Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He just stared at her. “Do you think so?”

  She nodded firmly. “Of course I do.”

  He gazed at her a moment longer before slowly shaking his head. “I have never heard anyone say that to me,” he said quietly. “I am not quite sure how to respond.”

  She shifted so she was laying more on her side, facing him. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you want people to see that side of you?”

  He shook his head without hesitation. “I do not,” he replied firmly, but then he looked at her, hesitantly, before continuing. “But I do not mind if you see that side of me.”

  Ellowyn grinned brightly. “Do you know what else I see?”

  “What?”

  “You are afraid of nuns.”

  He shook his head, smiling, as she burst out laughing. “The Brides of Christ are frightening,” he replied. “I can remember many a nun taking a switch to me as a child. My mother employed them as governesses.”

  “Your mother did not tend you?”

  “Nay,” he replied. “My mother was only a mother in the literal sense. She married my father for the Exeter title but there was no affection between them. Once I was born, she considered her duty complete and went on to other pursuits.”

  Ellowyn wasn’t smiling any more. “How sad,” she replied. “What of your father? Did he care for you?”

  Brandt shrugged. “I was his son,” he stated the obvious. “As long as I did not shame the family name, he was civil, but he died when I was young so to be honest, I do not remember much of him. I do remember that he was very big and very intimidating.”

  “Like you.”

  “Like me”

  “Any siblings?”

  “An older sister that died in infancy.”

  As Ellowyn gazed at him, she began to feel very sorry for him. His upbringing, his life, had been so unlike hers. The things she took for granted, the familial love and affection, was evidently unknown to him. He was alone.

  “Then you have never had anyone close to you?” she asked. “No mother or father to love you? What about grandparents?”

  He sighed remorsefully, thinking back to his dark and dismal childhood. “Nay,” he said. “There was no one.”

  Ellowyn was deeply distressed. “No home, no one to care for you,” she said, “and then you apparently married a shrew who was also very cruel to you and took your children away. I am so very sorry for you, Brandt. You are a man given so much in this world yet you have so little by way of personal joy. I wish I….”

  She suddenly stopped, causing him to look at her. “What do you wish?” he asked.

  Ellowyn rolled onto her back, looking away from him. “I suppose I am very sorry for you, ’tis all.”

  “That is not what you were going to say,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “What do you wish?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You swore you would never lie to me.”

  She looked at him sharply. “How do you know I am?”

  He met her gaze, a knowing grin on his face. “Because I can tell,” he said. Then, he reached over and tugged on the sleeve of her dressing gown. “Tell me what you wish. I promise I will not laugh.”

  She made a face at him and looked away. “I wish… I wish you would go away.”

  He laughed softly. “Is that so? Well, I will not. Not until you tell me what you wish.”

  She was still making that funny scrunch-nosed face when she looked at him again. “You are a nuisance.”

  “I know.”

  “You are making my shoulder hurt.”

  “Nay, I am not.”

  “You are causing me great ache with your harassment.”

  He chuckled at her dramatics. “Do you want me to bring the nuns back to assist you?”

  She sat bolt upright on the pallet. “God, no!” she gasped. Her left hand instinctively went to her sore shoulder. “Very well, you pest, I shall tell you. I was going to say that I wish I could help you. Are you satisfied?”

  His dark eyes glimmered at her, a smile playing on his lips. “I am,” he muttered. “But you should know that you have already helped me, more than you can ever know. I have spent the past year in France fighting in conditions you could not possibly imagine, dealing daily with death and destruction. I returned home a few days ago only to be confronted with a spitfire of a woman who threatened me the moment we met. But something odd has happened since that time.”

  Ellowyn couldn’t help the smile on her lips, simply because his manner was so light and warm. “What?”

  His grin broadened. “That woman has turned out to be the very best part of coming home,” he said softly. “She is kind, compassionate, wise, and uproariously humorous. I consider it an honor and a privilege to have met her and even if I never see her again after leaving Erith, I will consider myself a better man for having known her. You, my lady, have brought light into my life and do not even know it. It is a priceless gift you gave to a man who insulted you when he first met you.”

  Ellowyn’s mouth popped open. She had never heard such complimentary words and she knew doubtlessly that they were spoken from the heart. She could read it in his face. Without thinking, she rolled off her pallet and, on her knees, crawled over to him. As Brandt watched, she threw her left arm around his big neck and squeezed tightly. The right arm, injured and folded, pressed against his chest.

  “No one has ever said such wonderful things to me,” she confessed, ignoring the jab of the armor and mail. “I am so sorry you have had such a terrible life, Brandt. I feel as if I should hug you to make it all better. Perhaps we can be friends even after you leave me at Erith. I would like that.”

  Brandt, startled as he was by her hug, nonetheless recovered swiftly and wrapped a big arm around her. It seemed the most natural of things to do. In fact, his other arm wrapped around her, too, and he held her tightly as she squeezed his neck. He’d never in his life felt something so warm and wonderful, and he sorely wished he wasn’t wearing his armor. He would have liked to have felt her against him, body to body. The feeling of her was overwhelming him.

  “How do you to this?” he hissed.

