He was gently teasing her and it took Ellowyn a moment to realize that. Understanding she was finally safe after the past few harrowing minutes, she exhaled heavily and slumped.
“Perhaps if I was feeling better, I might have made it more difficult for him,” she returned the humor as much as she could at the moment. “But it would seem that you have once again saved my life, my lord. I am not entirely sure I can ever repay you for it, but please know that you have my undying gratitude.”
Brandt’s smoky eyes gazed steadily at her, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Yesterday you hated the sight of me. Today I am your savior. I am not sure I am comfortable with your abject adoration.”
Ellowyn knew enough to know that he was trying to ease her mood, her fears, after such a terrifying ordeal. She appreciated the attempt.
“Would you rather I throw things at you?” she said helpfully. “Would that make you more comfortable?”
He broke out in a smile, those straight white teeth gleaming in the weak morning light. “Perhaps not,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his knights who were readying to filter from the room and back out into the rain. They hadn’t even raised a sweat at the battle. “I would rather we remain comfortable acquaintances. Is that acceptable?”
“It is.”
“Are you ready to leave, then?”
Ellowyn nodded as she turned around to see that two of her escorts were dead on the floor of the inn while the other two, being tended to by the innkeeper and his wife, were fairly thrashed. Her humor faded.
“Oh… no,” she murmured.
Brandt watched her move across the room to the remains of her escort. After a moment, he followed, coming up behind her as she was growing increasingly upset over the death of two of her men. He watched her a moment, understanding something that he’d known from nearly the start of their association – she was a woman of deep compassion and deep feeling. Most people wouldn’t have shown much concern for men who were simply paid to do their bidding, but Ellowyn did. It would seem that human life meant something to her which, in Brandt’s eyes, gave her some depth of character. Increasingly, he was seeing her through different eyes.
“My lady,” he caught her attention as she examined the injured soldier’s arm. “May I make a suggestion?”
She nodded eagerly. “Of course.”
He pointed to the dead men. “Perhaps we should pay the innkeeper to see that your men are buried,” he said, “and pay him further to tend the injured. We cannot take the dead or wounded with us.”
Ellowyn’s first instinct was to contradict him, but she knew he was right. She just didn’t like the idea of leaving any of her faithful men behind. But de Russe was correct. They couldn’t drag along the dead and wounded. She sighed.
“Very well.”
As Ellowyn made arrangements with the innkeeper to tend her men, Brandt quietly ordered his knights from the inn and instructed them to ready the troops to move out. As the five knights made their way out into the increasingly inclement weather, Brandt stood near the entry of the smelly old inn and waited patiently for Ellowyn to finish her affairs. When she finished paying the innkeeper a few coins from the purse she kept tied to her waist, she collected the food sack that the innkeeper had given her and bid farewell to the injured men.
Turning for the entry where de Russe was waiting, she was followed by her two remaining escorts who had collected her baggage from various places in the room. It had been kicked around in the brawl. Brandt waited patiently as she approached.
“If my lady is ready?” he asked.
She nodded, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head. The cloak was heavy wool, very well made, and oiled so it would repel the rainwater. As her men gathered behind her, luggage in hand, she sneezed in succession, several times, violently.
Brandt took a pause as he opened the door, looking at her with some concern, but he refrained from commenting because she would only disagree with him. She looked red around the eyes and the nose but it wasn’t any concern of his.
At least, that’s what he told himself. He couldn’t decide if it was because Deston would become truly angry with him if some evil sickness befell his daughter or if it was because he was, in fact, concerned for her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rain was pouring outside. Brandt’s knights were waiting for him astride their beastly warhorses but one of Ellowyn’s men had to run off to gather her horse. Without the two additional men in her escort, the two that were left were sorely strained so one remained with the lady while the other collected the horses. Ellowyn preferred her leggy mare against a carriage or wagon, so the man returned shortly leading three very wet horses.
Brandt didn’t say a word as Ellowyn and her escorts tied off the baggage and mounted their steeds. In fact, he left her with her men and went to collect his charger. The horse had seen more action than most men and was a violent, bad-tempered beast that snapped at anything that moved. The horse was muzzled tightly as Brandt collected the reins from the wet soldier holding him, mounting the horse smoothly which was no easy feat considering the weight of his armor coupled by the weight of the water collecting on him. He turned to Dylan and Alex behind him.
“The lady will be protected by two knights at all times,” he said. “Surround her and her escort with at least a dozen men.”
Dylan nodded smartly. “Aye, my lord,” he replied. “And our road?”
Brandt flicked a finger off to the west. “Harrow Road,” he replied. “That will take us to the road to Gloucester and points north.”
Dylan nodded again, turning to the men behind him. “Five point formation,” he snapped. “St. Hèver, you take point with le Bec. De Reyne and I will ride center with the lady and Alex will take the rear. Get the men on their feet and moving. Go!”
The knights slammed down their faceplates, going in different directions to carry out Dylan’s orders. Five point formation was one of de Russe’s traveling formations – usually two knights to the front, two to the rear and one in the center, with de Russe fluid throughout the column. Dylan altered the usual formation with the addition of Ellowyn and de Russe’s orders that she be guarded by two knights at all times. There were sixteen lesser knights in de Russe’s corps, young men from good families who were not in the chain of command.
