It was the de Russe she remembered from the wharf, the massive warrior in mail and steel so wrapped up in his knighthood that it was difficult to ascertain where the armor ended and the man began. His helm wasn’t on, but his broadsword was, strapped to his hips and right thigh with heavy leather binds to keep the scabbard stable. His smoky eyes were oddly soft as he looked at her.
“I could hear you coughing downstairs,” he said. “Are you ill?”
She blew her nose into the rag in her hand. “I am,” she said, her nose stuffy. “I fear that I have somehow caught a chill.”
He wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “An understatement, my lady,” he said. “I came to see if you were ready to move out but I see that perhaps we must wait until you are feeling better.”
She shook her head firmly before the words even left his mouth. “I will return today,” she said. “I will feel poorly here or on the road so it does not matter… hold a moment, my lord. What did you say?”
She was cocking her head at him curiously. He had no idea what she meant. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What did I say?”
She blinked as if surprised. “We?” she said. “You said we would move out?”
“I am not staying here.”
“Ah… I see,” she seemed to understand. “Then you are going home as well.”
“I am going to Erith.”
She was back to being surprised. “To Erith?” she repeated. “Why?”
He cleared his throat as if suddenly uneasy. Why was he going to Erith? He’d spent all night wondering the same thing after he’d decided, at the conclusion of his meal with Ellowyn, that he would be accompanying her home. He wasn’t sure why he had made the decision, much less possess the ability to explain it to her. But she was looking for an answer and he looked her in the eye whilst giving one, mostly because he didn’t want her to sense anything but sheer, unadulterated decisiveness from him. He didn’t want her to see his uncertainty.
“Because,” he gestured with a big, gloved hand towards the avenue outside. “You have nearly six hundred men to take back to Erith and not one knight to take charge. I am concerned that Deston sent you to retrieve troops without anyone to control them, so I will therefore escort you, and them, back to Erith Castle.”
By this time, she was looking at him with greater surprise than ever. “They will take orders from me, although I thank you for your concern. Truly, it is not necessary.”
Refuted. Brandt found himself in a very odd position as she rejected his offer of escort. He still wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to escort her back to Erith, but as he gazed down at the woman with the red nose and exquisite face, he knew it had nothing to do with the nearly six hundred men outside in the rain. It had everything to do with that damnable conversation last night when he had conversed with her as he’d never conversed with anyone in his life. She listened intently to him and made him feel as if he had something worth saying.
Certainly, in his position, everyone had respect for his word but it was because of his title. The Duke of Exeter was not a man to be ignored. But last night, he felt as if Ellowyn de Nerra listened to him not because of his title, but because of who he was as a warrior. As a man. He was feeling foolish and unbalanced by it but he also knew that it made him feel as he’d never felt in his life.
“Perhaps,” he said after a lengthy, and contemplative, pause, “but it would seem I have business with your father as well, so we may as well travel together. Are you opposed to this?”
Ellowyn wiped at her dripping nose. “Nay, my lord,” she shook her head. “But you never said anything about having business with my father. This is the first you have mentioned it.”
He was starting to feel like an idiot. “I had forgotten,” he muttered, then pointed towards the bed behind her in the hopes of changing the subject. “Perhaps you should retire for the day. Our trip can wait until you are feeling better.”
Again, Ellowyn shook her head firmly. “I do not want to linger here,” she said, moving back into the room to claim her satchel. “I am strong enough to travel home. Where is my escort? The men I brought with me?”
Brandt could see that she was determined. In fact, if there was one quality about Ellowyn de Nerra that stood out to him, it was her determination. She was fierce about it.
“They are down in the main room,” he told her. “My lady, it is my sincere hope that you will reconsider traveling today. It is raining fairly heavily outside.”
She acted like she hadn’t heard him as she brushed past him, exiting the room. “I will ask the innkeeper if he has something hot to drink. Perhaps that will help my cough. I will be well enough – you’ll see.”
