that you will do everything in your power to see to my well being."
Bryant took her hand and kissed it lightly. "I have only the most honorable intentions toward you, Lady Elena."
"I'm sure you do, Bryant."
To her great relief, Bryant seemed content to drop the subject for the rest of the short journey back to Samuel's shop. Once inside the back living quarters, Elena forgot Bryant's declaration in the noisy cheerfulness of the roomful of men preparing to eat a hearty feast. The kitchen table had been dragged into the main room so everyone could fit around it. Thick wooden plates lined both sides of the table and a huge basket of bread crowned the center. Morgan entered the room with a thick crockery flagon.
"Ah, Lady Elena, Bryant! You're back just in time. Tell me, Lady Elena, have you ever tasted Welsh mead?"
"Never."
"Then you are in for a treat tonight! Sit right here," he said, indicating the cushioned seat at the head of the table. "As our only lady at dinner tonight, you hold the seat of honor. Now sit and relax while we bring in a feast sure to rival any you've had at court."
Oddly at ease with the rough group of men, Elena sat as instructed and watched as they scrambled about bringing stew, roasted meat, and cooked vegetables to the table. Within minutes, the large table was lined with all of the men who had stayed with Samuel for the meeting two days before. A quick blessing on the meal was followed by sheer chaos as hungry men passed around food. Despite their hunger and perhaps uncourtly manners, they made sure Elena was always served first and always received the best of each portion. And true to Morgan's word, the Welsh mead was a treat, just sweet and smooth enough that Elena was on her second mugful before she realized that she was very warm and seemed to find everything highly amusing.
Though she allowed herself only one more mug of the tasty mead, the pleasant mood remained with her all evening as the laughter and conversation grew louder.
"Be honest now, good lady," called out one of the men. "Who are more handsome: Welsh men or English."