Lords of Darkness and Shadow (13 page)

“This is so exciting,” she said. “Rarely do we have such distinguished visitors.”

Gray, an elegant, sweet and wise woman in her seventieth year, watched her granddaughter’s face. She could see there was something more there, something thrilling and giddy, although she wasn’t sure what.  Perhaps one of the knights in the duke’s corps had attracted her attention.  Coming from a young woman who generally had no use for the suitors that had passed over their doorstep, it was certainly an event.

“Annalora,” Gray said in her sweet, soothing voice. “Perhaps you should seek Deston and find out how many men we can expect for the meal. We want to have enough for them to eat.”

Annalora nodded quickly. “Indeed,” she said as she stood up. “I shall find him right away.”

Ellowyn watched her mother go. “He was out in the ward last I saw of him.”

Annalora waved her off as she quit the great hall.  When Ellowyn returned her attention to her grandmother, she could see that the woman was studying her intently.

“Now,” Gray said softly. “Why are you so giddy, young woman? Tell me the truth.”

Ellowyn couldn’t help the smile on her face.  She stood up and went to the other side of the table where her grandmother sat, and she planted herself next to the woman.  Gray put her arms around her, hugging her.

“You will not believe me,” Ellowyn said, her head on her grandmother’s shoulder.

Gray smiled. “Tell me and I shall believe you, I promise. Who has put this smile on your face, Wynny?”

Ellowyn giggled. She never giggled. “The duke,” she whispered.

Gray couldn’t help it; her eyebrows lifted with surprise. “
The
duke?”

“Aye.”

Gray released her granddaughter and looked the woman in the eye. “De Russe?”

Ellowyn nodded, somewhat hesitantly because her grandmother seemed off-guard and she wasn’t sure why. “Aye,” she said again. “I am not entirely sure how it happened, but we went from hating one another to being rather fond of each other. He is going to speak to my father about marrying me.”

Gray just stared at her.  Then, her amber eyes took on a marvelous glimmer. “He wants to marry you?” she gasped. “Wynny, that… that is wonderful, sweetheart, truly.”

Ellowyn was beaming from ear to ear. “He is not like anyone I have ever met,” she said. “He was rude when we first met, that was true, but as we came to know each other, he is chivalrous and thoughtful and kind. But life has not been good to him; he was raised by nuns, his mother did not care about him at all, and then he was forced to marry a woman he hated. Is that not terrible?”

Gray was listening with some surprise. She had never seen her mature and level-headed granddaughter so passionate. It was astonishing but thrilling nonetheless.

“Horrible,” she agreed. “But it is not unusual. Families such as ours are rare.”

Ellowyn nodded, averting her gaze and picking at her nails.  “I realize that,” she said. “I suppose it has made me very thankful for my family and the way we are.  I have told you this before, Grandmother; I know how you and Grandfather were with each other and I have always hoped for that, too.  Perhaps… perhaps I see the same qualities Grandfather had in the duke.  I realize I have not known him very long, but I have such feelings when I look at him.  He is a good man in spite of his reputation; I know it.”

“Of course he is,” Gray agreed, listening to Annalora’s loud voice as the woman came through the keep entry. “But until the duke speaks with your father, perhaps you should keep this to yourself. The last thing you want is your mother running to the man and….”

Ellowyn knew exactly what she meant; she knew how aggressive, though well-meaning, her mother could be.  The woman’s voice was growing louder as she bossed the servants around.

“I understand,” she said, wriggling her eyebrows. “She would give the man no peace.”

Gray fought off a smile as Annalora drew closer, her fair face pinched pink with excitement.

“Your father is escorting the duke into the keep,” she said excitedly. “God’s Beard, but he is an enormous man. I have heard tale about him and how he is the Black Prince’s henchman.  I would believe him evil simply by looking at him.”

“He is
not
evil!” Ellowyn said indignantly, bolting to her feet. When she saw the expression on her mother and grandmother’s faces, she hastened to recover. “He… he was very kind and diligently protected me during the journey from London. I… I would like to change into fresh clothing. Please excuse me.”

With that, she nearly stumbled from the table, making haste to the great flight of stairs that wound its way to the upper floors of Erith’s four storied keep. But before she could reach it, her father and Brandt entered the keep and Ellowyn nearly ran into them.   In fact, Brandt had to reach out and steady her to keep her from bumping into him.

“My lady,” he said, making a conscious effort to drop his hand from her arm when he very much wanted to keep it there. “Are you well?”

Ellowyn gazed up into his handsome face, now without his helm.  He was so incredibly handsome with his angled jaw and black hair. Her heart was fluttering wildly.

“I am well,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “I am simply going up to my chamber.”

“Bon voyage, then,” Brandt said, humor in his voice. “Now you will finally have a solid room about you and not a tent.”

Ellowyn’s smile turned real. “I did not mind the tent.”

There was a glimmer in her eye when she said it, something only Brandt could see. And then she was gone, scampering up the stairs and disappearing from view. Brandt gaze lingered on her until she vanished before tearing his focus away.  He knew Deston had seen the exchange so he hastened to sounds as if he had shown concern purely for chivalrous reasons. He didn’t want the man to suspect anything more; at least, not until he was ready to plead his case.

“Your daughter showed remarkable strength throughout the journey,” he told the man as he began to pull off his gauntlets. “She never complained once.”

Deston stood there with his hands on his hips, watching Brant remove his gloves and the ruff around his neck that soaked up sweat and protected his neck from his chaffing helm. It was a soiled and bloody mess.

“Ellowyn is a good girl,” he agreed. “She is strong of mind and heart, but I would imagine you have already discovered that for yourself.”

