Lords of Darkness and Shadow (27 page)

“I am not going to fight you,” he finally said.

Deston’s helmed head cocked. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said; I am not going to fight you. Deston, this is foolish. You know I am going to kill you. I cannot and
will
not fight my wife’s father because of what it will do to her. Did you know she woke up weeping last night because she’d had a dream that you were dead?”

Deston faltered somewhat. “She has many dreams. That is not unusual with her.”

“So you would have me kill you in front of her and give her nightmares the rest of her life?  She is watching right now, you know.”

Deston’s head turned upward, towards the wall behind Brandt. “Where is she?”

Brandt turned around, scanning the wall until he caught a glimpse of a blond head with a scarf on it.  She was near the seam where the curtain wall met the gatehouse.  He pointed a massive finger in that direction.

“There,” he said. Then, he lifted his voice. “Ellowyn? Show yourself to your father.”

The men on the wall shifted and Ellowyn’s pale face came into view. She was wrapped in a deep blue surcoat and scarf, all wrapped up against the chill morning air.   Brandt’s gaze lingered on her, drawing strength from the sight, before returning his focus to Deston.

“Please do not make me kill you in front of her,” he muttered. “Go home, de Nerra. Go home and forget this foolishness.”

Deston flipped up his visor, his gaze fixed on his child.  His expression was wrought with longing.

“Wynny?” he called. “Come down from there.   I have come to take you home.”

Ellowyn boosted herself up so she could see him better. “I am
not
going home,” she called down to him. “I demand you stop this foolishness right now. You are making a spectacle of yourself and I am ashamed.”

The wistful expression on Deston’s face changed to one of irritation. “You shame me by running off with a man not worthy of you,” he bellowed, pointing his sword at her. “It was stupid!”

Ellowyn’s face disappeared.  Brandt kept searching for her on the battlements but she was nowhere to be seen until she suddenly appeared in the gatehouse, skirts gathered as she ran beneath the portcullis.  Dylan tried to grab her but she slapped him as she pulled free. 

“I will not embarrass myself further with a shouting match for all to hear,” she barked at her father, pointing a finger at him. “How dare you come here with an army to bring me home. If I’d wanted to stay home, I would have never gone with Brandt.”

She appeared as if she was headed for her father to punch him, so Brandt grabbed her before she could get near him.  He held on to her, fearful of what would happen if he let her go.

“How could you do this to me, Wynny?” Deston said, his control slipping now that he was faced with his daughter. “I cannot believe you would disobey me so.”

“And I cannot believe you would deny me the man I love!” Ellowyn shot back. “Think about what you are doing; even if you kill Brandt today and bring me home, I am still his wife. I am still the Duchess of Exeter, and this entire empire would be mine. You cannot take me back to the days when I was only your daughter.  Those days are gone forever. I am Brandt’s wife now and I love him, and it would make the situation so much better if you were simply to accept that and give us your blessing. I do not understand your reservation.”

Deston’s face was dark but his sword was still lifted, still in-hand. “He has done terrible things, Wynny. How could you love such a man?”

“I love you and you have done terrible things,” she countered swiftly. “You were a young man when Roger Mortimer and Isabella stole the throne from young King Edward.  Mama said you served Isabella and Mortimer, and when young Edward attacked Nottingham Castle and took Mortimer a prisoner, you turned on Mortimer and killed several of his personal guards so the king could be victorious.  That makes you a traitor, Da. That makes
you
terrible.”

Deston tried not to look too contrite. “Times were different then, lass,” he said, lowering his sword. “It was a much harsher time.”

Ellowyn shook her head. “It was
not
,” she said. “It was war and you did what you had to in order to survive.  That is what Brandt did, too. He does what he has to in order to survive.”

Deston shook his head. “He is
not
defending a king,” he pointed out. “He is simply furthering the claim of a greedy man.”

“If that is the case, then you are supplying him men for the cause. That makes you just as guilty as he is.”

Deston’s jaw ticked furiously.  He averted his gaze, wondering how this entire situation had veered so out of control.  He couldn’t surrender now, not when he had come so far.

“Do you not understand that I want something better for you?” he finally hissed, his hesitant gaze lifting to Ellowyn’s beseeching face. “You are meant for far better things in this world than a man who lives and breathes battle for a selfish young man.  I know that vocation all too well, for I was involved in something like it years ago.  You may be de Russe’s wife, but war will always be his mistress. You will have to share him.  Even now, he prepares to leave you for France.  You are not the most important thing to him, Wynny; Edward is. You will always be second.  I wanted something better for you than that.”

It was an extraordinarily valid point. Brandt heard it like hammer blows to his heart; he didn’t dare look at Ellowyn, mostly because they both knew it was true. He had never heard his life put into those terms before, but Deston was entirely correct.  It was a sickening realization.