Brandt was very rigid about the men he trusted, and about men in general, and these knights were not in his inner corps. They served him but they mostly commanded the foot troops. With his five hundred troops and de Nerra’s nearly six hundred, he had a very sizable army heading north and he had Dylan and Alex position the additional lesser knights accordingly.
It was into this monstrous collection of men and weapons that Ellowyn found herself absorbed. As the rain pounded and the thunder rolled, she ended up in the middle of the column with her two escorts, slogging through the muddy roads on their way out of London. Kerchief clutched in her hand, she sneezed and sniffled into it, all the while eyeing the big knights riding near her. She knew they were there to keep watch over her and protect her. Maybe they were even there to report back to de Russe on her every movement.
The truth was that she found herself thinking about de Russe more and more. He was like a completely different man since last night when they’d supped together. His eyes didn’t hold that hard edge any longer. Not that she cared. Well, perhaps she was coming to care in the slightest, and that thought scared her to death. She’d never shown interest for a man in her life and she wasn’t about to start now.
The trek was slow because of the rain, unfortunate because the weather seemed to be worsening. Everything was gray; the sky, the air, and even the land to some extent. Because the road was so traveled, it was wide and very well used which meant the mud made from the loose earth and rainwater turned portions of it into swamps. The men on foot were covered in mud up to their hips and even the horses had some trouble maneuvering through it. Ellowyn made sure she was very careful w
hen they came to such soupy patches. That last thing she wanted to do was end up in the mud again.
There wasn’t anything spectacular about the travel as they made their way out of London. It was cold and wet, and although Ellowyn had initially felt better after her warm brew and porridge, the cough was starting to make a return and her throat was becoming very sore from all of the hacking. More than that, she was very cold in spite of her layers of clothing, making for a truly miserable ride, so she kept her head lowered and the oiled cloak pulled very tightly around her as the minutes and then hours passed.
Acton. Penvale. Gutteridge. The line of unspectacular towns passed in succession. The party was so large that they would literally swamp the small villages with men and animals as they moved through. If the weather hadn’t been so poor, people might have actually turned out to see them, but as the thunder rolled it was as if they were passing through ghost towns. Worse yet, Ellowyn’s illness was making her extremely drowsy and after four hours in the saddle, she was struggling to stay awake. Twice, she had nearly fallen off her horse. She hoped no one had noticed.
She tried everything to stay awake, including eating the bread and cheese that the innkeeper had given her but, much to her chagrin, a full belly only made her sleepier. She was deeply thankful when the column finally came to a halt outside of a small village. Ellowyn could see the huddle of houses in the distance, with smoke from the fireplaces heavy upon the air. She heard someone say that the village was called Beaconsfield, and as she sat upon her horse, soaked to the skin and coughing, she very nearly gave up any hope of surviving the trip. She was feeling horrible and it surely would kill her. Perhaps she should have stayed in London as de Russe had suggested. Perhaps he had been right.
“My lady?”
A deep, quiet voice roused her from her thoughts and she looked over her right shoulder to see de Russe standing there. He was soaked too, his mail rusting in the bad weather and creating black streaks on his chin and cheek. His nose was pinched red from the cold but the glimmer in his eye was rather warm. Weary, but warm.
“I have secured a room for you in town,” he told her. “It is not much, but at least it is warm and dry.”
Ellowyn was deeply grateful. In fact, tears popped to her eyes as she thought of actually being warm and dry. It was a great relief.
“Thank you,” she sighed, appreciatively. “I must be honest when I say that I was coming to think I would never be dry again.”
His lips twitched with the flicker of a smile. Silently, he took the reins of her horse and pulled the beast along towards his charger. As lightning lit up the sky overhead, he managed to mount his steed still holding on to the reins of her horse, and proceeded to lead her into town.
There was a small town square, or at least the semblance of one, and an inn tucked deep amongst the poorly constructed buildings. Brandt dismounted his warhorse and tethered the animal before moving to Ellowyn and helping her from her mount. The problem was that she was so stiff from having ridden all day, and ill to boot, that she could hardly dismount, so he pulled her from the horse and carried her into the inn.
Entering the establishment was like walking through the gates of Hell. They were hit in the face by a blast of hot, smelly air, and the great room was filled to the rafters with people. It smelled like an ocean of unwashed bodies as Brandt set Ellowyn carefully to her feet.
As hardened as he was to people and places, even he was a bit put off by the sheer smell and volume of people. He glanced at Ellowyn, apologetically, before emitting a shrill whistle that almost immediately silenced the writhing throng. When the sound died down, he bellowed.
“Barkeep!”
Ellowyn jumped at the sound of his voice. It was like the voice of God, echoing off the walls, powerful in its timbre and baritone resonance. As she coughed into her hand, a skinny man with a crooked back appeared.
“M’lord?” he stammered nervously.
