Lords of Darkness and Shadow (2 page)

More than that, she was raging at the deadly and legendary Duke of Exeter, Brandt de Russe.  There was no one living in recent memory that had managed to do such a thing and emerged unscathed. Brandt reached up and scratched his head as if the entire circumstance had confused him.

“
That
was de Nerra’s daughter?” he turned back to the knight standing next to him. “I did not even know he had one.”

Sir Dylan de Lara lifted his dark eyebrows, catching a glimpse of the well-dressed woman as she faded down the avenue.

“He does indeed,” he replied. “His son and heir committed himself to the Benedictines some time ago, a sincere shame because from what I heard, the man had the makings of a great knight.   But he lives in a monastery somewhere in Lincolnshire while de Nerra’s only other child is the lady you just met.”

Brandt digested the information. “With that courage, she would make a fine knight herself,” he muttered, scratching at his neck because his mail was chafing badly. “I do believe I have just been threatened. “

“I concur.”

“Then I suppose I should do as I have been instructed and have her father’s five hundred and sixty-two men waiting for her at Gray’s Inn come dawn.”

“That might be wise.”

He stopped scratching his neck and pulled at the mail irritably.  “Perhaps I should simply take them over to the inn tonight and be done with it. I shall let her worry about how she is going to house and feed over six hundred exhausted men.”

“I am not entirely sure that is fair to the men.”

De Russe was at the end of his part in the discussion.  He mounted his massive warhorse, scarred and muscular, and spurred the animal up the avenue where the hordes of men had gone. 

De Lara watched him go, thinking that perhaps he should follow. He was, after all, the man’s second in command, a position that few men could hold simply because de Russe did not allow anyone, man or woman, to get close to him.  He had known Dylan and his twin, Alex, for a few years and they all had much the same brooding, intense and courageous personalities.  In that respect, they could tolerate each other. It was enough to keep them bonded.

Mounting his big bay stallion, Dylan spurred the edgy horse off the
cog
and followed de Russe’s trail, heading into the heart of London.

CHAPTER TWO

Grey’s Inn was a popular place on the northern outskirts of London, a busy establishment with a very large main room and plenty of bodies to fill it. Now that the sun had set, it was full of the rabble of the city seeking shelter and comfort for the night. 

Ellowyn sat in front of the big window near the front door.  Her escort sat at tables surrounding her, for she would not let them sit with her.  She wanted to sit by herself and enjoy her meal in private. Presented with boiled beef, turnips and carrots, she had quite a feast. 

Wrapped up against the chill air snaking between the slats of the window, she unwittingly found herself in conversation in spite of her desire to remain alone. The head of her escort, seated at the table next to her, had mentioned something to his colleagues about de Russe, a comment that had fired up Ellowyn.  Now the old soldier found himself easing a woman who was fairly quick to temper. He’d made what he considered a fairly innocent comment and she flared.

“Nay,” Ellowyn snapped. “
You
do not understand. I care not of the man or his reputation.  What he did was… was inexcusable.”

“I am not excusing him, my lady,” he insisted calmly. “But in fairness, de Russe is a wealthy and powerful man. I am sure he has women approach him by the dozens. He simply thought you were one of the rabble.”

Ellowyn made a face, her lips twisted and her nose wrinkled, something her father called the ‘pickle snuff’. She’d been doing it since infancy and it was an expression she never outgrew. It was comical and animated, displaying her vast displeasure at something.

“That is an insulting presumption,” she said flatly. “You are intimating I look like a... a trollop.”

“I am not, my lady.”

She turned her back on him, obviously. “I will not speak to you any longer,” she sniffed, returning to her food. “You defend de Russe.”

The old soldier was trying not to smile, for Lady Ellowyn was feisty to the point of comedy.

“I do not, my lady,” he said steadily, casting a glance at his smirking companions. “I was simply attempting to ease your anger.”