“I understand your words,” Ellowyn replied, more subdued than she had been during the entire conversation, “but this is a choice I made. You must let me make my own decision and, if necessary, live with the consequences of my choice. I am a woman grown, Da; you must accept that.”

Deston drew in a long, deep breath. “I want you to come home with me, Wynny. De Russe is going to France as it is and you will more than likely never see him again.  I want you to come home with me now.”

Ellowyn frowned. “He is going to France and I am going with him,” she told him frankly. “Edward may hold his fealty but I hold his heart and he holds mine.  The only way that will change is if he is dead.”

“He
will
die,” Deston was growing heated again. “It is only a matter of time before he is dead and when that happens, I will take you home.”

Because he was growing angry again, so was Ellowyn. “I will
not
go home,” she said hotly. “Guildford is my home now.  If Brandt is dead, I will administer his dukedom in a manner that will honor him.  I will not run home to my father who only seeks to shame and demean me.”

Deston’s mouth fell open. “I do nothing of the sort,” he fired back. “You are a stubborn, willful wench, Ellowyn de Nerra. You disrespected and shamed your family when you ran off with de Russe. You are fortunate that I forgive you for that.”

They were back on the same old subject and Ellowyn would not be sucked into it.  She pulled free of Brandt’s grasp and took a few steps towards her father, shaking a finger at him.

“I do not care if you forgive me or not,” she told him sternly. “Go home. I do not want to see you here ever again. You are hateful and nasty, Da.  Go home and never return.”

Deston was starting to turn shades of red. “You cannot order me about, you little fool.”

Ellowyn put her hands on her hips. “I just did,” she snapped. “Go home.  I do not want to see you anymore. Everything I ever believed in, my father whom I loved so dearly, has all been a lie.  The father I knew and loved would have never hurt me this way. If you do not go home this second, I swear that any love I ever felt for you will be forever turned to hatred.”

Deston was struck with the devastating impact of her words.  He sensed the conversation was at an end and he was furious, shattered, and all things in between. He had never heard Ellowyn speak to him like that, not ever. It was de Russe’s doing, he was sure. The man had turned his loving, sweet daughter against him. He could hardly believe it. Rational thought gave way to irrational thought.  He had to eliminate what stood between him and Ellowyn; only then would things be right between them again.  De Russe had caused all of this and the man would pay.

With a growl, he brought his sword up again.  He was aiming for Brandt but Ellowyn heard the noise, saw what he was intending, and all she could think of was preventing it. She was deeply protective of Brandt, in any situation, and this was no different.  With a scream, she threw up her hands and charged at her father, putting herself between Deston and Brandt. 

Unfortunately, there was a sword between her and Deston, and it was the beloved and powerful sword of Braxton de Nerra that accidentally carved a searing path into the right side of Ellowyn’s torso.

It all happened so fast. Brandt saw Ellowyn rushing towards her armed father but he was unable to get to her in time. When he saw the blade pierce her torso, he shouted something; he wasn’t even sure what it was. All he knew was that it was a cry of pure anguish.  As he shouted his agony, a nervous St. Hèver archer thought it was a command to fire and let loose an arrow that hit Deston in the throat.  As Ellowyn went down with a sword wound, Deston slammed onto his back with a spiny arrow in his throat.

Chaos ensued.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Brandt stood at the lancet window in the master’s bower, his gaze moving out over the bailey of Guildford.  It was dawn and the eastern sky was turning shades of pink and purple as gray ribbons of clouds lingered on the horizon.  He thought he could smell rain but he wasn’t sure.

Behind him on the big bed, Ellowyn was sleeping heavily. She had been sleeping for nearly two days. The physic from Guildford, a thin wiry man by the name of Seever, had given her a poppy potion for the pain on the day of her injury that had knocked her out cold. He continued to give it to her every time she woke up, sending her back down into the black abyss of slumber where she would heal and forget the turmoil of her last lucid memories. Brandt was grateful for the merciful unconsciousness.

So much had happened since that fateful accident.  Deston’s lingering and gurgling death as his daughter lay in the dirt several feet away and witnessed the horror,  the painful hysteria of transporting his wife from the gatehouse to their second floor chamber, Ellowyn’s grief at her father’s passing, his own stunned grief at her injury… God, it had all passed in a blur.

As Ellowyn had lain wounded and sleeping, Brandt had tried not to drink too much simply to help him cope but that plan had seen multiple failures.  He wasn’t a weak man by nature, nor did he drink much, but seeing his wife gored with a broadsword had taken something out of him.

Seever had been summoned from the village because Brandt didn’t want his surgeon, a burly bear of a man, touching his wife. The old surgeon had a penchant for molesting young women and Brandt didn’t want to have to worry that the man was lusting over his wife.  So he had sent Stefan into town to retrieve the best physic he could find and the knight had returned with the lanky physic recommended by the priests and the man’s wife. The pair had sat with Ellowyn, tending her carefully under the duke’s watchful eye.  

