He couldn’t maneuver with her on the ground at his feet and he very badly needed to. He’d managed to kill one man but there were two more, and perhaps even more. He wasn’t quite sure because it seemed as if they were everywhere. Slugging the nearest enemy soldier in the face and sending the man to the ground, he ducked low when someone slashed a sword over his head and tried to decapitate him. He turned to Ellowyn.
“Wynny!” he snapped. “Get up! I need you to get up!”
Ellowyn had been stepped on twice. She was overwhelmed by the chaos and fighting over her head but she heard Brandt’s voice, like a beacon in the darkness luring her towards it, and she grabbed on to Brandt’s leg with her good arm, using him to help her get to her feet. Once, he took a big step back and knocked her down, but she continued to struggle to her feet. Left hand pressed to the wound on her right shoulder, she tucked in behind Brandt and prayed they would survive.
She wasn’t the only one praying. Brandt was, too. He was using every part of his body to fight off the onslaught but trying to protect a wounded woman had him in a bad position. Fists met with jaws and feet met with bellies and groins. He’d already killed two men with blades through their chests. When he managed to disable the last man involved against him, he whirled to Ellowyn and put a big arm around her, battling his way out of the fight. He couldn’t pick her up because if he did, he wouldn’t have a free hand to defend them both. She had to walk on her own.
Men were ripping at his supply wagons and beating down his soldiers but Brandt didn’t care about that. All he cared about was removing Ellowyn from the chaos, an unprotected woman in a sea of razor-sharp blades. As he headed towards a break in the trees, a man rushed at him and he had to push Ellowyn away so he would be free to fight.
Ellowyn stumbled, watching Brandt engage a man in heavy armor but, strangely, without a helm. Still, he seemed to be a fairly accomplished warrior because he was able to withstand Brandt’s powerful thrusts. The duke was impressive to watch, in both strength and skill, and like a God, his skills were innate and flawless, his instincts without question. Ellowyn began to see what all men saw in de Russe. She saw the Black Angel of legend. She saw Death.
When the battling pair came close and Ellowyn was forced to move away lest she become swept up in the maelstrom, she ended up tripping and falling to her knee. Her left hand, bracing against the fall, fell upon a heavy piece of wood. Ellowyn grasped it. As Brandt gored his opponent in the groin and the man fell on his back, Ellowyn picked up the wood and smashed it across his face several times, beating in his features until they were a bloody pulp. There was panic to her movements, and there was fear. But there was also unmitigated bravery.
Brandt was somewhat surprised to see her rather brutal move, but in hindsight, he should not have been. Ellowyn de Nerra had thus far proven herself a strong and fearless woman, and she never failed to impress him. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Something was in the air between them, something inviting and curious no less, very misplaced in the middle of a battle, but they could both feel it. At that moment something ignited, at least for Brandt. Sword in his left hand, he went to Ellowyn and very carefully tossed her up on his broad and armored shoulder. Without a word, he carried her off to safety.
CHAPTER NINE
“Welsh,” Dylan said grimly. “Our scouts said that they raided Kenilworth Castle to the south earlier today. Then they saw us and apparently saw something worth taking.”
It was just after sunset as Brandt stood outside of his tent, a massive structure that bore the black and white of the Duke of Exeter. The shelter, like all of the others pitched up around the edge of a small and dense forest to the south of Coventry, had seen more than its share of bad weather and use during Brandt’s campaign with the Black Prince in France. Everyone knew Exeter’s colors, announcing the onslaught of Edward’s war machine.
“They were furious and they were determined,” Brandt finally mumbled, scratching at his forehead. “To attack Kenilworth is foolish enough, but to attack a fully functional army smacks of madness. What is our final casualty count?”
“Eighteen dead and twenty-seven wounded,” Dylan replied. “Most of the dead are de Nerra men. When the Welsh hit us, they slammed into their column first.”
Brandt grunted softly. “And they almost took the lady down with them,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “ ’Tis a miracle she was spared.”
“How is she?”
Brandt glanced around his senior corps, standing in a semi-circle before him. They were still in full armor, battle-hardened men that were perhaps more comfortable in a fight than most. Alex and Magnus were sporting various cuts about the face but, for the most part, everyone had come through unscathed. His gaze came to rest on Brennan.
“Thanks to St. Hèver, she survived,” he said, his gaze fixed on the blond young knight. “His quick thinking is all that stood between her and certain death. Brennan, you are to be commended. Your father shall know of your valor.”
Brennan, standing between Stefan and Magnus, bowed his head modestly but didn’t reply. He was a humble young man. Brandt’s gaze lingered on him a moment.
