Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Ellowyn knew he was teasing her but she wondered what Brandt was thinking about her father’s statement. She hastened to soften it.

  “You complain too much,” she told her father. “If I spend a pence to buy wine, you cry rivers over lost money. Truly, Papa, one would think I have spent us right into the poor house.”

  Deston was grinning. “I look forward to the day when I can laugh at your husband because you would do the same thing to him,” he said, glancing at the knights around the table. “Any takers? My daughter would be most happy to spend your money for the price of a marriage contract.”

  “I accept,” Brandt said without hesitation. “She can spend my money and will have my blessing to do so.”

  Ellowyn looked at him, eyes wide with shock. Deston, still grinning, had no idea the man was serious. “Are you certain?” he asked. “The woman has fine tastes. You will be a duke living in a mud hut with rocks for your bed. But at least your wife will be well-dressed with all of the frivolous things she will buy for herself.”

  “As long as she is happy, that is my only concern,” Brandt replied steadily. He could tell that Deston wasn’t taking him seriously but he could feel the curious stares from his knights. “Well? Is it settled?”

  Deston snorted, tossing aside a bone and moving in for another hunk of meat. “Is what settled?”

  “That Ellowyn will be my wife.”

  That brought the table to a grinding halt. By this time, everyone was looking at Brandt, including Deston and Annalora. Deston’s smile vanished.

  “Your wife?” he repeated. “My lord, are you… are you serious? I was only jesting.”

  “And I was not,” Brandt replied, his gaze upon Deston intense. “Ellowyn will be my wife. You offered her to the table and I was the first to accept. Now, will you draw up the contract or will I?”

  Deston’s jaw dropped. “You cannot mean it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… because she is… and you are… you cannot be serious!”

  “Again, I say that I am very serious,” Brandt replied. “Why do you find it so hard to believe? I want your daughter for my wife. I was going to ask permission in a more private setting, but since you made the offer public, you have given me little choice but to take my desire public as well.”

  Deston just stared at him. His gaze moved between Brandt and Ellowyn, who looked rather hopeful. Then, reality hit him. This was not a random discussion or something Brandt had accepted without consideration. This was something that evidently Ellowyn and Brandt already had on their minds. He could see it simply by their expressions. That thought did not sit well with him. He set down the meat in his hands and wiped his fingers on his breeches.

  “We will discuss this in my solar,” Deston’s voice was low. He stood up from the table. “Come with me, my lord.”

  Brandt didn’t hesitate. He stood up and followed the man towards the keep entry and the small solar off of the foyer. When they faded from view, the table sat there in stunned silence. Ellowyn got up and ran off before anyone could stop her.

  She headed straight for the solar.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Would you mind telling me why this notion of marrying my daughter has possessed you?” Deston was surprisingly hostile. “What else happened on the trip from London that I have not been informed of, eh? You two did not become closer that propriety allows, did you?”

  Brandt kept calm. “Nothing more happened than what I told you,” he replied, “except that Wynny and I have grown quite fond of each other. I want her for my wife.”

  Deston’s round face flushed with outrage. “But you are the Black Angel, for God’s sake!” he said. “I know what you have done in France with Edward. I know your reputation for ruthlessness and horror. What about all of those women and children you murdered? Well?”

  Brandt stood his ground. “Such things happen in war.”

  Deston wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He began pointing fingers at Brandt. “You have used the chevauchèe strategy,” he hissed. “Burning, pillaging, and looting farms and towns. That is all anyone can speak of. Burning everything to the ground and then stealing the spoils. Does that mean women, also? How many women have you stolen, de Russe, to fill your lusty veins?”

  Brandt’s jaw ticked. “I do not steal women and I do not lust,” he said. “What I do is in the quest for Edward’s victory and I will be judged only by God. Wars are made in such ways, and victory is achieved because of it. But none of this has anything to do with my offer for Ellowyn.”