As Brandt’s focus was on his wife, a knight by the name of le Mon had bundled up Deston’s corpse and made haste for Erith.  Brandt probably should have paid more attention to the care of Deston, but he couldn’t manage it. Not with Ellowyn so badly injured. Therefore, he consigned Deston’s fate to God and trusted le Mon to take him home… and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned.  He couldn’t invest any more time and emotion in it than that.

Now, at dawn of the third day, Brandt was emotionally and physically exhausted. He never left Ellowyn, not for a minute – not even when Alex de Lara returned the day after the incident with twenty five hundred men from the Duke of Carlisle and another eight hundred from his father’s ally, the Earl of Richmond.  Now, here were almost five thousand men swelling the bailey of Guildford and even at sunrise Brandt could smell the stench of too many men.  He knew his time was drawing short before he had to return to France because he had what he’d come for – men and support. But he also had a wife he didn’t want to leave.

“Brandt?”

He heard the softly uttered question, turning with a start to see that Ellowyn was awake.  She was watching him from her stew of pillows and blankets, and he quickly left his post by the window and went to her.

“Why are you awake?” he asked, concerned, as he sat on the bed and put a hand on her forehead to see if she was with fever. “You should be sleeping.”

She gazed up at him, groggy. “If the physic sees that I am awake, he will give me some of that damnable potion again and put me back to sleep,” she muttered. “Where is he?”

Brandt was relieved to see that she was without fever and he took her hand in his big one, kissing it. “He and his wife are sleeping,” he said softly. “They have not left you in two days. I told them to sleep and I would watch over you.”

Her groggy gaze turned warm. “I suspect you have not left me, either.”

He shook his head, whispering. “Nay.”

“Have you slept?”

“Not much.”

Ellowyn continued to gaze up at him, perhaps seeing the mighty Duke of Exeter through new eyes.  She knew he loved her. She knew he would do anything or her.  But the measure of devotion she was coming to see from him was something she could have never imagined.  Reaching up a weak hand, she gently touched his face.

“I will be well again very soon,” she promised. “Already, I can feel the wound healing. It does not pain me terribly.”

He kissed the fingers that lingered on his lips. “I am pleased to hear it.”

“I do believe I could sit up and take some nourishment.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am famished. Will you help me to sit up?”

He nodded, kissing her fingers again. “Of course I will,” he said as he stood up.  He began hunting around for pillows to prop her up with. “What do you feel like eating?”

Ellowyn shrugged. “Something warm,” she said. “Perhaps broth or gruel.  And bread with butter.”

He nodded as he reached out to take her hands. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Very gently, he pulled her up from the mattress, watching her make faces as her wound pained her.  Groans accompanied the effort. Eventually, she was sitting up enough so that he could wedge several pillows behind her back to support her. Ellowyn, however, was struggling not to become ill. She was pale and gray as she tried to get her balance.

“Oh, heavens,” she gasped. “I do not suppose I feel as well as I thought.”

He looked concerned. “Do you want to lie down again?”

She feebly shook her head. “Nay,” she said firmly.  “I would sit here a moment.  I shall be fine.”

He watched her with concern as she struggled to acclimate herself.  “Is your injury paining you?”

Again, she shook her head. “It hurts, but the pain does not consume me,” she said. “I can stand it.”

He adjusted her pillows carefully, trying to help her. “The physic said it did not cut anything vital and that it was not particularly deep,” he said. “We can be thankful for that.”

“Thankful indeed,” she grunted.  He was so busy fussing with her pillows that he didn’t notice she was tearing up.  “My father… where is he?”

He heard the weepy tone and stopped adjusting the pillows, looking her in the face.  He was immediately stricken with her sadness, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“I sent him home,” he told her softly, kissing her forehead even as he helped her wipe her tears. “I am so sorry you had to witness all of that, sweetheart, but I promise that we took care of him. Your father is on his way home, as he requested.”

She sobbed softly. “What happened?” she begged. “Why was he fired upon?”

He sighed heavily, thinking back to that moment in time when Deston lay on the ground drying and Ellowyn lay several feet away, screaming as her father bled to death in front of her.  Brandt’s only concern had been Ellowyn at the moment and not the mechanics of what had happened. He didn’t care why, only that it had. But he had certainly found out after the fact what had happened. Now, it was time for Ellowyn to know.

“It was an accident,” he said quietly. “When your father advanced, the archers thought I gave a battle command.  It was a nervous mistake and nothing more.”

She looked up at him with her big watery eyes. “So they killed my father?” she whispered. “I tried to stop him… he was going to kill you, Brandt. I could not let him do it.”

