Lords of Darkness and Shadow (15 page)

Ellowyn wasn’t entirely soothed, though he had softened her considerably. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“If an assassin were to pounce on me at this moment and kill me, how would you feel about it? Think carefully before answering.”

He did. “Rage,” he finally muttered. “Deep and unbridled rage.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Would you feel sadness?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Aye.”

“Why?”

“Because… because you would be dead.”

“
Why
would you feel sadness, Brandt? What emotion deep inside you would cause you to feel sadness for my death?”

He blinked, not quite sure what she was driving out, but reaching out with his thought processes to try and figure out what it was. He could tell she was very serious about it. And then, the answer struck him.

“Fondness,” he murmured. “I am fond of you also. I would miss you a great deal.  Your death would fill me with anguish because of my fondness for you.”

She smiled faintly. “Fondness can turn to love quite easily,” she said softly. “Perhaps one day you will indeed introduce the emotion of love into your life, Brandt. You have the capability. I can see it.”

“You give me the capability, Wynny. You and only you.  When I love, it will only be you.”

Her smile broadened. “Then you may speak with my father tonight about marriage,” she whispered. “And I will try to accept the terror of your world, but know it gives me no pleasure to fear every moment of every day for your safety.”

Brandt didn’t say anymore. He just went to her and swept her up into his arms, his lips seeking her warm mouth.  The kiss was tender at first but quickly roared to life with fevered intensity as the scent of Ellowyn filled his nostrils. He’d never known anything like it. Soft and sweet, blond and buttery, she was all things delicious. His blood was beginning to boil.

Aloft in Brandt’s arms as his mouth ravaged her, Ellowyn could do nothing more but hold on to his neck, embracing him, feeling his life and warmth against her.  Every taste, every suckle, was better than the last.  Just as she pulled him tighter, they were interrupted.

“Wynny!”

A hiss came from the direction of the kitchen door.  Ellowyn and Brandt turned to see Gray standing in the kitchen yard a few feet away, waving her hands at them.  Brandt quickly set Ellowyn to her feet.

“What it is,
ma mère
?” Ellowyn asked, concerned as she moved towards her grandmother.

Gray took her granddaughter in-hand, glancing at Brandt as she spoke. “Your mother is heading in this direction,” she said softly, quickly. “The duke will go to the feasting hall and I shall bring  you in shortly.”

Brandt bowed swiftly and headed for the opposite side of the keep.  But both Ellowyn and Gray caught the warmth in his eyes as he moved away. Ellowyn’s gaze lingered on the man until he disappeared from view, thinking warm and wicked thoughts about him. When she finally turned to her grandmother, she caught the mirth in Gray’s eyes.

“What is it?” Ellowyn asked. “Why do you look at me so?”

Gray smiled as she began to lead her back into the keep round about through the kitchen yard.

“Because I remember what it is like to be young and lusty,” she said softly. “Your grandfather and I met when your Aunt Brooke was about fourteen, so I was still relatively young. Poppa was quite taken with me and I with him.  I remember the first time he kissed me; he had brought your aunt and me a great many gifts. I was still leery of him, you understand, so I did not want to accept the gifts but your aunt was mad for such things.  Poppa took my hand and kissed it so tenderly that I nearly fell over and that, my dearest, was the start of it all.  Poppa pushed his way right into my heart and he has stayed there ever since.”

They entered the warm, dim kitchens and Ellowyn looked at her grandmother. “I miss him,” she said softly.

Gray smiled faintly, a distant look in her eye. “I miss his presence,” she replied, “but he is still with me. We speak daily.  He does not answer me, but we most definitely speak. I can feel him all around me.”

Ellowyn sighed sadly, thinking of her grandfather gone these six years. “I wonder what he would think of Brandt. Will you ask him then next time you speak with him?”

Gray laughed softly. “I believe he liked the duke,” she said. “He served with him in France years ago when the duke was a very young man. Even then, he thought a good deal of the man, so I believe he would have approved of such a match.”