  Deston threw up his hands. He was a passionate man as it was, now more passionate on the subject of his beloved daughter. He was off-guard by the subject matter and defensive. Although he respected Brandt’s military ability and valued the alliance, he did not want such a man for his daughter. Too much about him was dark and frightening.

  “It has everything to do with Ellowyn!” he said. “You are asking me for my life and my heart – you, a man who kills women and children and calls it warfare. Women and children do not fight you, de Russe. What you do is dishonorable!”

  It was the magic word as far as Brandt was concerned. He would not be called dishonorable by anyone, not when he worked hard to uphold his knightly honor in a world that knew little. His manner cooled dramatically.

  “As the son of a great knight, I should expect better treatment from you,” he growled. “You are basing your entire argument on rumors and gossip, something that only women do. You never once asked me to explain the truth of the matter but instead insult me based on slanderous half-truths. I still hold the greatest respect for your father but for you, I now hold none. Anyone who would call me dishonorable without fact is a fool and you, my lord, are a blatant one. How on earth Braxton de Nerra could father someone such as you is beyond my comprehension.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and threw open the solar door. He heard a yelp, realizing as he stepped out into the entry that Ellowyn had been standing by the door. He opened his mouth to apologize to her but her focus was purely on Deston. She cut Brandt off before he could speak.

  “How dare you say such horrible things to him!” she hissed to her father. “You always considered yourself a fair and equitable man but I heard nothing fair or equitable when accusing Brandt of dishonor. How could you do such a despicable thing?”

  Deston stood in the doorway, flushed and emotional. “Wynny, this is none of your affair,” he scolded. “Go away now. This is not your business.”

  “Not my business?” she repeated, outraged. “It is indeed my business because Brandt is the man I wish to marry. He is kind and compassionate and wonderful, Father, and I will not have you say such terrible things about him. You were not in France. You do not know what went on. Furthermore, Grandfather was there years ago and who is to say he did not do his share of terrible things? Did you not tell me once that war is full of terrible actions by honorable men? It is evident your words are empty and I am ashamed of you!”

  Deston swallowed hard, refusing to look at de Russe at all. In fact, he turned back for his solar. “I will not discuss this,” he muttered. “De Russe, the men you asked for await in the bailey. You will leave before dawn.”

  The door slammed, leaving Brandt and Ellowyn in sudden and terrible silence. Brandt looked at Ellowyn. He wasn’t sure what to say to her. She met his gaze steadily in spite of the fact that she was still quite angry. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm.

  “He has denied us,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  “What will you do now?”

  He sighed, shaking his head as he raked his fingers through his hair in thought. “I am not sure,” he muttered. “Leave before dawn as I have been instructed, I suppose. Your father needs time to cool his anger. Then I will try again.”

  Ellowyn took a few steps towards him. Then, she reached out and took his hand. Their touch was filled with sorrow. Brandt brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.r />
  “I am sorry,” he said. “I wish this had turned out for the better.”

  Ellowyn was deeply grieved. His touch made it worse. She clasped his big hand in her two soft, warm ones.

  “I do not want you to leave without me,” she said, her throat tight. “I am afraid I will never see you again.”

  He kissed her hand again. “Of course you will,” he promised. “This is only a small setback. It is not the end.”

  She was starting to tear up, wiping at her eyes. “My father is very stubborn,” she whispered. “I am afraid he will never give in. The more you press him, the more he will dig in.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  She gazed up at him, eyes brimming. “I will go with you when you leave on the morrow,” she said. “We will be married at the first church we come across and that will be the end of it.”

  He wasn’t surprised by the suggestion. Truth be told, he had been thinking the same thing but wasn’t sure she would agree. “You would defy your father?”

  “I would. For you, I would do anything. I cannot stomach the thought of being separated from you, not even for a moment. Please, Brandt, let us leave here and never look back.”

  He gripped her hands tightly, kissing them gently. He gazed into her eyes as he caressed her fingers.

