Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “There is not much more to tell,” he replied. “I told you that the Welsh rebels had attacked Kenilworth earlier that day and set their sights on us as well. They plowed through the middle of the column first, blindsiding us, and that was where Ellowyn was riding. She took an arrow to the shoulder but she was taken to safety immediately where she was tended first by my knights and then by the nuns from Coventry. She recovered quickly and is in fine shape, as you have seen.”

  As Deston nodded his head, Annalora and Gray were in various states of horror. They had not heard of Ellowyn’s injury and both of them bolted up from the table.

  “My sweetling!” Annalora was already rushing for the stairs. “I must see to her!”

  Brandt felt rather bad that he had startled them, but Deston yelled after the pair. “She is well,” he told his wife and mother. “You saw for yourself – she is fine!”

  Annalora muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult to her husband’s sense of compassion as she and Gray disappeared up the stairs. Brandt turned to Deston somewhat sheepishly.

  “I did not mean to upset them,” he said. “I was not aware that they did not know of our Welsh encounter.”

  Deston waved a careless hand. “They are always looking for something to work themselves into a froth,” he said as servants brought forth pitchers of wine and trays of cheese and bread. “You know women. They like to be upset and then blame us for causing it.”

  For some reason, Brandt thought back to the moment he and Ellowyn had first met. She had been furious and had blamed him. Although there was blame on both sides, he could see Deston’s point.

  “I will admit,” he said as he reached for a cup of wine, “that I upset your daughter when we first met. She did not announce herself right away and… well, I was not kind in my reaction.”

  Deston collected his wine cup, a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Brandt. “Did you chase her away?”

  “Something like that.”

  He snorted as he drank. “Did she return with a stick and try to beat you? She is fiery like that.”

  Brandt gave him a half grin. “Not quite,” he said. “She is quite bold, however. She did not hesitate to let me know what she thought of me.”

  Deston laughed. “You do not know the half of it,” he said, reaching for the cheese and bread. “She possesses bravery and a sense of vengeance that exceeds that of most men I know. Had she been born a man, she would have made a magnificent knight. Sometimes I wish… well, it does not matter what I wish. I still have Ellowyn and for that, I am grateful.”

  Brandt watched the man intently. “What about your son?” he asked. “Surely whatever profession he has chosen does not make him any less your son.”

  Deston cocked an eyebrow at him. “That is what my father said,” he replied, drinking his wine in thought. “Fenton… he could have been the greatest knight we have seen yet. Do you know him?”

  Brandt nodded. “I am acquainted with him,” he replied. “When your father and I served together in France for a time, he spoke of him. He was very proud of Fenton.”

  Deston regarded his wine, the pensive look of a disappointed father evident. “We all were until he joined that damnable cloister,” he said. “He said he felt as if his true calling was to God and not the knighthood. He broke my heart on that day.”

  Brandt could see the sadness, the frustration, in the man. He could see that it was a sensitive subject.

  “Well,” he said quietly as he reached for his own bread and cheese, “the knighthood is not for every man. Sometimes I wish it was not for me, but alas, I am too entrenched in the very fabric of the profession to ever retire from it. I will die on the battlefield and not warm and safe in my bed as most men.”

  Deston watched him as he took a healthy bite of the tart, white cheese. “When do you return to France?”

  Brandt chewed and swallowed the bite in his mouth. “We spent the last year raiding the Aquitaine,” he said. “Edward may be young, and fairly hot–headed, but he is a brilliant leader. He knows what it takes to lead men to victory. We moved through the Aquitaine raiding and weakening strategic towns and those we did not raid, we set about building alliances. France is still quite divided with many houses laying claim to the throne. Edward intends to gain a foothold there.”

  Deston was listening carefully. “Edward? Or you?” When Brandt shook his head, Deston put up a hand to silence him. “Brandt, we all know it is you who is the military intelligence behind Edward. It is you. You have planned the systematic weakening of the Aquitaine and you are the military leader planning the Black Prince’s movements. Edward may be a great leader of men, but you are the man behind the leader. Make no mistake. England understands that and so do those in France. When all of this is over, you will be an extremely powerful man in both countries.”

  Brandt didn’t have much to say to that. He returned to his bread and cheese, ripping off great hunks of bread and washing them down with the rich red wine. Deston could see the man was silent on the matter of his greatness, as most great men were. He was not humble, but he knew the truth. He saw no need to confirm it. Deston poured himself more wine.

  “It is well known that you are a master of chevauchèe,” he continued quietly. “Quite an effective tactic – burn, pillage, and loot, and then move on to the next town. I understand that Edward has used your tactics for the past year quite heavily. That is what has weakened the Aquitaine most of all and I am sure that is why the French call you l’ange noir. Even they know who is truly the master behind the prince – Exeter, the Angel of Death.”

  Brandt glanced at him. “Where did you hear things like that?”

  Deston grinned. “Erith is well-traveled,” he said. “We have many visitors. I hear many stories. Is any of this untrue?”

  “Of course it is true.”

  “Then you must be a very wealthy man from all of the time spent looting the Aquitaine.”

  “I am well-rewarded for my service.”