Brandt’s intense gaze zeroed in on the man. “You have a room for the Duke of Exeter.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly and he bowed swiftly once or twice. “Aye, m’lord,” he began to walk, motioning them to follow. “This way, if ye please.”
Ellowyn stumbled after the man, following him to the rear of the building where there was a small corridor with three doors. The hunched man led her into the last door, shoving it open because it was stuck in the ill-crafted doorframe. Beyond was a rather large room with two beds and a snapping fire. In fact, Ellowyn came to a halt just inside the doorway, shocked at the room. For all of the crowded dirtiness of the inn, she hadn’t expected something as spacious or well-kempt as this. Her eyes widened.
“All of this?” she asked no one in particular. “For me?”
The barkeep slipped past her. “I will bring food, m’lady.”
He vanished back into the busy inn, leaving Ellowyn and Brandt standing in silence until Ellowyn began hacking and Brandt stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him to keep the warmth in.
“Perhaps you should remove your cloak,” he said quietly. “In fact, perhaps you should undress completely so your clothes may be dried before we embark again on the morrow. And a hot bath probably would not hurt, either.”
Ellowyn coughed again, realizing how very cold she was. Her brain was moving rather slowly, muddled with fatigue and illness. With freezing fingers, she fumbled with the ties at her neck.
“If one could be arranged, I would be very grateful,” she said.
Brandt noticed she was having trouble with her cloak ties so he gently pushed her fingers away and politely undid the tie. Then he pulled the cloak off of her and went to hang it on a peg next to the hearth so the radiant heat would dry it.
Ellowyn watched him, aware that his presence was comforting. She wasn’t sure why, but it was. She was also aware that she was glad to see him, having traveled essentially alone for the past ten hours with no conversation or company. She had been lonely, and he offered company. Unusual for the lady who liked to be alone.
But she was sure he did not feel the same. She watched him quit the room and close the door softly behind him, a bit disappointed at his departure. He didn’t even say a word to her. With a heavy sigh, she went over to the fire and began the laborious process of undressing with cold and wet clothing. Her shoes were the first to come off, placed neatly by the fire before pulling off her hose, which ended up draped over a stool as close to the fire as she could get it without igniting it. Then came her surcoat, of which the entire bottom of the skirt was soaking and muddied. She was untying the stays at her waist when the door opened again.
Brandt was there, holding the door open as a heavy-set man with a mashed face and curly black hair entered lugging a big copper pot. There were a pair of women behind him struggling to carry buckets of hot water, which were dumped into the pot. As they left to get more water, Brandt turned to Ellowyn.
“I will have someone bring your belongings,” he said. “Do you require anything else?”
Did she? Probably not. Just someone to talk to would have been nice, and she had very much enjoyed their conversation the previous night when the duke had spoken of Deston. But the entire conversation had been one of polite duty out of respect to de Nerra, she was sure. It hadn’t been anything personal, because he didn’t want to speak to her personally. She understood that.
“You have been most kind and accommodating, my lord,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “Please know that I appreciate your attentiveness greatly, but I do not want you to feel obligated. Surely you have more important duties than seeing to my comfort.”
Brandt’s dark gaze lingered on her. “None that I can think of,” he replied. “Seeing to your comfort is an important duty as far as I am concerned.”
She gave him a weak smile, ruining the effect when she burst into a series of harsh coughs. “You are very kind,” she repeated. “You are coming to make me feel very guilty about our first meeting. Had I only known I was beco
ming irate with a saint.”
He broke into a grin. “I thought we were going to forget about that.”
She grinned in response, shrugging as she turned back to the fire. “We were,” she said. “Eventually. I do not suppose there is anything I can do to make up for that encounter except… oh, wait a moment… perhaps there is.”
He was more than curious. “There is nothing to make up for, but I would be willing to listen to suggestions.”
She stood up on her cold, bare feet and pointed to the two beds in the room. “This,” she said. “There is only one of me but there are two beds in the room. Perhaps we could string a curtain between the two, for propriety of course, and you could sleep in one and I could sleep in the other. It seems an awful waste for one of these beds to remain empty while you sleep outside in the foul weather. That way, you can enjoy a dry bed as well.”
He looked at her, seeing that she sincerely meant what she said. She also meant it quite innocently, which disappointed him, although he couldn’t figure out exactly why except that an inappropriate offer would have flattered him deeply. But she hadn’t meant it that way, mostly because he was sure she didn’t find anything about him remotely attractive. It was a kind offer, but inappropriate. After a moment, he shook his head.
“You are very generous to suggest such a thing,” he said, “but I am afraid I cannot.”
She cocked her head. “Why?”
He lifted his eyebrows at her. “My lady, if your father got wind of such a sleeping arrangement, he would cut off my… head. He would be furious to say the least.”
Her brow furrowed. “But there is no reason why… oh….” She cooled. “Do you mean to imply that I suggested something inappropriate? That was not my intention, my lord. Not in the least.”
He could see she was mildly offended. “My lady, I did not take it as an improper suggestion, but there are others who would wonder why I was sleeping in your room. It is an unfortunate fact that men talk and if word got back to your father, I would be in for a row.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 80