His jaw ticked with sorrow as he cupped her head in his big hand, pulling her cheek to his lips to comfort her. She had every right to be distraught.  But, then again, he was fairly distraught himself. He’d spent two days living that moment over and over again, astonished that Ellowyn would put herself in danger to save him. He was having difficulty accepting that someone other than a loyal knight should be so devoted to him.  His knights were loyal out of respect to him and respect to their oath; she was devoted purely out of love.

“I am the most fortunate man on earth,” he said after a moment. “That you should try to protect me with your life, Ellowyn… I do not know what to say except how fortunate I feel to have such devotion. But he could have killed you.”

Ellowyn didn’t reply; she was still weeping softly, wiping at her cheeks, and he left her long enough to find a kerchief among the goods strewn about the room and bring it back to her.  She wiped her face off

“If given the chance, I would do the same thing again,” she said softly. “I could not let him kill you. I will not let anyone kill you.”

“You are very brave.”

She shook her head, fixing him in the eye. “I am not brave,” she said. “I am in love with my husband and there is nothing I would not do for him, even if it cost me my life.”

He stroked her head with a big hand. “As I said,” he whispered, “I am the most fortunate man on earth.”

Ellowyn smiled weakly, blowing her nose and wiping off the remainder of her tears.  It was evident that she was attempting to regain her composure.  But the tears weren’t finished yet.

“Dear God,” she sighed, gazing up to the ceiling, the window, as if seeing things beyond. “What is my mother going to say? She will be crushed.  And my grandmother… I cannot even fathom what she will be feeling.”

He watched her a moment. “Do you want to return home?”

Her head snapped to him, eyes wide with surprise. “Home?” she repeated. “Why would you ask that?”

He shrugged. “To tend to your mother and grandmother in the wake of your father’s death,” he said softly. “If you wish to return to Erith, I will send you with an escort.”

She cocked her head. “You will not go with me?”

He sighed heavily, again, and moved towards the lancet window that overlooked the bailey.  The day was cool and breezy at dawn as the men below were already awake and going about their affairs.

“Alex returned yesterday with over three thousand men,” he said. “I have what I returned to England for; I have men to support Edward’s war in France. There is no longer any reason for me to remain here.  I would be happy to send you back to Erith to stay with your mother and grandmother, but I must return to France.”

Ellowyn stared at him. “Just like that?” she asked. “With everything that has happened and everything we have said to each other, you would leave me behind without a second thought?”

He turned to look at her. “It is not how you make it seem,” he said, rather perplexed that she should seem so emotional when they’d had the same conversation a dozen times. “Of course I do not want to leave you, but I certainly cannot take you with me. I….”

“Why not?”

He shook his head firmly, leaning up against the windowsill. “We have been over this subject, Wynny,” he said. “You know why I cannot take you.”

“But I do not want to go to Erith. I want to go with you.”

“You cannot.”

Emotional, exhausted, and wounded, she burst into angry tears, falling over on the bed and sobbing into the pillows that surrounded her. Then she screeched somewhat when her wound pained her from the sudden movement. Brandt came away from the window and went to the bed, trying to soothe her.  She was lying awkwardly and he carefully gathered her up and tried to move her, but she cried out in pain when he tried so he simply left her.  His big hand stroked her hair.

“Please do not do this,” he begged softly. “Please do not upset yourself so. You know I must go and you cannot go with me. Why do you torment yourself so?”

She wept pitifully. “My father is dead,” she sobbed. “Now you would leave me. I will be all alone.”

“You will not be alone if you return to Erith,” he reminded her gently. “You will be with your mother and grandmother.”

“Please do not leave me,” she cried, acting as if she had not heard him. “I am afraid that this heaven that we have known, this bliss that has become everything to me, will cease to exist once you are gone and will never be the same.  When you return again, we will be as strangers and perhaps things will be different, and if you do not return at all, I do not want my news of your death to be delivered by cold and unfeeling men who have no regard for the love you and I share. Please, Brandt… I beg you… take me with you.”

He sighed sadly; unfortunately, he was feeling himself relent. He had been now for some time.  It was true that he had many properties in France and it was true that she could live there and he could see her far more often than if she remained behind in England.  Aye, he wanted her with him. He wanted her more than he would admit.  He struggled to make one last stand against the pleading that was breaking down his walls like a battering ram.

“Wynny, I cannot,” he whispered. “All of France is in turmoil. It is no place for you.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Then it is true,” she wept. “What my father said is true. War is your mistress and Edward is more important than I am.”

“That is
not
true.”

“Aye, it is,” she nearly screamed at him. “If it were not true, you would ensure that we were never apart.  But your prince, and your wars, are by far more important than I am. What a fool I was to think a declaration of love would change all of that.  You are a warrior, Brandt, and a husband second.  That pains me more than you will ever know and if I mean no more to you than that, I may as well return to Erith.”