Lords of Darkness and Shadow (25 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Deston de Nerra hadn’t gone on a battle march with his troops in almost twelve years. His failing health and diseased joints had seen to that, crippling him to the point of inactivity. But this march was different; Ellowyn had been abducted as far as he was concerned and he would regain her no matter what the cost. She was the only child he had left that was worth anything, so he would stop at nothing to regain her. Not even his mother could stop him.

Aye, she had confessed her role in Ellowyn’s abduction. Lady Gray was not one to lie or shy from her responsibilities, and she had confessed everything the day after de Russe’s army fled with Ellowyn as their prize.  Gray had spent the entire day discussing the situation with her son and trying to convince him that Ellowyn and Brandt were better off together, but Deston would not listen. He wanted his daughter home, with him, and not as the concubine of the Black Angel. It seemed that de Russe’s reputation was all he was fixated on.   Brandt de Russe ceased to be an alliance that Deston was proud of and became instead an obsession for his shame. The obsession grew worse by the hour.

So he scrambled his army in spite of his mother’s protests and departed four days after Ellowyn’s abduction. He had also sent word ahead to an allied lord for troop reinforcements; Gareth le Mon of Clun Castle had been allied with Deston’s father, so the man provided an additional four hundred men to Deston.  They were waiting for him on the road as he traveled south, and with the blended de Nerra and le Mon armies there were almost fifteen hundred men. It was a sizable force.

Deston and le Mon’s son, Dallan le Mon, drove the big army south.  Dallan had seen his twenty-seventh year and was married with one child and another child on the way, and wasn’t particularly happy to be on a vengeance mission.  He was a big, handsome man with a quick wit about him, and Deston took to him fairly quickly.  He was always attaching himself to men that were his son’s age as if they were surrogate replacements.

Dallan knew the basic reason behind their march to Guildford Castle but he had shown extreme reluctance to lay siege to the Duke of Exeter. Everyone knew the man was the Black Angel and Dallan had argued with his father endlessly over attacking a man who was part of a larger war machine.

Ultimately, Gareth had committed resources to Deston’s cause so Dallan went along to make sure Deston, the emotional father, wasn’t too reckless with his actions.  Dallan didn’t want to lose more men than was absolutely necessary.

Guildford Castle was a massively formidable bastion.  Deston had never seen it, and neither had Dallan, so laying eyes upon the soaring walls and massive motte of the fortress set them both back a bit. There were moats within moats, walls within walls, and everything about it reeked of power.  

From a distance, Deston and Dallan had observed the soaring gray-stoned walls of the keep and the curtain wall that had to be at least four times a man’s height.  Nearing sunset, the golden rays of the sun warmed the stone, creating an almost glowing effect.   The gates were closed and men were upon the walls, watching them suspiciously. The scent of battle was in the air, making them all edgy.  Dallan finally turned to Deston.

“What will you do, my lord?” he asked, rather ironically. “Shall we burn it down now or wait until the morning?”

It was a sarcastic question, one that had Deston casting the man a withering glare. He hadn’t expected Guildford Castle to present such a difficult target.  In pain, exhausted, he shook his head irritably.

“Settle the men,” he barked. “I will speak with de Russe before this night is out. Perhaps he will understand the folly of what he has done and we can come to an agreement.”

Dallan was coming to think this truly was a fool’s venture, served by the pride of an embittered old man. He reined his horse around, shouting orders to the men as he thundered back into the column and leaving Deston alone, staring at the soaring walls of Guildford and wondering if he would ever see his daughter again.

***

“He wishes to speak with you, my lord.”

Brandt heard the quiet statement.  Seated in his solar on the first level of Guildford’s keep, he glanced up at Dylan, standing in the doorway.  Torchlight flickered and the glow from the burning hearth cast shadows all around the room.  Sitting up from where he had been hunched over a well-worn map of England exquisitely etched on vellum, he stretched out his big legs.

“Who does?”

“De Nerra, my lord.”

Brandt paused before replying. “De Nerra has brought a sizable army with him.”

“He is reinforced with troops from the Lords of Clun.  His messenger was more than happy to inform us of that.”

Brandt thought on that a moment, folding his big arms across his chest.  As he pondered the offer, the situation in general, the fire snapped softly and one of the dogs left behind by Arundel wandered over for a pet.  Brandt, being rather fond of dogs, obliged the lanky, hairy beast.  He stroked the dog pensively.

“Greetings, Dylan,” Ellowyn said, interrupting the silence.  She came off the narrow spiral stairs with a cloak or blanket of some sort in her arms and headed for one of the chairs near Brandt. “Any vital news to report from the war front?”

It was a rather quippy question, one that had Dylan giving her a half-grin. “Nothing of note, my lady,” he said, eyeing Brandt. “I have simply come to relay a message to your husband.”

She sat in the chair and spread out the blanket, which he noticed was something she was knitting.  She had a big ball of woolen yarn, colored a dark blue, and she had a single very large needle with which she was looping the material with. She seemed very calm for a woman who had a hostile army at her front door, but Dylan suspected it was because Brandt was here to keep her company.  He also suspected Brandt was here to keep her from running off to talk with her father.  The man had left the walls of Guildford hours ago and had not returned since, unusual for the normally hands-on commander.

“A message?” she repeated curiously as she straightened out her yarn. “From whom?”

Brandt looked over at her. “Your father,” he said. “It seems he wishes to speak with me.”

She stopped fumbling and looked at him with wide eyes. “
I
will speak with him,” she told him. “Brandt, the only conversation he wishes to have with you is one full of threats.  He will not do that to me. Please allow me to speak with him and inform him of the situation.”