Ellowyn smiled. “I hope so.”

As they entered the narrow, barrel-roofed corridor that led from the kitchens into an alcove that then connected with the great hall, they ran into Annalora.  The woman was in a rush, like she usually was, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw her daughter.

“Wynny,” she gasped, grasping her arm. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Some of the duke’s knights are already in the hall and they have asked for you. Where have you been?”

“With me,” Gray said before Ellowyn could speak. “We have been walking.”

Annalora only half-paid attention to the explanation as she whisked her daughter towards the great hall.  In fact, she hardly gave it a second thought.

“Go, now,” she told her daughter. “Entertain the duke’s men. They seem quite taken with you.”

Ellowyn gave her grandmother a rather desperate expression, causing the older woman to follow her granddaughter right into the hall.

The great hall of Erith was a two-storied monstrosity with a gallery that ran along the western wall.  There was a massive fireplace that, twenty years before, had been a big open pit with a hole high above for the smoke to escape. Ellowyn’s grandfather, Braxton, had the fire pit enclosed with masonry so the unusual enclosure and chimney ran all the way to the ceiling now.  It was surrounded by a sort of cage built from wood to hold it steady.  The result was a two-sided hearth in the center of the enormous hall that warmed it quite adequately.  The massive feasting table for the family and visiting guests sat on the east side of the hearth.

St. Hèver , both de Laras, and le Bec stood up when they saw Ellowyn and her grandmother approach.   Le Bec had cups of wine in both hands, double-fisting his drink, but quickly set them down when Alex elbowed him.  Ellowyn smiled at the men as she came upon the table, especially at Brennan with whom she had grown friendly with.  The young, blond knight smiled back.

“Good eve, my lords,” she greeted the group, listening to their polite replies.  “This is my grandmother, the Lady Gray de Nerra. Her husband was Braxton de Nerra.”

The name Braxton de Nerra carried a great deal of weight.  The knights shifted their attention to Lady Gray.

“Lady de Nerra,” Dylan greeted. “’Tis a great honor to meet the wife of Braxton de Nerra.”

Gray smiled politely and indicated for the men to sit, which they did.  Ellowyn sat down next to St. Hèver as Gray took the chair at the corner of the table.

“It is an honor for us to have the House of de Russe as our guests,” Gray said, waving on the servants to bring forth more food and drink. “I understand that you have all seen an arduous year this long past.”

Dylan reclaimed his cup. “No more arduous than most, I suppose,” he replied. “Edward of Wales has a claim to France and the French people do not wish to honor it. We must convince them.”

As the knights snorted, Gray grinned at the warring man’s humor.  “I am sure you see it that way.”

Dylan looked surprised but it was all for show. “What other way is there to see it?”

Gray shook her head reproachfully, delicately sipping at her wine. “No other way, young man,” she assured him. “You sound as if you have generations of warring spirit behind you.”

Dylan nodded. “My father is Tate de Lara, the Duke of Carlisle,” he replied. “My grandfather was Edward Longshanks. My brother and I are bloodthirsty from way back.”

Gray’s eyebrows lifted, impressed. “De Lara,” she murmured. “Of course I have heard of him. My husband said many times he is the man who should have been king.”

Dylan shrugged. “I believe he is often glad that he was not,” he replied. “Although he was Longshank’s firstborn, my grandfather and grandmother were not married. My father was in indiscretion of the king’s youth, but he was treated as a royal son.  My uncle, Edward the Second, granted my father the title of Earl of Carlisle but his son, Edward the third, granted my father the dukedom of Carlisle. My father is quite content, I assure you.”

“He is still alive?”

Dylan took another gulp of wine. “Indeed he is,” he replied. “Alive and stronger than I am.”