  It was a mild way of putting it. Deston chuckled softly before draining the rest of his wine.

  “When do you return to France?” he asked, shifting the subject slightly. “More importantly, how many of my men will you need when you return?”

  Brandt sighed heavily. The wine was starting to relax him and his professional manner was easing.

  “I will not be in England long,” he said, suddenly looking very weary as he reflected on his future plans. His burdens were huge, dragging at him. “My directive from the Prince of Wales is to return for fresh troops and join him in the Aquitaine in three months’ time. We are beginning the systematic weakening of the north of France. Without going into a huge amount of detail, it is our intention to take Chartres, Tours, and eventually Poitiers. The prince wishes to set up court in Poitiers and rule from there.”

  Deston was looking at him seriously. “Is this true?” he breathed. “My God… you have a task ahead of you, man.”

  Brandt nodded, slowing down his food and alcohol intake as a thought occurred to him. In returning to France as soon as he was, he would have to marry Ellowyn quickly if he were going to spend any amount of time with her before he left. Odd that now, instead of returning to France where Edward was waiting for him for fresh men and supplies, all he could think of was Ellowyn and how he did not want to leave, not while they were just becoming close.

  “I will be soliciting men and material from the Duke of Carlisle, the Earl of Wrexham, and move across the middle of England soliciting what support I can,” he said. “I will perhaps ride to Carlisle and Wrexham because their sons, St. Hèver and de Lara, serve me. I know the families well. To that end, what support can I expect from you?”

  Deston took a deep breath, sighing heavily with thought. “Five hundred men at the most,” he said, scratching his blond head. “The six hundred you brought back should expect to stay here. What kind of supplies do you need?”

  “Arrows,” Brandt said without hesitation. “The archers g
o through them at a maddening pace. They recover as many as they can, but supplies are short. We can also use any kind of combat weapons you can provide – axes, poleaxes, swords. Anything. Horses would also be well-met.”

  “I will see what I can do,” Deston said. “How long will you be staying?”

  “No more than a day, two at the most.”

  “Then let us spend tonight feasting and enjoying life. We will speak of the serious things tomorrow.”

  “Agreed.”

  They lifted a cup to each other before drinking deeply. Brandt was thinking heavily on re-introducing Ellowyn into the conversation for the purpose of asking permission to court her when his knights entered from the bailey.

  They were exhausted, dirty, and hungry just as Brandt had been, so Brandt kept his mouth shut as Deston greeted them and the men settled down to wine and food. All the while, he kept thinking of how he was going to broach the subject of Ellowyn with her father, because it had become increasingly apparently during the course of the conversation that Ellowyn was Deston’s pride and joy. He wasn’t quite sure how the man was going to view someone who would take her away from him.

  Downing his wine, he tried to think of a way to break it easy to the man.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ellowyn was dressed very carefully in a ruby-red, silk surcoat with a matching shift. The surcoat was stitched with silver thread and a flower made from red-colored glass decorated portions of her belly and trailed down her right leg. It was a magnificent dress that her father had purchased for her in York a few years ago. It had been one of the rare times he had traveled out of Erith because the weather had been warm and his health good, and she very much treasured the spectacular dress. She only wore it for special occasions.

  Her first evening back at Erith was a special occasion. Her mother’s maid had arranged her hair in a beautiful style with silver ribbons woven into a braid that draped over her right shoulder. The maid had scrubbed her face along with her body, so her complexion was particularly rosy, and she smelled strongly of lavender.

  Furthermore, with a good deal of coaxing, the maid had borrowed some of Annalora’s cosmetics and Ellowyn found herself with luscious red lips, faintly rouged cheeks, and a dark cosmetic on her lashes that was made of crushed coal, beeswax, and linseed oil. Her mother had bought it on a trip to Manchester, a major port, and was told by the merchant that it was a mysterious Egyptian cosmetic that was all the rage in Paris. On Ellowyn with her bright green eyes, the dark lashes made her look like a goddess.

  Standing to the rear of Erith’s massive keep where the ponds and small flower garden were, Ellowyn stood by the still waters of the fish pond, watching the water creatures move amongst the lilies. The sun had set behind the hill that backed up to Erith, and the moon was full and bright. As she stood there, gazing into the water, she could hear footfalls come up beside her.

  Brandt was walking fairly quickly. He came to within a foot of Ellowyn, gazing down at her with a good deal of pleasure. Ellowyn smiled brightly.

  “You received my message, I see,” she said.

  He nodded. “Your maid delivered it,” he replied. Then, he took a moment to look her up and down. “I have never in my life seen such beauty. I did not think it possible for you to grow even more lovely since last I saw you, but I was wrong. You are an angel.”

  Her smile broadened. “My thanks,” she said softly. “It has taken all afternoon for me to look like this.”

  “It was well worth the time spent.”

  She nodded her thanks, her green eyes seeking his dark ones curiously. “Did you speak with my father?”

  Brandt shook his head, the look of pleasure on his face turning to one of frustration. “I did not,” he said. “There has been no opportunity as of yet, but I find that I am going to have to create the opportunity. I am planning on leaving in the next day or two and I would like to take you with me when I go. Time is of the essence.”