With a sigh of regret, Brandt followed. The great room of the inn was fairly quiet at this hour, bodies strewn about the room in sometimes noisy slumber. Ellowyn reached the bottom of the stairs with Brandt shortly behind her, making her way to the rear of the tavern in search of the innkeeper. Brandt watched as her escort, having been huddled near the smoking hearth, spied the woman and moved to greet her. As the lady went in search of something for her cough, Brandt headed outside into the howling elements.
It was pounding in buckets as he made his way across the avenue where all of the de Nerra men were huddled under the trees, seeking shelter from the rain. Late last night, after the conclusion of his meal with Ellowyn, he had sent Dylan de Lara back to the wharf to disband his army.
The bulk of four thousand, two hundred and thirteen men headed back to the duke’s seat of Guildford Castle while a smaller portion of skilled foot-soldiers had broken off from the main body and marched to Grey’s Inn along with five of Brandt’s most skilled and trusted knights and a few lesser knights. As Brandt moved closer to a thick cluster of trees, he could make out the features of his senior knights lingering in a group near the road.
Dylan and his identical twin brother, Alex, were the first faces to greet him. The two were so alike that most people couldn’t tell them apart, but Brandt could. Alex was slightly bigger and led with his left hand, whereas Dylan led with his right. As Alex acknowledged his liege with a silent salute, Brandt’s gaze fell on the knight standing next to him.
Brennan St. Hèver was perhaps the very best knight to have ever swung a sword, eldest son of the Earl of Wrexham. A tall man with enormously wide shoulders, he had white-blond hair and eyes the color of the sea. He was extremely fast, witty, and intelligent. He was also extremely young at twenty years and two, but had a maturity well beyond his years.
Standing next to Brennan were the remaining two knights that rounded out de Russe’s top generals, Magnus de Reyne and Stefan le Bec, le Bec being the grandson of the legendary Guildford le Bec. Both young knights were from very fine families, descended from the bloodlines of illustrious warriors, and were two of the best knights Brandt had ever seen. Their strength and cunning were beyond measure, and Brandt considered himself extremely lucky to command such a fine senior stable. He had one hell of an arsenal.
“Good men,” Brandt greeted the group, then focused on Dylan. “Have my orders been carried through?”
Dylan nodded. “Aye, my lord,” he replied. “Most of the men have been sent back to Guildford, but we retained five hundred for your service. They have broken their camp and are awaiting orders.”
Brandt moved so that the rain wasn’t pelting him in the head from the branches above and ended up turning around, his back against the tree trunk as his gaze fell on the inn across the avenue. The rain was so heavy that it was misting as well, giving the land a foggy appearance. His eyes lingered on the inn.
“We will be going to Erith Castle,” he said. “I have business with de Nerra and since his daughter will be taking his troops north anyway, we will be traveling with her party.”
Dylan was the only one who reacted. His eyebrows lifted, slowly, as if he were genuinely shocked by what he was hearing. “The woman who threatened you, my lord?” he asked.
“The same.”
&n
bsp; “Will we need to guard your safety against her, then?”
Brandt tore his eyes off the inn and looked at Dylan, who was fighting off a grin. He could see the man was teasing him. He turned away quickly so Dylan would not see the beginnings of a smile. Dylan did not know that he had supped with Ellowyn the previous eve and settled all hostilities. The truth was that Brandt didn’t want his men to know he’d paid attention to a female, even if it was in the line of duty. Well, mostly. What he did and who he did it with was his own business.
“Perhaps,” he said vaguely. “In any case, she will be traveling with us. You will show her all due respect.”
“The woman threatened you, my lord?” Alex repeated, as if the gist of the words suddenly sank in.
Brandt was thinking to the moment in time when he and Ellowyn first met, that fiery misunderstanding that had left him both angry and intrigued. “She did,” he conceded. “But it might have been because I accused her of being a whore.”