“You did not ease it,” she said, still facing away from him. “’You have only made it worse. Now you are making me speak to you when I swore that I would not.  Go away and leave me alone.”

The old soldier stood up from the table, biting his lip to keep from grinning. “We will not be far if you need us, my lady.”

“Go far away,” she sniffed. “Go sleep in the stables. I do not want to see you again until morning.  Now, see what you have made me do? I am speaking to you again when I swore that I would not.  Go away from me
now
.”

She growled and smacked the table angrily.  The old soldier and his three companions vacated her presence lest she see them all laughing at her. They wound their way through the tables and bodies of the crowded room, filled with smoke and loud men.  They wouldn’t go too far, for they would not leave their lady without protection. But with the mood she was in this eve, the old soldier truly pitied the man who might try to accost her. He would come away missing an eye.

So they hovered near the stairs that led to the second floor of the inn, a rickety set of slats that were in need of repair.  The de Nerra escort tried to hide from her view but within minutes she spied them, lingering in the shadows, and her eyes widened with outrage.  She pointed the knife she was using for her bread at them, silent words of threat implied, so the lot of them ducked away and went out the back of the establishment.  They would head around to the front so they could watch her from the street.

Ellowyn watched her escort disappear into the back of the inn, satisfied they were finally leaving her alone.  She had spent far too much time with them already and they were annoying her.  Like dogs, the followed her around eagerly and she wanted no part of it. At least, not tonight. Tonight, she simply wanted to be left alone to eat and rest before they began their trip home tomorrow.

Her solitude was not to be. No sooner had her escort vacated the noisy establishment than an unwelcome visitor appeared.  Ellowyn smelled him before she even saw him, the scent of blood and sweat and disgust enveloping her like a fog.

“My sweet and lovely lady,” a man in well-worn chainmail plopped down in the chair opposite her. “Pray, are you traveling alone?”

Ellowyn frowned and pushed back from the table, eyeing the man.  He was a knight, not particularly young, with a ragged haircut and ratty beard.  He was unattractive and rather big. She tried not to let her irritation turn to fear.

“I did not ask for your company, sir,” she said.  “If you would please leave me alone, I would be grateful.”

The man merely smiled, showing his green-tinged teeth. “You should not be alone,” he said. “You are far too beautiful. There is no knowing what manner of rabble will try to molest you. You must have protection.”

“I
have
protection,” she said, waving the knife in her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Be gone before my protection returns and you are in serious danger.”

The man laughed. “Your escort went outside,” he gestured lazily towards the rear of the tavern. “I saw them myself. I have been watching you, sweetling. You are a very fine woman.”

He was tapping his head as if very clever and Ellowyn was starting to feel some apprehension.  She could sense his unsavory intentions and sought to think of a way out of the situation that would not end with her screaming for help. She was coming to seriously regret sending her escort away.

“I am not speaking of my escort,” she said, bluffing.  “They are not all of the protection I have and you would be wise to leave immediately.”

“Is that so?” the knight seemed interested. “Where is the rest of your protection, then?”

You had better make this good
, she told herself. Her bluff was getting bigger and bigger. “My husband is expected at any moment,” she said the first thing that came to mind. “Leave now and I will not tell him that you have seriously annoyed me.  Stay one moment longer and I will make sure he punishes you.”

The knight laughed again, boldly reaching for her wine cup and taking a big gulp. “If you are indeed married, then your husband is a fool for leaving you alone. He does not deserve you.”

Ellowyn did the only thing she could do. She stood up, moving away from the table.  The knight jumped up and grabbed her arm, causing her to take the knife she had been holding most of the evening and stab him in the hand with it.  It was purely a reflexive action, infused with fear and fury.  As she saw it, she was defending herself from an attack and had no qualms about using a weapon. That is, until she saw the look in the knight’s face.

She was coming to think that stabbing him in the hand had been a very, very bad idea.

