Lords of Darkness and Shadow (28 page)

He looked like a beaten dog. “You told your father that you would stay here and administer my lands,” he reminded her softly.

The hand flew away from her face, the pale eyes blazing. “I will
not
stay here and be reminded of my loneliness at every turn,” she snapped. “I will go home to my mother and grandmother, and try not to think of my husband who thinks less of me than his horse.  At least his horse gets to go to France.”

It would have been a comical and petulant statement had he allowed himself to think so, but he couldn’t because Ellowyn was off on a crying tangent. Brandt gazed down at her, feeling incredible sadness and guilt. He just stood there, looking at her, listening to her sobs and feeling more turmoil than he had ever felt in his life. He was a man of strong decisions and a firm mind, never one to be swayed by another and certainly never one to be swayed by a woman.  But this wasn’t just a woman; this was his wife whom he loved with all his heart. He didn’t want to leave her, either.

As Ellowyn eventually cried herself to sleep, Brandt stood over the bed, lost in thought.  He was coming to think that somehow, someway, his battles with Edward were no longer the most important thing to him.  It was more that the prince’s warfare was all he knew; it was his life, his vocation. 

King Edward had personally asked Brandt to control and manage young Edward’s wars in France because he knew that Brandt de Russe was a lord of war from a long line of warlords. The de Russe family was well known for breeding the biggest and the meanest and the best.   The Prince of Wales was young and rash at times, and de Russe was the perfect balance with his wisdom and strength. It had been a perfect partnership until the moment Brandt knocked Ellowyn into the water trough outside of Gray’s Inn. 

After that, everything changed.

***

“My lady, I must state quite clearly that the duke will be furious if he discovers you have left the castle,” Brennan said. “More than that, he will be furious with me for enabling such a thing. I beg you to reconsider.”

Five days after her encounter with a sword, Ellowyn was on her feet.  She was moving very stiffly, but at least she was moving.  Dressed in a mustard-colored silk surcoat with an eggshell-colored shift beneath, she looked radiant except for the smudge of dark circles beneath her eyes.  It was the only outward appearance that she had suffered a brush with violence.  

As Brennan spoke the words, she eyed the stiff young knight. “He is off doing things that are more important to him,” she said briskly.  “I had the servants help me pack this morning. I am going to Erith today and I want you to take me.”

Brennan was in over his head; he knew that already.  “Lady de Russe, I have many pressing duties to attend to today,” he told her. “Although it would be a great privilege, I cannot escort you to Erith.”

Ellowyn looked at him as if he had just grievously insulted her; her emotions, aggravated by her injury, had been raging over the past couple of days since Brandt had told her he planned to return to France right away and refused to take her with him.  She had convinced herself that he had lied to her when he told her that he loved her.  A man couldn’t love his wife and then leave her behind as far as she was concerned. 

Her father had been correct; she would always be second to Brandt’s ambition and devotion to the Prince of Wales.  She felt demeaned, humiliated, and terribly hurt.  She just wanted to go home with the people who truly loved her. She needed to tell her father, who would surely be in his grave by then, how sorry she was for everything.

Perhaps that was the crux of the entire situation; had she not run away with Brandt, Deston would more than likely still be alive so, in a sense, she killed her father.  Her guilt was great, perhaps great enough to taint her views on Brandt.  He had expressed fear once that she would change her mind about him if he had killed her father and she assured him that nothing would change. Perhaps she had been wrong, about a lot of things.

“Very well,” she snapped. “If you cannot do it, then I will ask you to find someone who can. If you cannot find anyone by the nooning meal, I will leave on my own. Do you understand?”

Brennan was quite aware that he was being bullied. “Aye, my lady, but I must tell your husband what you have asked of me.”

She shook finger at him “If you tell him, I shall never forgive you or trust you again, Brennan St. Hèver . You will promise me that you will not say anything to him at all.”