Brandt sighed heavily. He knew she would question him again about speaking with her father and he’d been thinking for the better part of the evening on how to dissuade her.  The problem was that he really couldn’t think of a solid reason why she shouldn’t and he realized he was seriously considering her request.  Still, his pride stood in the way. He ultimately shook his head.

“That would be the coward’s way,” he told her quietly. “What man would send his wife to do his talking for him? Nay, sweetheart, I will speak with your father face to face and explain the way of things.”

She grunted in frustration. “Would you not wish for a peaceful end to all of this?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then you must let me speak with him. You will only upset him.”

Brandt gave her a disbelieving glance before returning his attention to Dylan. “Tell Deston I will speak with him,” he replied. “But I will set the terms - we will meet at the gatehouse in one hour.”

Dylan bowed and silently quit the keep.  Brandt watched the man go, thinking on the conversation he would have with Deston, when he caught sight of his wife from the corner of his eye. 

Ellowyn was staring at him, her big needle in hand.  Her expression was one of disapproval.

“It is not cowardly to want a peaceful end to this,” she said quietly. “I do not want to see you hurt and I do not want to see my father hurt. There are many men out there with sharp weapons and if I can end this without a drop of blood being shed, I will happily do so. Why do you resist me?”

He shook his head. “Why must we discuss this again?” he asked. “Do you think me so weak that I must have my wife do my talking for me?”

She appeared rather taken aback. “Of course not,” she said softly. “But if I can help….”

“If I want your help, I will ask,” he said, rather sternly. “But if I do not, you will kindly cease badgering me.”

A frown appeared on her delicate features. “I do not badger.”

“Aye, you do.”

The frown deepened. “If I do, it is because you are hard-headed and stubborn.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up. “I will not have this discussion with you,” he said, moving for the plate armor he had removed a few hours before, perched as they were on a frame near the door.  “You will stay to this keep until I come for you. If you do not, I will catch you and lock you in a room. Mayhap I will even throw away the key. I do not like to be constantly questioned as if you do not trust me and I will like it even less if you disobey me. Do you comprehend?”

Still frowning, now feeling scolded, Ellowyn dropped her face and focused on the knitting in her lap.  She kept her mouth shut as Brandt silently donned his plate armor and strapped on his weapons.  When he was finished, he came over to her as she sat by the fire with the great half-knitted cover on her lap.

“Give me a kiss,” he said, bending over. “I will return as soon as I can.”

She turned her face petulantly and he ended up kissing her cheek.  Fighting off a grin, he could see that she was pouting.

“You will be sorry you did that,” he told her as he moved for the door. “What if I am struck down by lightning in the bailey?  What if the earth opens up to swallow me as I move down the motte? You will be very, very sorry that you did not kiss me farewell.  You will regret being so terrible to me.”

By now, Ellowyn was trying not to grin at his dramatic account of the dangers awaiting him outside, none of which had anything to do with an impending battle.

“Nay, I will not,” she said callously, focused on her yarn. “If you are struck down or swallowed up, it will be God’s way of punishing you for being so mean to me.”

He stopped at the door, his eyebrows lifted. “
I
am mean?” he repeated, feigning outrage. “Madam, you have a twisted sense of perception. Are you going to kiss me or not?”

She lifted her gaze, fixing him in the eye. “Why should I?”

“Because you love me. You said so yourself.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I can love you and still be annoyed with you.”

“Nay, you cannot. Come here, you silly wench.  Kiss me.”

She indicated the heavy blanket on her lap. “I cannot,” she said. “You must come back over here if you want a kiss.”

He stomped back over to her, so loudly that the dogs began to bark.  Then he growled as he swooped down on her, listening to her squeal as he nibbled her ear, her neck.  She giggled uncontrollably as his nibbles turned to kisses, and his mouth eventually slanted hungrily over hers.   Ellowyn responded eagerly to him and the knitting needle fell to the floor.

“The next time you do not kiss me on demand, I shall not return for a second attempt,” he murmured rather lustily. “You will obey me the first time, do you hear?”

She grinned at him slyly, causing him to kiss her hard enough to snap her head back.   She gasped, and giggled, as he nibbled her lips, her cheeks, and her face. It was a sweetly tender moment yet wholly passionate moment.

“I hear you,” she whispered.

“Hear me and obey.”

“I will.”

“For how long?”

She giggled again.  “At least until you leave the keep.”

With a grin, he kissed her again and made his way to the keep entry, turning to glance at her before he left.  She was illuminated by the firelight and the torch in the room, giving her an ethereal quality. Brandt had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, reiterating the fact that she was indeed worth fighting for.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he had his suspicions.

***

“You
married
her?”

Brandt couldn’t understand why Deston was genuinely shocked.  It was a struggle not to sound sarcastic in response.

“I told you I wanted to marry her,” he said steadily. “Did you truly think I would not?”

Standing in Guildford’s great gatehouse, separated by the lowered portcullis, Deston and Brandt faced each other.  Knights stood around both men, in the shadows as silent and deadly support, while torches burned hot and dense, sending black oily smoke against the low ceiling.  Brandt held a torch simply so he could see in the darkness, but Deston was somewhat obscured by the blackness. It was difficult to see the man very well; even so, he could still see the outrage on his face. 
This is not going well already
, Brandt thought.

That was an understatement.  As he watched, Deston’s face turned shades of red, even in the darkness.

“I told you that I did not want you for my daughter,” he snarled. “You had no right to take her.”