Gray smiled. As she and Dylan engaged in further conversation, Brandt entered the hall with de Reyne trailing after him.  Brandt and Magnus had gone back to the kitchen yard when Ellowyn and Gray had vacated it to quickly remove the assassin’s body. Clad in leather breeches and a rough linen tunic, with boots to his knees, Brandt looked utterly masculine and divine. At least, that was Ellowyn’s first thought when she saw him.  Another thought occurred to her also; he wasn’t wearing his armor. She’d never really seen the man without all of his armor.  Even outside in the kitchen yard, he’d had pieces of it on. He must have changed out of it rather quickly. Ellowyn’s heart fluttered madly.

Brandt’s gaze lingered on her as headed for St. Hèver , who was seated immediately to her left.

“You are in my seat,” he told the knight.

Brennan, ever obedient, jumped up without question and went to sit further down the table. Brandt resumed his seat next to Ellowyn, accepted a cup of wine handed to him by a hovering servant.

“Lady Ellowyn,” he greeted evenly, as if they had not just seen each other moments before. “You are looking lovely this eve.”

Ellowyn flushed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, rather innocently. “It seems strange not seeing you ever moment of every day, as I did when we were traveling. Have you been busy today?”

Brandt began helping himself to the bread and cheese artfully displayed on the table. “Verily,” he told her. “The de Lara brothers can attest to that.”

Alex heard his name. Since his brother was still engaged in conversation with Lady de Nerra, he answered.

“I am not entirely sure we have had time to rest and relax in over three years,” he said. “This afternoon, your father allowed us to inspect some green chargers he had recently purchased. Your father has a good eye for horseflesh.”

Ellowyn nodded sincerely. “Indeed he does,” she replied. “We both do. I purchased those young chargers, in fact.”

“
You
did?” Brandt repeated, somewhat incredulous. “My lady, they are some of the finest horses I have ever seen. Your father said he would negotiate a good price for them.”

Ellowyn looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “
I
will negotiate a good price for them,” she clarified. “I purchased them, after all. I will be the one to barter their sale.”

Brandt bit off a grin. “You will be easy on me, will you not?” he wanted to know. “You frighten me.”

Ellowyn giggled. “I will try.”

“Pray do.”

As Brandt and Ellowyn lost themselves in grins and warm glances, Deston and Annalora entered the hall.  The noise level soared with the two of them, their loud laughter and conversation, and the servants began to bring out the main course of the meal.  As Deston and his wife sat at the table next to Brandt,  the table was set with an entire roasted pig, boiled apples, cherries soaked in wine and spices, pickled cucumbers and turnips, more bread with cheese baked into it, and great bowls of boiled carrots. Ravenous, the diners plowed in to the offered fare.

Ellowyn didn’t say much as Brandt and his knights tucked into the food.  She was more interested in watching Brandt.  After he served her first of the succulent pork, he helped himself to a great heaping pile and plowed into it.  She was staring at him but he was trying not to stare at her.  In fact, Ellowyn was watching him so closely that she hardly remembered to eat until her grandmother, seated on her right, gently nudged her.

Picking up her knife, she tore her gaze away from Brandt long enough to spear a piece of meat. But her attention was diverted when she saw a thin young man entered the hall carrying a rather large box.

Curious, she watched as the young man took up a stool near the blazing hearth and pulled a large mandolin-type instrument from the box. He strummed and tuned his cat-gut strings.

“Papa?” Ellowyn caught her father’s attention, pointing to the young man. “Who is that?”

Brandt had been in conversation with de Reyne.  He glanced over his shoulder at the man tuning the strings.

“He arrived a short time ago,” he replied, turning back to his food. “He is a musician separated from his troop. They are all in Milnthorpe but he did not want to travel at night and asked for shelter. I told him I would feed him if he would play for us.”

Ellowyn was thrilled. “How wonderful,” she said, excited. “It has been a long time since we have had any music in the hall. Papa, perhaps you should think about employing musicians so they can play at every meal.”

Deston wriggled his eyebrows, making a face. “Too much extravagance,” he said. “You spend my money far too easily.”