Over his shoulder, le Bec burst out snickering as St. Hèver and de Reyne looked rather surprised. “A whore, my lord?” de Reyne clarified. “De Nerra’s daughter is a whore?”
Brandt shook his head, folding his huge arms across his chest as they continued their wait for Lady Ellowyn to appear.
“She is not,” he said flatly, “but she boldly addressed me down by the wharf yesterday and before she could introduce herself, I took her for a whore and tried to chase her away. She did not take kindly to it and became rightfully angry.”
Dylan looked at the group, elaborating on the encounter he had witnessed. “He mistook her for a whore but when her identity became clear and he tried to apologize, she told him to bite his tongue and proceeded to berate him.” He watched the various expressions of disapproval around him. “Somewhere in the scolding, she told him that if he did not deliver de Nerra’s men to her as instructed, she would return home and tell de Nerra all of the terrible things our lord said to her. She was furious, sassy and disrespectful and if our lord had allowed me, I would have spanked her on the spot.”
The knights were horrified at such behavior towards their liege. The Duke of Exeter was the most respected of men, a mentor and military equal to the Black Prince, and highly esteemed by the king himself. For a woman to publicly humiliate him was beyond their comprehension.
Brandt knew their thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at the expressions of outrage around him and thought perhaps he should pacify his loyalists before they vilified the lady.
“It is true she was angry,” he said. “But I offended her so I am sure I deserved everything she said to me. That being said, since I was the one who wronged her, in no way will you show this woman any less measure of respect. I was able to speak with her last evening after she had sufficiently calmed and she was kind, intelligent, and rational. We were able to solve our differences. However, I will say one more thing and then speak of the incident no more.”
Dylan was deeply curious, about everything. “What is that, my lord?”
“She has one hell of a temper so if any of you set her off, be warned that I will not step in to defend you. You are on your own.”
As Brandt returned his attention to the front door of the inn, the five knights behind him glanced at each other with various expressions of curiosity and dread. They even started muttering. Brandt, however, wasn’t paying attention to them. He was more interested in what was unfolding at the inn. He could hear things breaking and furniture being smashed inside. It sounded as if someone was tearing the place down, never a good sign, and he had little doubt that Ellowyn was somehow in the middle of it.
Unsheathing his sword in a flash, he charged back across the avenue with his arsenal of knights behind him.
CHAPTER SIX
The innkeeper had made Ellowyn a brew of hot wine with cloves, honey, and boiled apples. It was very sweet and very soothing to her sore throat, and felt wonderful going down as she took a few timid sips. Ellowyn explained that she would be traveling and wanted to take it with her, so he gave her a huge portion of it in a big earthenware mug with a cloth over the top to keep the brew protected from the rain.
He also gave her a sack with warm bread, cheese, and several apples. As she was sipping on the brew, his wife gave her a bowl half-filled with mush and honey, forcing her to sit down with all of her lovely booty and eat the porridge because she couldn’t very well carry it with her. Quickly, she slurped it down, knowing that hundreds of men were waiting for her outside in the rain. So was de Russe.
Her coughing had eased but she was still very stuffy and, if she were to admit it, more than likely running a fever. Her eyes felt hot, a sure indication that her temperature was elevated. But she would not mention it to anyone for fear of being forced to remain in London until her health improved, for she very much wanted to return home.
As she was finishing the last of her delicious porridge, someone abruptly swiped the bowl away from her, causing the remains to spray out onto her and onto the floor. It had been an angry gesture, not one of happenstance or accident. The hand intentionally slapped her in the arm as it swept past her. Cloak littered with splotches of goo, Ellowyn turned with outrage towards the source.
A man dressed in rag-tag pieces of mail and armor stood next to her table, his weathered face dark with danger. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, and Ellowyn’s outrage dissolved into that of tempered fear. Before she could move away, he grabbed her by the arm.