  She pulled back to look at him, frowning. “Do what?”

  His face was very close to hers. He could feel her hot breath on his face. “This,” he said again. “Show your emotions so openly? Give comfort to someone you barely know without thought?”

  She shrugged, realizing that he still had both arms around her. He was so massive that it was like being swallowed whole, but she knew that it was a sensation she could grow to crave. To think of him leaving her off at Erith and never seeing him again brought waves of disappointment.

  “I do not,” she murmured. “Not always. But my family is very affectionate so I suppose I grew up that way. When someone is hurt, friend or family, we comfort them.”

  “I am hurt?”

  She nodded faintly, studying his handsome face. “I think your heart is hurt and you do not even know it. You have never known anything else.”

  “Would you heal it?”

  It was a hugely open question. She sensed it immediately. She unwound her arm from his neck and sat back on her heels, gazing into his eyes. Brandt released her somewhat, but not entirely. His hands were still on her as they faced one another. The question had been presented. Her response would determine the course of their association and quite possible their future. He held his breath, watching her as she considered the question.

  “I would like to know what you mean by that,” she finally said, her tone soft.

  He shrugged and averted his gaze. “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “All I know is that… Ellowyn, we have known each other a matter of days but since yesterday, I feel as if… I have never felt like this in my life and I completely understand if it is unwelcome, but I have to say that I find you beautiful and brave and gracious and sweet, and I would like nothing better than to come to know you better and perh
aps….”

  Ellowyn could feel her heart swelling with joy. She broke out into the most amazing smile. “Perhaps… what?”

  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. “Perhaps… well, perhaps you could….”

  “Perhaps I could help you find a wife?”

  He shook his head, realizing she was teasing him when she started to laugh. It was charming. He was stumbling over his words and she was mocking him playfully.

  Throwing caution to the wind, he cupped her sweet face in his two enormous hands, studying her closely and deeply for the very first time. He felt giddy and quivering, but also elated and emotional. For a man who had learned to suppress his emotions long ago, it was both liberating and frightening.

  “Perhaps…,” he continued, “you will consider me as more than an acquaintance. I realize that you may not be interested in me as a marital prospect, but I hope that given time you will consider it. I would very much like to explore the possibility if you are amenable to it.”

  Her giggles faded and her eyes widened. “Marriage?”

  “Perhaps… well, if you find the prospect an attractive one.”

  She was genuinely shocked. It was more than she could have ever dreamed. “You find me an attractive marital prospect?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  He gave her a half-grin. “Because I had no idea how dark my days were until I met you. In this short amount of time, you have shown me the sun and it is blinding. I would be very happy to be blinded by you.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “I do not jest.”

  Ellowyn could hardly believe her ears. She began to giggle, growing louder as she threw her good arm around his neck again. Brandt, overcome and out of his element, hugged her so tightly that she grunted when he squeezed the air out of her. He also cracked her back. But neither one of them let go. They simply held one another in the first real and true romantic embrace either one of them had ever experienced. It was magic.

  But Brandt eventually loosened his grip. The feel of her, the scent of her, was overwhelming him and he found that he had to taste her. Her lips were soft and sensuous morsels, calling his name, and he answered the call with the fires born of passion.

  Ellowyn was startled at first when his mouth descended on hers but her surprise was only momentary. His touch was firm but not harsh, soft but not sloppy, and she couldn’t help but respond. She’d never kissed a man in her life but instincts took over and she began to suckle his lips just as he was suckling hers. Her belly began to quiver and her heart began to race, and soon she was pressed against him, her hand in his dark hair as they suckled one another feverishly.

  But Brandt wanted more. His tongue licked her lips, snaking between them and licking her teeth, and when Ellowyn opened her mouth, he took great liberties in tasting her deeply. He could feel her hesitation at something so new and intimate, but she began to relax quickly. She even began to mimic him, something that drove him mad with desire. He pulled her closer, his hands in her hair and his mouth devouring her, when a voice from outside the tent stopped their building passion.

  “My lord?” It was Dylan’s voice. “A word, my lord?”

  Ellowyn, lips red and wet from his seeking mouth, loosened her grip on his neck but Brandt didn’t loosen his at all. He continued to hold her tightly. He could not believe de Lara had chosen this moment to interrupt them.

  “Can it wait?” he called out to the man.

  “Nay, my lord.”

  With a grunt of frustration, Brandt looked at Ellowyn apologetically. “I am sorry,” he whispered, letting her go with reluctance. “I will return.”

  Ellowyn watched him rise, an extremely tall man who had to duck as he moved to the tent entry. He turned before he quit the tent, however, giving her an awkward little smile and a wink before ducking out completely. Once outside, Ellowyn could hear him speaking with de Lara but she could not hear their words. All she was aware of was the soft, deep warmth of his tone.

  With a sigh, she went back over to her pallet and lay down, trying to get comfortable with her bad shoulder. She still could not believe what he had said to her and that kiss… it had been everything a first kiss should have been; passionate, sweet, and overwhelmingly sexy. Just thinking about it made her feel weak. But perhaps she was asleep, dreaming everything that had happened. As she lay there and stared at the ceiling, she knew that she would be terribly disappointed if that was true.