CHAPTER THREE

“I do not have any preference where you bed them down,” de Russe was dismounting his big charger, pulling off his helm and propping it on his saddle. He was weary, and his weariness was translating into snappish behavior. “Bed them down in the street for all I care. These are de Nerra’s men and no longer my problem. Let his daughter worry about them.”

Dylan de Lara cocked a droll eyebrow at the man as he headed towards the front door of Grey’s Inn.  “I thought we decided that it was not fair to the men.”

“I changed my mind.”

Dylan merely shrugged. The entry to the inn was a crowded entry with those waiting for room to enter, now scattering as de Russe approached.  Even if they didn’t know who de Russe was, it didn’t matter, for there was no man in England with de Russe’s size and implied temperament.  With two words, he could make one feel as if Hell itself was approaching.  With two words, he could strike fear into the heart of anyone within earshot.

Most people within a reasonable radius of Grey’s Inn heard him snap at de Lara, a rumbling baritone that pierced the air like thunder.  Brandt was fumbling with his heavy mail gauntlets as he reached the door to the inn, shoving it open with an armored elbow.  He was looking for a particularly young woman, determined to dump five hundred and sixty-two worn and weary men on her doorstep.  He couldn’t be bothered by them anymore but, more than that, he couldn’t be bothered with
her
.  In hindsight, he hadn’t liked the way she had ordered him around earlier.  She had offended him, and he wanted to be done with the whole messy business.

The warm, stale air of the inn hit him like a slap in the face as he entered.  It smelled like burnt meat and unwashed bodies.  He had a perfect view of the entire room from where he stood, his hawk-like gaze scanning the area for either the barkeep or the woman in question.  It didn’t matter who he saw first, for the message would be the same – all five hundred and sixty-two men delivered as ordered. 

It was a crowded place and badly lit. He hadn’t taken five steps into the tavern when someone grabbed his wrist.  With an intolerant expression that only Brandt de Russe could adequately deliver, he looked to his left and was surprised to see the very woman he sought clutching his arm. It was Ellowyn de Nerra in the flesh and, for a split second, Brandt allowed himself to appreciate the sight of a truly beautiful woman. He just couldn’t help himself, realizing she was far more beautiful with the second encounter. But his momentary appreciation vanished and before he could open his mouth, Ellowyn spoke.

“Sweetheart, I am so glad you have arrived,” she said, through clenched teeth he was sure. “This... this knight has been harassing me and will not leave me alone. Perhaps your mere presence will cause him to flee in fear.”

She said it rather dramatically and, for a moment, Brandt was both puzzled and stumped.  But then he tore his quizzical gaze from the lady’s somewhat desperate features and noticed a heavily armored man standing a few feet away with a bloodied hand.  The knight pointed an accusing finger at Ellowyn.

“Is this your wife?” he demanded. “She
stabbed
me, the little cow. She has injured me.”

“I told you to go away,” Ellowyn shot back. “Had you not grabbed me, I would not have had to defend myself.”

“I did not hurt you!”

“But you grabbed me!” Ellowyn accused. “I never, at any time, gave you permission to touch me. Now that my husband is here, you had better run for your life.  Go, now, before he becomes enraged.”

There was a huge amount of conversation going on involving Brandt that he was not directly a part of. He simply stood there as Lady Ellowyn and some foolish knight shouted at each other.  More than that, Lady Ellowyn was sucking him into something he had nothing to do with.  Just as she had threatened him earlier, now she was in another confrontation with some other warrior. Perhaps it was habit with her, being aggressive with men she did not know.  Brandt thought it all rather odd, and rather ridiculous.

The knight, perhaps rightfully fearful of the lady’s sincerely enormous husband, took a few steps back but did not leave. He held up his bloodied hand for all to see.

“Your wife has injured my hand,” he nearly shouted at Brandt. “I demand compensation.”

That seemed to snap Brandt out of his stunned silence. “Compensation?” he repeated, distain in his tone. “Compensation for what?”