He shook his head but took a step towards the door as he did so. “I regret that I cannot make that promise, my lady.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you would violate my trust in you?”

“I mean to tell you that I am sworn to your husband, my lady, and it is Lord de Russe that I answer to. If he found out that I aided you on a flight from Guildford, he would have my head.”

Furious, Ellowyn pointed imperiously at the door. “Out!” she commanded. “I will find someone else I can trust!”

Brennan moved swiftly for the door, a rather comical sight because it looked as if the man was truly afraid of the very angry lady.  Once outside the door, he breathed a sigh of relief but made haste to locate Brandt.

A perusal of the entire castle had not turned him up. Dylan was missing, too.  Le Bec, who had the watch upon the wall, could only tell him that de Russe and de Lara had ridden off towards the town but he didn’t know any more than that.  He suspected that the duke had ridden south to Godalming to a smaller castle inhabited by the wealthy and refined Lady Catteshall, because the woman was wildly wealthy.  Part of his mission for the prince was to seek monetary support, and the knights suspected he was doing just that.

Surprisingly, Lady Catteshall had a damn good army of three hundred men and owned a great deal of land, and she ruled the province perhaps more than Brandt did. She was very respected and very generous.  Nervous about Lady de Russe, Brennan remained upon the wall, watching anxiously for Brandt’s return.

Unfortunately for Brennan, Lady de Russe sent for her carriage just before noon.  He knew this because he saw the thing brought around from the stables, pulled by the two fine gray horses.  Just as he was preparing to descend the wall to prevent Lady de Russe from leaving by any means necessary, including throwing himself down in front of the carriage, Stefan sighted incoming riders.   There was a small group approaching from the south and one of the sentries, with particularly good eye sight, was convinced it was Brandt.  The shout went out and the race against time was on.

Brennan came down from the wall and went to intercept the carriage.  As he drew close, he could see movement at the top of the motte as Lady de Russe made an appearance. She had three out of the four female servants with her, carrying satchels and sacks with them as they carefully made their way down the motte steps. 

Brennan was watching, feeling the distinct onset of panic. Once Lady de Russe loaded the carriage, there would be nothing to truly stop her from leaving unless Brennan made himself a human sacrifice before the whip-driven horses.  His mind moved quickly, trying to think of a way to delay her until her husband arrived. 

One of the gray horses shifted and kicked, and his attention was drawn to the hitching mechanism that connected the harnesses to the coach.  A thought occurred to him; keeping his eyes on Lady de Russe as she descended the stairs, he edged his way over to the harness and, casually, reached down and plucked out the pin that held it all together.  Using the iron pin, he poked one of the horses in the butt hard enough to cause the animal to bolt, and the entire rig pulled apart.

The coach staggered sideways as the team stumbled off.  Soldiers and grooms went running after them, corralling them, as Ellowyn, now at the base of the motte, looked on in concern.  Brennan pretended to be concerned as well, trying not to look at Lady de Russe as she wondered what had happened to her coach and team.  In fact, he ignored her even as she began to load her own baggage into the cab. 

When she wasn’t looking, he slipped around to the oppose side, popped open the door, and unloaded her baggage from the other side.  Then he would slip it under the cab where she had set all of her bags to be loaded.  Ellowyn ended up loading the same bags at least three times before she thought something was amiss, and by that time, the gates of Guildford were opening for the returning duke.

Brandt thundered into the bailey alongside Dylan and with two other horses following close behind. The first thing he saw as he rode into the bailey was his wife’s carriage near the motte, which both surprised and concerned him. The doors were open and as he drew closer through the crowds of men, he could see two of the female servants near the coach and baggage on the ground. Then, he saw his wife.

Clad in a rich wool surcoat of mustard yellow and wearing a deep blue cloak, she looked magnificent.  He allowed himself a moment simply to gaze upon her because she really hadn’t spoken to him since that day she accused him of loving warfare more than he loved her. He’s wrestled with her statement for a full day until that morning when he decided to do something about it. 