“You are the one who killed my brother,” he snarled. “He was dead in the street yesterday and I was told that you did it. I hope you are prepared to pay for your actions, my fine lady.”
Ellowyn’s fear upped a notch at his statement, knowing the man had swept her food away with a purpose. “I have not killed anyone,” she said, yanking her arm from his grip. “My husband is….”
He cut her off, advancing, as she backed away from him, just out of arm’s reach. “Your husband killed him because of you,” he muttered ominously. “I came yesterday to meet my brother and was told your husband killed him because he showed attention towards you. I have been waiting all night for you to appear so I could make you pay for what you did.”
Ellowyn continued to back away. “Leave now and you leave with your life,” she said, trying to sound threatening. “Continue on this path and you will end up like your brother.”
The knight snorted. “Your husband is outside waiting for you and can be of no use to you now.”
“You are mad!”
“We shall see.”
Ellowyn began to scamper back, away from him, as her escort rushed forward to protect her. But along with the ragged knight were two companions, who came rushing in from the back door of the inn to take care of Ellowyn’s escort. Soon, a full scale brawl erupted and the entire room was in turmoil. In the cold, dirty depths of the tavern’s main chamber, life and death was beginning to play out.
Ellowyn realized very quickly that her escort was occupied by the other men. Even though there were four of them, one man had already been disabled and, as she watched with horror, a second man was stabbed in the neck. Terrified, and knowing she would have to fight for her life until she could get free of the inn, Ellowyn spied a knife on the closest table and without missing a beat, grabbed it and hurled it at the man pursuing her.
The knife bounced off his mail, flipped up, and clipped him in the mouth. The man roared as he brought a hand to his lips, coming away bloodied. Meanwhile, Ellowyn was running for the door.
“You foolish chit,” he yelled. “I will hurt you for this, do you hear me? You will pay with your sweet tender flesh and you’ll not be so beautiful when I am finished with you!”
He was booming by the time he spit out the last few words and Ellowyn’s fury dissolved into pure panic. She threw a stool at him, and finally a wooden plate, before she could get to the door. She was hoping to slow him down but her tactics didn’t seem to be working. He was closing in on her as the entire room was shuddering with the impact
s from the fight. As she finally reached the door, the portal that promised safety beyond its wooden borders, the panel suddenly burst open.
The force of the door opening shoved her back on her arse. Knights were flooding into the room. Ellowyn sat on her bum, astonished, as de Russe and five of the biggest men she had ever seen rushed into the room and began engaging those who had assaulted her. De Russe himself went after the man who had been pursuing her, the ragged knight who unsheathed his broadsword at the sight of so many armed men pouring into the room. Now the man and de Russe were engaged in a violent battle, but it was a short-lived one. As Ellowyn watched, de Russe was able to subdue the man in about six strokes, completely dispatching him in eight. The man collapsed in a groaning heap, felled by the Duke of Exeter’s mighty broadsword.
Meanwhile, de Russe’s knights had gone after the other two assailants and had made short work of them. A few sword thrusts and several punches later, both men were down, one of them bleeding out all over the dirty inn floor. The de Lara brothers picked up one man who was simply knocked unconscious and tossed him out the back door, flopping him into a vast swamp of mud that had once been the kitchen yard. Behind them, an enormous blond knight and another big warrior with dark hair and bright blue eyes tossed out the second man, leaving a trail of blood across the floor. As Ellowyn sat on the floor and observed all of this, overwhelmed, de Russe came up beside her.
“Are you injured?” he reached down and picked her up off the floor. “Did he hurt you?”
She let him pull her to her feet and dust her off. In truth, she was a little stunned by the whole thing and somewhat muddled.
“I am not hurt,” she said, finally tearing her gaze off the chaos of the room and looking up at him. “He said you killed his brother yesterday. I believe he was going to kill me, too.”
Brandt shook his head. “I sincerely doubt he could have completed the task,” he said, eyeing her. “You put up too much of a fight.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 79