  “Sweetheart, you must understand that defiance of that magnitude would render you separated from your family, perhaps for eternity,” he said softly. “I cannot stomach the thought of being separated from you, either, but I am not sure defying your father’s wishes is a good idea.”

  “He would forgive me, eventually,” she said with a shrug. “My father only has one child that he recognizes. He has disowned my brother but he will not disown me. If he does, then he is the fool you have accused him of being. Perhaps… perhaps all of these years I have been viewing him through the eyes of an adoring child. Now, I view him through the eyes of a grown woman and I do not like what I see. I cannot believe he would say such things to you without basis.”

  Brandt sighed, still caressing her hands. “They are not entirely without basis,” he muttered. “Your father was correct in some aspects. I use ruthless tactics to gain my wants and the wants of Edward. I have looted, burned, and pillaged. I have killed innocents. It does not give me pleasure to say that, but it is true. They call me the Bringer of Death for a reason, Wynny. You must not be fooled by romantic notions. I have killed my share.”

  She gazed up at him, her expression even. “I realize that,” she said. “I do not have silly romantic notions. But what you did, you did in the course of war. War does not always protect the innocents. I am sure you did not go out of your way to kill them, did you?”

  “And if I did?”

  She averted her gaze thoughtfully as Brandt watched her anxiously. “I cannot change the past, I suppose,” she finally said, looking up at him. “But perhaps… perhaps for the future, you would reconsider killing those who are helpless, even if it is in the name of the prince. Would you at least consider it? I would like to think that you are a man of mercy, Brandt.”

  He regarded her a moment. “Perhaps,” he said softly. “But the idealistic concepts of chivalry on the battlefield are unrealistic. Chivalry can get a man killed. We must do as we must in order to survive and achieve victory.”

  Ellowyn cocked her head. “That is logical thinking.”

  “It is indeed pragmatic.”

  They gazed at each other for a few moments as Brandt continued to caress her hands, buried deep within his massive mitts.

  “I will go with you,” she whispered. “To the Devil with my father.”

  He sighed. “I am not entirely sure that is wise.”

  “If you do not take me with you, I will simply follow you. It is your choice, in your caravan or behind it.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  He sighed, long and slow. He might have even rolled his eyes at her. But beyond that, he didn’t put up much of a fight. He wanted her with him, too, in the very worst way. The feel of her, the visual sense of her, filled him up like nothing he had ever known before. Already, she was becoming what was most precious to him.

  “Very well, then,” he agreed. “Be ready before dawn.”

  She grinned. “And we will be married at the first church we come across?”

  “Do you know any nearby?”

  She nodded firmly. “In Levens,” she said. “It is a mile or so to the east.”

  “Then that will be our first destination on the morrow.”

  She giggled happily, throwing her arms around his neck. Brandt responded by wrapping his big arms around her, hugging her so that her feet dangled more than a foot off the ground. Then he kissed her, warm lips against warm lips, tasting her sweetness as if he had been starving for it all his life. If he didn’t know better, he might have suspected the love he had never known was already upon him.

  “Come, now,” he breathed against her mouth. “Let us return to the hall and finish our meal.”

  Ellowyn nodded, rather breathlessly, as he set her on her feet. “Not a word to my mother,” she told him as he took her hand and tucked it into his elbow. “She might try to stop us.”

  “And your grandmother?”

  “She will fight my father to let me go with you.”

  Brandt grinned at her as they headed into the warm, fragrant hall beyond. They had a plan, just the two of them, and he felt excited and nervous about it like a giddy young squire. But it was the best feeling in the world. He could hardly wait for the morrow.

  As they moved back to where the feasting was taking place, the solar door creaked open and Deston stood there. He had heard every word through the door, as he had been listening with his ear up against it. He knew the scheme, and he knew he must stop it. For Ellowyn’s sake, he had to. His beautiful young daughter was not meant for a killer such as de Russe.