He’d gone to see Lady Catteshall because he knew she could help him.  He’d been rather excited to return to Guildford and let Ellowyn in on his decision, but the longer he gazed at her, the more he began to realize that something was amiss. The baggage near the carriage was hers and she had absolutely no interest in making eye contact with him. Spurring his charger through the crowds, he roared up to the coach.

Ellowyn was hit by flying pebbles when Brandt’s steed came to a clumsy halt.  Grunting with annoyance, she brushed a few flecks of dirty off her cloak as she turned towards the offender.  Realizing it was her husband, she stiffened when their eyes met before swiftly turning away.

“What is all of this?” Brandt demanded as he dismounted his sweaty steed. When his wife kept her back turned to him, he grew irritated. “Ellowyn, I am addressing you. What is all of this?”

She turned to him, a look of defiance and stubbornness on her face. “I am returning to Erith as I said I would,” she told him coldly. “I will find my own escort so you do not have to trouble yourself.”

He just stared at her. Nearly two days of her surly, somber attitude and bouts with the silent treatment had his emotions surging.  He was frustrated and he was angry. More than that, he was hurt. He’d never been hurt before. Reaching out, he snatched her by the hand.

“You are coming with me,” he growled.

Ellowyn immediately started to fight him. “Let me go,” she demanded, trying to pull away. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

Brandt didn’t want to hurt her; her injury was still paining her and he didn’t want to cause her any more agony, but he was genuinely furious.  He swooped down on her and picked her up.

“This will end now,” he rumbled.

He carried Ellowyn, kicking and struggling, all the way up to the keep.  She beat her hands against his plate armor, demanding he put her down, but he wouldn’t listen to her.  By the time he got her into the keep, she had torn her surcoat in her struggles and her carefully braided hair was unraveling.   He set her on her feet when they reached his solar.

Ellowyn twisted her way from his grip as he tried to put her down and ended up straining her injured torso.  She hissed in pain, pressing a hand against the wound as she staggered away from him.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded. “How dare you handle me like a common wench!”

He stood by the entry to make sure she couldn’t escape. “How dare you behave like one,” he fired back quietly. “You are the Duchess of Exeter.  Your recent behavior does not suit that position.”

Ellowyn scowled. “I do not know what you mean,” she said. “You told me I could return home. I am doing that.”

He faced her, hands on hips, jaw ticking. “Wynny, I am not entirely sure how the mood between us has deteriorated so, but it will end now,” he said, struggling to calm. “I do not like it when you ignore me. I realize the past few days have been disruptive to say the least, but you are taking all of your frustration out on me.  Is that fair?”

Ellowyn’s features relaxed somewhat as she considered the question. After a moment, she appeared to deflate.  Her gaze lowered.  Then, she turned away from him, hand resting gingerly on her injured torso.

“You are going to France,” she said with a shrug. “You said yourself that I should go back to Erith.”
“I
asked
you if you wanted to return to be with your mother and grandmother,” he said. “I never told you to return to Erith. Furthermore, while you have been stomping around like a petulant child and ignoring me at every turn, I have been busy making arrangements for my return to France, the plans of which now include you.”

It took her a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, she whirled to face him, eyes wide with astonishment.

“
Me
?” she gasped. “I am going with you?”

He put his hands on his hips. “I should just as well leave you here for all of the tantrums you have exhibited over the past few days.”

She could see that his irritation was real.  His mood tempered her joy with uncertainty. “Then why did you decide to bring me?”

He lost some of his irritation. “Because… oh, hell, I suppose it is because your words the other day meant something to me,” he said. “You must understand that until recently, all I knew was war. It is in my blood. But somehow, someway, you are in my blood now, too. You have shown me a life I never knew existed, Wynny. You are my wife and you are the most important thing in the world to me.  When I return to France, it is because I said I would. It is not because my heart is in it.  That particular part of me seems to belong to you.”