The knight jabbed a finger at Ellowyn. “Because of... of her, I may not ever be able to hold a sword again. This is my sword hand.”

Brandt cocked a dark eyebrow. “I see,” he said, feeling Ellowyn as she clutched his wrist. “What did you have in mind?”

The knight seemed to lose some of his aggression, looking between Ellowyn and Brandt. “Well,” he said after a moment. “One hundred crowns ought to do nicely, I think. That would keep me comfortable while I recover.”

Brandt’s eyebrows shot up. “One hundred crowns?” he echoed. Then he removed Ellowyn’s hands from his wrist and extended them towards the knight. “Take her instead. You can sell her to the highest bidder and regain your compensation.  Or you can simply have her work it off, for I am not paying you one hundred gold crowns.”

Both the knight and Ellowyn looked at him, shocked. Before the knight could reply, Ellowyn yanked her hands out of Brandt’s grasp.

“He cannot sell me,” she raged. “How dare you suggest such a thing.”

Brandt realized he was fighting off a grin as he faced off against a yet again very angry Ellowyn de Nerra.  He’d never seen her any other way and wasn’t hard pressed to admit he found it entertaining.

“I can do anything I wish,” he told her. “I am your husband, am I not? I am not paying that man one hundred gold crowns, so he can take you instead.  Perhaps next time you will think twice before assaulting a man.”

Ellowyn’s beautiful face turned shades of red. “You...,” she seethed, backing away from both Brandt and the knight. “You... you
barbarian
. You beast! I will not let you do this, do you hear? You have no right.”

Brandt bit his lip to keep from grinning, for he’d never in his life seen anyone so angry. “I have every right.  If I want to sell you, I will. You have been far too much trouble since the moment I met you so perhaps this will teach you a lesson. You will be his problem now, not mine.”

Ellowyn had backed into the table that contained the remains of her meal.  Infuriated beyond reason, she grabbed the first thing she could reach and hurled it at Brandt’s head.  The wooden wine cup went sailing through the air, barely missing him. As he bobbed out of the way, Ellowyn picked up the nearly empty pitcher of wine and slung it at the knight, hitting him squarely in the chest.  Wine sprayed everywhere, but there was no time to wipe it away, because now the fork was flying at them and the remains of the bread.  Whatever Ellowyn could get her hands on when flying at Brandt and, if she thought about it, the bloodied knight.  But mostly at Brandt; she was singling him out for a particular brand of hatred at the moment and he was going to feel her wrath.

Brandt couldn’t help the grin on his lips now. Lady Ellowyn was having a full-fledged tantrum and he ducked a platter as he made his way over to her.  The closer he got, the more furious she became.  By the time he reached her, she was trying to throw a stool but he yanked it out of her hands.  Bending at the waist, he tossed her up onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

“Call my wife a cow again and you forfeit your life,” he made a point of making eye contact with the foolish knight. “Consider the fact that you retain your life this night the only compensation you shall receive from me.”

The knight didn’t say a word, watching rather wide-eyed as Brandt carted the snarling lady out of the inn.  The last he saw, the big man had planted a trencher-sized hand on her bottom, causing her to howl.  They could hear her howling once or twice more outside.

Ellowyn was howling because his swat bloody well hurt.  She was not only in tantrum mode, she was also in panic mode. Brandt had her out in the street, marching across the muddy avenue as he spanked her soundly, not once but at least four times. She could hear men cheering and laughing, and it only served to fuel her agitation. 

Finally, Brandt moved to set her on her feet.  Realizing that he was releasing her, Ellowyn started smacking at him as he set her down, hitting him on his vulnerable ear and neck.  But Brandt didn’t react; he simply set her to her feet as she took a few more angry swings at him.

“You brute!” she hissed. “You... you uncivilized fiend! I will never forgive you for this, do you hear me?
Never!
”

Brandt drew in a long breath, still fighting off the grin that he had struggled with for the past few minutes. He crossed his massive arms calmly.

