“My lady?” the sergeant called to her as she began to lose herself in the crowed. “You must wait for us, my lady!”
Ellowyn heard his words but she ignored them. She was nearing the ships and resolved to speak with de Russe, as instructed by her father. She had a message to deliver and was determined to be done with it so they could return to the cool green fields of Cumbria. She’d been on the road for weeks and was longing for home.
She wound her way through the crowds standing along the smelly wharf, dodging soldiers and wagons as they off-loaded, until she finally came to the edge of the water. Being rather short, she had to stand on one of the many tarred logs that were sunk deep into the shore, logs that the big ships would anchor on to so they wouldn’t drift back out into the river.
Over the heads of others, she could see an enormous warrior standing with his equally enormous charger, watching the last of the men trickle off the boat. She jumped off the anchor log as her escort struggled to catch up to her. She made haste for the knight with the well-worn armor.
“My lord?” she called, gathering up her heavy skirts so she wouldn’t drag them through a huge puddle of horse urine. “My lord, are you de Russe?”
The warrior was speaking with another man in used and dented armor. He heard Ellowyn approach and he turned to look at her. He was without his helm, his cropped hair as black as night and square-jawed, chiseled features holding a handsome edge. However, his eyes were the most noticeable, smoke-colored and intense beneath intelligently arched brows. His gaze lingered on Ellowyn a moment before, without answering, turning back to the conversation at hand.
The man had completely ignored her. Struggling not to become incensed, Ellowyn came up beside him and tried again.
“My lord?” she said politely. “Are you the duke?”
The man acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He continued talking to the knight next to him. Coming to understand now that he was deliberately ignoring her, Ellowyn’s patience began to fracture.
“My lord de Russe?” she didn’t sound so polite. “If you would kindly address me, I would be grateful.”
The knight did nothing more than turn a calculated back to her. Ellowyn found herself staring at the backside of the biggest man she had ever seen. She was perhaps a little over five feet in height, but the knight with his back to her was easily three times her size and well over a foot taller. Standing next to him, her head came to his sternum at the most, and the circumferences of the fists resting upon his hips were nearly as large as her head. She took a moment to inspect the man, but his tremendous size did nothing to deter her rising irritation.
“My lord,” she said shortly, reaching out to thump him on his mailed arm. “I require your attention.”
He didn’t respond. He continued to focus on the man beside him. Infuriated, Ellowyn walked around him and thrust herself in between the two men. Her angry face scowled into his dark eyes.
“You will not ignore me,” she commanded. “I have come on behalf of….”
The colossal knight cut her off. “Be gone, wench,” he rumbled. “Although you are pleasing to the eye, I have no use for you.”
Ellowyn’s mouth popped open in outrage. “You will not speak to me as if I am a common trollop,” she fired back. “I have business with you.”
The knight did nothing more than reach out and push her away. He’d really only meant to brush her aside but with his strength and her diminutive size, he ended up knocking her onto her arse.
Ellowyn ended up in the puddle of urine she had tried so hard to avoid and she bolted up, muddied and dirty, and pushed her way between the men with more determination than before. When the knight wouldn’t look at her, she hammered a fist against his dented breastplate.
“Touch me again and you shall suffer the consequences,” she hissed. “My name is Ellowyn de Nerra and you have eight hundred of my father’s men under your command. My father has sent me with a message for you.”
That got his attention. The warrior looked at her, perhaps more closely this time, although his stone-like expression didn’t register as much.
“You are de Nerra’s daughter?” he asked.
Ellowyn was so angry that she was shaking. “I am,” she seethed, “and when I tell my father how you have shown me such disrespect, he will cease all ties with you, I am sure.”
The warrior could see how furious she was. “Lady Ellowyn, had you told me who you were at the first, I would not have had cause to cast you aside,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. “You did not identify yourself.”
“And this is how you treat every woman who does not identify herself? Are you so grand and glorious that you feel yourself head and heart above the rest of the world?”
He didn’t rise to her anger, although he had to admit, it had been a long time since he had faced such fury. No one dared show him any emotion other than blind obedience, but this small and quite beautiful woman was different. She had much courage. Her anger threatened to bring a smile to his impassive lips, but he fought it.
“I thought you were a whore,” he said bluntly. “What message does your father have for me?”
If she had been outraged before, his forthright reply set her to fuming. Her delicately arched eyebrows flew up.
“Do I look like a whore?” she nearly shouted.
He felt that odd urge to smile again. “Nay, my lady, you do not,” he thought perhaps he’d better make some attempt to ease her before she exploded in all directions. “As I said, you did not identify yourself and….”
She waved a sharp hand at him. “Bite your tongue,” she barked. “Listen to me and listen well. My father wants all of his men rested and ready to return to Erith Castle immediately. He expects a full accounting of how many men he has lost and expectations as to when he can expect monetary or manpower compensation for those losses. I am staying at Grey’s Inn on Holborn Road and you will have all of my father’s men delivered to me tomorrow at dawn. If you delay, I shall return home and tell him of your utter lack of respect for him and his directives. Is this in any way unclear?”
It had been years since he had been intimidated or fearful, but looking down into that beautiful red face, he realized that not only was he intimidated, he was contrite. He really was. Shocked, and somewhat amused at himself, he simply nodded his head.
“It is, my lady.”
“Do you have anything more slanderous or offensive to say to me?”
“Nay, my lady.”
“Then I bid you good day.”
With that, she turned around and hustled off, dodging errant soldiers and beasts of burden. The warrior just stood there and watched her storm off, eventually surrounded by her escort who had, throughout the exchange, simply stood by in shock as their lady raged at a man three times her size.
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 emerge 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 Grey�
�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 almost 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, they 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 wearin
ess 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 crowded 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 were 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.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 76