  Her expression grew serious. “Leaving?” she repeated. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to France,” he said, somewhat softly. “I am expected.”

  Her features fell. “Expected by whom? Why must you go back? You have only just returned.”

  There was a stone bench near the pond. Brandt reached out and took her hand, guiding her over to the bench which sat partially obscured by the moonlit shadows. When they sat, it was very close together. Brandt lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly, before continuing.

  “You know that I have been with the Prince of Wales in France for the past three years,” he said softly. “Whether or not I have told you directly, surely you were aware?”

  Ellowyn was pouting now. “Of course I was aware,” she said, frowning. “But I did not pay much attention to the details, to be truthful. All I knew was that my father loaned you six hundred men and that you were returning them to London at the end of January, but I heard nothing about you going back to France. Why must you return?”

  He kissed her hand again. “Because Edward is expecting me to return with fresh men and supplies,” he said. “That is the only reason I returned to England, Wynny. I brought your father’s men home because they had been fighting for a solid year and needed rest. My orders are to collect fresh men and supplies, and return to Edward within three months of my departure. I have already been gone a month, so I must leave as soon as I can and go about my mission on seeking fresh men and supplies from other allies. Then, I must go back.”

  She was looking at him with big, bottomless eyes. “To fight.”

  “Aye.”

  She cocked her head. “What about me?” she asked. “Do you plan to marry me in haste and simply leave me here?”

  He sighed faintly. “I plan to marry you, enjoy what time we have together, and then return to France,” he said, trying to be gentle. “You may stay here at Erith with your family, or you may stay at my seat of Guildford Castle. As my wife, you would command much power and respect. I would be proud to have you at Guildford, administering my lands.”

  “I do not care about power and respect,” she said, somewhat petulantly. “I only care about you. I do not want you to go.”

  He smiled, cupping her face with one big hand and stroking her soft cheek with his thumb.

  “I must,” he said simply. “But know that it will give me no pleasure in leaving you. That has never happened before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leaving someone behind that I would miss. In fact, I do not ever believe I have missed anyone.”

  The smile was returning to her face, reluctantly. “Not ever?”

  “Not ever.”

  She gazed at him, rather dreamily. “Why can’t I come with you?” she asked softly. “I would not be any trouble. You said yourself that I travel very well. Won’t you take me with you?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly, but he kissed her hand as he said it. “You must understand that I am in harm’s way every moment of every day. Men go out of their way to try and kill me because the death of l’ange noir would bring any man much prestige. Furthermore, I….”

  He came to an abrupt halt because he could see her eyes welling up with frightened tears. He inwardly winced at his lack of tact and sought to make amends.

  “The rainy season is upon us,” he said quickly, covering his tracks. “There is mud such as you have never seen. Mud up to my waist. And the rain, it is torrential. We travel day and night in the stuff. I would hate to see you covered in mud day and night. It would kill my morale.”

  Ellowyn wasn’t fooled. “I realize that you are a warlord and men are going out of their way to try and kill you,” she said, unhappy. “Must you be so blunt about it? Must you give me such angst for your safety?”

  He sighed again, kissing her hand sweetly. “I am sorry,” he said softly, his deep voice a gentle rumble. “I was not thinking. You must understand that I have no need to be tactful with those around me and I am unused to speaking with
women on a personal level. This is all very new to me so I apologize if, at times, I am tactless.”

  His apology eased her somewhat and she even managed a weak smile. “Do you have property in France?”

  He nodded. “I do,” he replied. “In Brittany I hold Chateau Melesse, which became mine when my father died, and Chateau Gael, which is where my daughters live. Near Limoges I hold Chateaus Ruffec and Civray, which I confiscated last year whilst fighting.”

  “Why can I not stay in one of your castles? I would be safe there and you could come and see me every day.”

  He smiled at her, her naïve nature. “Would that I could,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over her face. “But I would not put you in such danger. Besides, I would probably kill myself racing home to you every night after a day of fighting.”

  “It would be worth it.”

  He chuckled, pulling her into a snug embrace. “Aye, it would,” he said. “Even on my deathbed, every moment with you would be well worth it.”

  Ellowyn held him tightly, relishing the feel of him in her arms. Her heart was racing madly, her limbs tingling with excitement. As she opened her eyes to say something to him, she caught a shadow moving towards them quickly. She also caught a glint of steel heading in their direction. With a gasp, she managed to release Brandt and give him a shove sideways at the same time.

  “Get down!” she cried as she fell backwards over the bench. “Behind you!”

  Brandt didn’t stop to question her. He rolled off the bench and onto his knees, turning to face whatever had Ellowyn’s panicked attention. He was without his broadsword but he carried two daggers. Reaching into the holster lodged into his big boot, he removed a dirk that was nearly a foot long and, taking swift aim, hurled it at the rapidly approaching figure.

  The wicked-looking knife caught the man in the neck and he collapsed forward onto the bench. The broadsword in his hand clattered to the ground and Brandt swiftly retrieved it, turning it against the man in a split-second and driving it into the back of the man’s neck. He stilled immediately as the blood gushed.