“Is it not exhausting being so aggressive all of the time?” he asked.

The comment only seemed to inflame her. “Beast! Monster! Son of a…!”

He cut her off, casually, losing the battle against the grin. “Are you finished?”

Ellowyn scowled. “Not by any stretch of the imagination,” she jabbed a finger at him. “I have met my share of infuriating and callous men, but you are the worst of the lot. What possessed you to do what you just did?”

“Do what?”

She threw up her hands. “Throw me over your shoulder like a... a....”

“Common wench?”

Now her eyebrows flew up in outrage. “Common?” she was turning red in the face; he could see it even in the moonlight. “Now I am
common
?”

“Given the behavior I have seen from you since the onset of our association, you have given me little else to go on,” he replied steadily. “Therefore, in response to your demands earlier today, I have delivered your father’s men as ordered.  You will find all of them over there to the left, by the livery stables, and none of them have been fed since earlier today.  I hope you have made arrangements to feed and shelter them until the morrow, because they are very weary and will not be able to make the trek back to Erith Castle in their present condition. They need food and rest, which you will now provide. Good evening to you, Lady Ellowyn.”

Ellowyn’s outrage fled in favor of genuine surprise and, if she were to admit it, apprehension.  She should have been wildly furious at his insult, but she could only seem to focus on the fact that he was literally dumping almost six hundred weary soldiers on her doorstep. 

“Wait,” she stopped him as he turned away from her. All of the agitation had disappeared from her tone. “I have no means with which to house and feed over five hundred men tonight. You were supposed to bring them to me tomorrow.”

“You were not clear on what time of day to return them to you,” he said. “I assumed you wanted them as soon as possible. Now you have them. Good eve to you.”

Ellowyn’s mouth popped open as she watched the enormous man turn on his heel and walk away from her. She was stunned but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. He had made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with her so to seek assistance from him was out of the question. 

She’s already made a fool out of herself in front of the man, and he had duly insulted her. Perhaps rightly so. She’d always had a temper, and a bit of a mouth as well, so mayhap he was entirely correct.

Certainly, they had gotten off to a very bad start.  He had ignored and then insulted her, and she had taken his head off for it.  If she thought very hard about it, he’d tried to apologize but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’d been too angry at the time. Damn her temper!

Exhausted, and now faced with a very large and unexpected problem that she had more or less brought down on herself, she couldn’t help the tears of exhaustion and despair that sprang to her eyes. 

Wearily, she planted her bottom on the edge of a stone watering trough, trying to figure out what she was going to do next.  It was growing late and she had no idea how she was going to feed and shelter all of those men.   She looked over to the inn, looking for a sign of her escort but noting instead that de Russe and another big knight were mounting their chargers.  So he really
was
leaving her with all of those exhausted men. Maybe she deserved it.

As Ellowyn floundered in self-pity, Brandt mounted his snappish charger and turned the beast around to return to the docks near the Thames where he had left the bulk of his army.  As he put his helm back on dark and sweaty head, he couldn’t help but noticed that Ellowyn hadn’t moved from where he’d dropped her.  In fact, she was sitting on the edge of a water trough, looking at her hands.

Brandt’s movements slowed as he gazed at her lowered head. Oddly, he was coming to feel some remorse.  She wanted her men back, so he had obeyed her wishes, only he had done it in a fairly vindictive fashion.  He knew very well that she wasn’t equipped to handle all of them this night, but he had brought them to her anyway. That had been his spiteful-self talking and he could indeed be spiteful when the mood struck him. Maybe he had been too harsh about it. 

He didn’t like feelings of remorse. He wasn’t a remorseful man by nature. His confusion trickled into brusque movements, which his charger sensed. The animal was feisty and exhausted, dancing nervously as they headed back the way they had come.  Brandt tried not to look at the lady as he rode past her, but a creeping sense of guilt was eating at him.