  Shortly before dawn, Ellowyn was locked in her room by her own father, who told her it was for her own good. When Brandt found out, he unleashed his men and laid siege from his prime position of inside Erith’s massive inner bailey. He wasn’t leaving the fortress without Ellowyn.

  It was a very bitter and exhausting day.

  *

  If Brandt de Russe was one thing and one thing only, it was a military mastermind. He knew how to get his wants, and he knew how to make things happen. His systematic and rather strange siege of Erith would be something they would speak of for years to come in military circles.

  When Deston had told him, from behind the bolted keep door, that he had no intention of allowing Ellowyn to sneak disgracefully off with the duke, Brandt had not been particularly surprised. He stood on the steps leading into Erith’s big keep, hearing Deston’s refusal and looking at the de Lara brothers, standing next to him, for their reaction.

  Their response, of course, was immediate. They spread the word to St. Hèver, de Reyne and le Bec, and the five knights spread out and sequestered their four hundred and ninety-two men from the de Nerra troops. Once they were all separated, Dylan returned to Brandt for instructions.

  Brandt was still standing on the top step of Erith’s keep. He was looking at his men, now separated from the de Nerra soldiers, and he was assessing the situation, the strengths and weaknesses, and their probable loss ratio. By the time Dylan appeared, Brandt was prepared.

  “Does the man really think I am simply going to pack up and leave?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically.

  Dylan, in full battle armor, shrugged as his gaze moved up the side of Erith’s towering keep. “Perhaps he is hoping,” he said, focusing on Brandt. “Your orders, my lord?”

  Brandt, too, was in full battle regalia. He was well prepared for any sort of military undertaking. He sighed as he latched the chin strap of his helmet.

  “De Nerra?” he called in his booming baritone. “I will ask you one last time. Will you turn Ellowyn over to me peacefully?”

  From
behind the enormous oak and iron door, he could hear the muted response. “Nay!”

  Brandt looked at Dylan. “Is the vault in the gatehouse?”

  Dylan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “How many people would you say it will hold?”

  Dylan cocked his head thoughtfully. “There are four cells plus a sublevel. It would hold fifty men at most.”

  Brandt came off the steps. “Then jam as many of de Nerra’s soldiers as you can into it and lock it up,” he said decisively. “Then I want you to strip the rest, of their weapons and clothing and everything else, and pin them in the outer bailey with fifty of my best archers trained on them. If anyone moves, kill them. The rest of us will lay siege to this big beast of a keep and breach it.”

  The corner of Dylan’s mouth twitched. “Strip de Nerra’s men, my lord?”

  Brandt nodded shortly. “A man cannot fight and protect his privates at the same time,” he said. “I guarantee you that if given the choice between having his head or his manhood cut off, a man will choose his head every time. Being stripped of everything should give de Nerra’s men cause to think twice before trying to resist us. They will be too busy protecting what is most precious to them.”

  Dylan’s smile broke through as he turned away from Brandt, barking orders, which the other senior knights took up in chorus. Two hours after sunrise, a full-scale siege was taking place in the inner bailey of Erith.

  Brandt knew he would have to be very careful in opening the keep, mostly because he didn’t want to use his usual tactics. Those normally resulted in fatalities and since Ellowyn was inside, he wanted to make sure she stayed safe and whole. Therefore, he was cautious with his plans.

  Erith had two openings at ground level; the entry door and the kitchen door. Since it made sense to breach the keep at its most vulnerable point, he set dozens of men to ramming down the keep entry and dozens more to chopping down the kitchen door, which was smaller and thicker. Those who weren’t involved in breaching the doors, since only so many men could work on them at a time, were sent to watch over the naked de Nerra soldiers who were quite upset that they had been stripped of their dignity. But, as Brandt had predicted, nakedness prevented them from rioting. One could not riot and protect his privates at the same time.