Brandt looked at the man, wondering if he meant beyond the usual acquaintance. Maybe it was his paranoia suggesting it as he gazed at the man whose daughter he was in love with, but he thought perhaps Deston was only making a statement and nothing more. Still, he was careful in his reply.

“She is a proud daughter of the House of de Nerra,” he replied. “And how is your son?”

Deston’s prideful expression faded. “Being holy, I suppose,” he said, heading into the great hall with Brandt in tow. “We have not spoken in almost two years. He has taken a vow of silence, you know. It is an unnatural thing for a de Nerra to be silent.”

Brandt could see that the man was genuinely unhappy, which he found rather humorous.  As they approached the table, the women who had been seated stood up, their polite attention on Brandt.  He bowed respectfully when he came to the table.

“Lady de Nerra,” he said to Annalora, whom he had already greeted out in the ward.  His attention moved to the second woman. “Lady Gray, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been a long time.”

Gray came out from the table, extending her hand when she came close to Brandt.  He took her small hand in his enormous one, shaking it gently.

“Brandt de Russe,” she said softly, her amber eyes twinkling up at him. “Except for the fact that you are bigger and older, you’ve not changed a bit since we last met.”

Brandt grinned, displaying his big white teeth. “And you have grown more lovely,” he replied. “I can see where your granddaughter gets her astonishing beauty.”

Gray laughed softly. “Did they teach you such flatter on the battlefields of France? Somehow, I do not think so.”

He took her hand and gently helped her to sit on the bench around the table. “I learned much on the battlefields of France, but flattery was not amount them,” he said as he sat down next to her. “I missed your husband there, my lady. Braxton was one of my mentors, you know. I miss his wisdom as well as his sword.”

Gray’s eyes were still glimmering. “He did so enjoy fighting with you,” she said softly. “He said there was no one like you.  He swore you were the first and last of your kind, the greatest knight he had ever seen.”

“He was a liar, too.”

Gray giggled. “He was no such thing, my lord,” she scolded lightly. “He always told the truth. That is, he did until he became ill. Then, by the time he told us the truth, it was too late. I do not believe I shall forgive him for that.”

Brandt’s gaze was soft as he took her hand and kissed it. “How many years has it been now? Six?”

“Six years, two months, three weeks and seventeen days,” Gray replied softly. “He is buried at St. John’s in Leven if you want to go and yell at him, by the way.”

“I miss him.”

“As do I.”

Brandt gave her a faint smile. Not wanting the conversation to deteriorate into something heady on the subject of Braxton de Nerra’s passing, he shifted the subject.

“Well,” he said, turning to Deston and Annalora, now seated on the opposite side of the table. “I suppose you would like a full report of my use of your men, my lord.”

Deston waved him off. “I wish to hear more of this battle with the Welsh that nearly killed my daughter.”

Brandt thought back to the fight and the fact that Ellowyn had indeed been in a good deal of peril.  But he didn’t want to frighten the family over something that was over with, so he did his best to be truthful yet tactful.

“There is not much more to tell,” he replied. “I told you that the Welsh rebels had attacked Kenilworth earlier that day and set their sights on us as well. They plowed through the middle of the column first, blindsiding us, and that was where Ellowyn was riding. She took an arrow to the shoulder but she was taken to safety immediately where she was tended first by my knights and then by the nuns from Coventry. She recovered quickly and is in fine shape, as you have seen.”

As Deston nodded his head, Annalora and Gray were in various states of horror. They had not heard of Ellowyn’s injury and both of them bolted up from the table.

“My sweetling!” Annalora was already rushing for the stairs. “I must see to her!”

Brandt felt rather bad that he had startled them, but Deston yelled after the pair. “She is well,” he told his wife and mother. “You saw for yourself – she is fine!”

Annalora muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult to her husband’s sense of compassion as she and Gray disappeared up the stairs. Brandt turned to Deston somewhat sheepishly.

“I did not mean to upset them,” he said. “I was not aware that they did not know of our Welsh encounter.”

Deston waved a careless hand. “They are always looking for something to work them into a froth,” he said as servants brought forth pitchers of wine and trays of cheese and bread. “You know women; they like to be upset and them blame us for causing it.”

For some reason, Brandt thought back to the moment he and Ellowyn had first met.  She had been furious and had blamed him; although there was blame on both sides, he could see Deston’s point.

“I will admit,” he said as he reached for a cup of wine, “that I upset your daughter when we first met.  She did not announce herself right away and… well, I was not kind in my reaction.”

Deston collect his wine cup, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Brandt. “Did you chase her away?”

“Something like that.”

He snorted as he drank. “Did she return with a stick and try to beat you? She is fiery like that.”

Brandt gave him a half grin. “Not quite,” he said. “She is quite bold, however. She did not hesitate to let me know what she thought of me.”

Deston laughed. “You do not know the half of it,” he said, reaching for the cheese and bread. “She possesses bravery and a sense of vengeance that exceeds that of most men I know. Had she been born a man, she would have made a magnificent knight.  Sometimes I wish… well, it does not matter what I wish. I still have Ellowyn and for that, I am grateful.”

Brandt watched the man intently. “What about your son?” he asked. “Surely whatever profession he has chosen does not make him any less your son.”

Deston cocked an eyebrow at him. “That is what my father said,” he replied, drinking his wine in thought. “Fenton… he could have been the greatest knight we have seen yet. Do you know him?”

Brandt nodded. “I am acquainted with him,” he replied. “When your father and I served together in France for a time, he spoke of him.  He was very proud of Fenton.”

Deston regarded his wine, the pensive look of a disappointed father evident. “We all were until he joined that damnable cloister,” he said. “He said he felt as if his true calling was to God and not the knighthood. He broke my heart on that day.”

Brandt could see the sadness, the frustration, in the man. He could see that it was a sensitive subject.