  Brandt de Russe, as she had noticed from the beginning of their association, was an enormous and handsome man, much more perfect than any man she had ever seen. To think that somehow, someway, she had endeared herself to him was astonishing. She had no idea how she had done it.

  Whatever it was, she would have to keep doing it. Now that she had his attention, she most assuredly didn’t want to lose it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Erith Castle was a massive two-hundred-year-old bastion that had been built for Henry II. It sat at the base of a range of mountains and protected the gap that led into an area of Cumbria that was heavy with ports along the western coast. The castle had remained in royal hands for over one hundred years until it was given as a gift to Simon de Montfort when he married Eleanor, Henry’s granddaughter. After that, it had passed to their son, Richard, and then to his daughter, the Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux who had eventually married Braxton de Nerra.

  Upon their marriage, De Nerra had given the castle to his step-daughter, Lady Gray’s daughter Brooke and her husband Sir Dallas Aston as a wedding gift, but Dallas returned the castle to Braxton when his eldest brother died and he inherited his father’s barony in Devon. That was how the castle came into the hands of Sir Deston de Nerra, Braxton and Gray’s eldest son, and it was this man who waited impatiently in the bailey as Brandt brought the man’s army home.

  Deston wasn’t a particularly tall man, like his father, but he had a muscular and powerful build. He had his mother’s amber-colored eyes, his father’s graying blond hair, but his personality was all de Nerra. He was aggressive, loud, passionate, highly intelligent, and lived for a good fight. However, a disease of the joints had hit him at a very young age, like his grandfather and one of his uncles, and his hands were so gnarled that he hadn’t been able to hold a sword in many years. Still, he had fists like hamhocks and could still ball one up to deliver a devastating punch. When he saw Brandt ride into his bailey, he began to crow with delight.

  “The great duke himself!” he yelled happily. “I see you survived your years in France!”

  Brandt flipped up his visor, smiling at the loud man. He was glad to see him. Wearily, he dismounted and handed his snapping charger over to a soldier as Deston marched up and slapped him on his armored arm.

  “You look whole enough,” Deston said with satisfaction.

  Brandt pulled his helm off, peeling his hauberk off his wet black hair. The army was trickling in after him, weary men kicking up the dust and dirt of the bailey, creating clouds of grit.

  “I am, fortunately,” he replied, eyeing the worn army. “But it was not for their lack of trying. The French have been trying to kill me for years.”

  Deston sized up the man he hadn’t seen in at least three years. He started to say something more but a woman on a palfrey caught his eye and he turned to see his daughter entering the gates. Deston forgot all about Brandt and walked towards her, very quickly.

  “Wynny!” he held up his hand in greeting. When the palfrey came close, he reached up and grabbed his daughter right off of the horse. “My sweet little Pickle Snuff. Praise God you have arrived home safe and whole.”

  Ellowyn let her father hug and kiss her, with the annoyed patience that children often show, before pulling away. “Dada, stop it,” she hissed at him. “I am fine. Do not paw over me like that. And do not call me Pickle Snuff!”

  “Will you make the expression for me, please? I have missed it so.”

  “Nay!”

  Deston just grinned, not put off i
n the least. “I am happy to see you,” he said. “Your mother will be thrilled. But you were sent to bring my men home, not bring de Russe with you. He is a busy man with much to do. He is well out of his way up here at Erith.”

  Ellowyn looked at Brandt. “He said he had business with you.”

  Deston’s eyebrows flew up as he looked at Brandt, at least a head taller than he was. “Is that so?” he said. “Then I am honored. But first things first, how many men are you returning to me?”

  “Five hundred and forty-eight,” Brandt replied. “Until four days ago, there were five hundred and sixty-two but we ran into some trouble near Coventry. We were attacked and lost some men.”

  Deston grew serious. “I see,” he said, looking at his daughter. “I am sorry to know that. Where was Wynny when this happened? Was she safe?”

  “I was in the middle of it,” Ellowyn said before Brandt could reply. “I was hit with an arrow but Lord de Russe saved me. He was heroic, Dada, truly.”

  Deston turned pale and his eyes widened. “Hit with a…?” He put his hand over his heart, unable to finish the sentence. “God’s Bones, Wynny, what happened? Where were you hit?”

  Ellowyn put her hand on her father’s arm, patting him soothingly. “I was hit in the shoulder,” she said, pointing to the spot. “Truly, Dada, it was of no consequence. I am fine.”

  Deston wasn’t over his fright. He looked straight at de Russe. “And you allowed her into mortal danger?” he boomed. “God’s Bones, man, what were you thinking?”

  Ellowyn started to explain but Brandt cut her off. She had upset her father already with her casual telling of a near-death experience and he hastened to clean it up so that her father wouldn’t think him careless.

  “Your daughter was well-protected in the center of the column when we were attacked,” he explained succinctly. “The Welsh plowed into our column in the middle in an attempt to divide us, I would assume, and your daughter was struck in the initial wave. One of my knights carried her off to safety where she was initially tended, but later she was cared for by two nuns from Coventry. I assure you that she has been very well tended the entire time.”