“She will recover,” he said, addressing the group as a whole. “I sent to St. Mary’s in Coventry for a physic and two nuns were dispatched. They are with her now and barring anything catastrophic, the lady assures me she will be well enough to travel in the morning.”
The knights glanced at each other, around the semi-circle, unspoken questions presented in the guise of eye contact. The past six days with the lady had seen her remarkably quiet and accommodating, not at all like the banshee of description they had first been introduced to.
De Russe, in fact, had shown her an inordinate amount of courtesy during the trip north and she had responded in kind. They had all seen it. Now, her injury had them all feeling rather guilty, as if they had collectively let her down somehow. Only men were supposed to be injured in battle, not innocent women.
“Camp is established, my lord, and posts set for the night,” Dylan spoke up. “Is there anything else we can do for the lady?”
“Nay,” de Russe shook his head. “She is well-tended. For now, I would suggest you all take some rest. You have earned it.”
With that, the group disbanded, wandering off towards tents and campfires and food. The de Lara twins stayed together, usually including St. Hèver because they had all grown up together, while le Bec and de Reyne formed their own little group. They were insomniacs, requiring very little sleep, so they tended to wander the night while the others slept. Brandt watched his men disappear into the night before turning for his tent and pulling back the flap.
Ellowyn was in the center of it, near the flat copper disc that, raised off the dirt floor with stones, contained burning peat or wood. Tonight, it burned wood and the soldiers who pitched his tent had opened a roof flap for ventilation. It made the tent very warm but also very smoky. It was enough to sting Brandt’s eyes as he entered.
“My lady?” he said from the entry. “May I come in?”
Ellowyn was on her back on a mound of furs. She waved her good arm at him. “Please,” she said.
He entered, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Besides the fire, there were also three or four fat tallow candles sending greasy smoke to the ceiling. The tent was fairly well lit as he came to within a few feet of where Ellowyn lay but he was prevented from moving closer by one of the nuns. The woman in heavy brown robes, coarse but clean, rose from her seat near Ellowyn and nearly threw a body block in front of him.
“Psh!” she hissed, putting up her hands. “No closer, my lord. Thou wilt keep distance.”
Brandt lifted his eyebrows at the little nun, with her bird-thin hands and heavy Germanic accent. He didn’t have much patience for pushy women and struggled not to physically shove her aside. She was denying him his wants and he didn’t like that one bit.
“I have come to speak with the lady, not rava
ge her,” he said somewhat wryly. “How is she?”
The nun still stood in front of him with her hands up. “She will heal,” the woman said. “The wound was not deep.”
On the ground, Ellowyn put her good hand over her face and groaned. “Please,” she muttered softly. “Save me.”
Brandt looked at her, brow furrowed. “Save you from what?”
The hand flew away from her face. “Boredom!” she hissed. “They have been reciting the Book of Job since they arrived. I am so despondent with his trials that I am ready to throw myself in the fire!”
Brandt struggled not to laugh. “It is not a very big fire,” he told her. “I doubt it would kill you.”
She grunted, unhappy. “Probably not,” she said, looking him in the eye. “But they feel it necessary to not only heal my wound but save my soul.”
“Why?”
She made a face. “They think I am a camp whore.”
He did burst out laughing, then. It was a short guffaw that he quickly stilled. “That is madness,” he said, looking at the little nun in front of him. “She is not a whore.”
The little nun lifted her eyebrows at him as if she didn’t believe him. “Thou wilt leave, my lord.”
He frowned, putting his big hands on his hips. “I will not leave,” he said. “She is… well, she is not a whore and I will not leave.”
On her back, Ellowyn sighed rather dramatically. “I told them I was your wife.”
His head snapped to her. “Wife?”
“Wife.”
He caught on quickly to the lie. “Aye, wife,” he confirmed, although he didn’t sound sincere. He sounded off-guard. “This woman is my wife. It is you who will leave now. We no longer require your services.”
The little nun took a rather surprising stance. Rather than outright believe him, she questioned him. “If that is true, my lord, why does she not wear a band signifying her marriage?” she asked. “Married women wear it as a symbol of their union.”
Brandt was finished being polite. His dark eyes narrowed. “Get out,” he growled. “I will not tell you again.”
Ellowyn, who had been fighting off a grin to this point, heard the death in his tone. She didn’t want him snapping the woman’s neck out of sheer exhaustion and frustration. She lifted her voice to capture their attention before things deteriorated into unholy mortal combat. One enormous knight against a determined little nun would not have a good outcome.
“I do not wear a band because… because it was stolen when I received this wound,” she told the woman quickly, fearful of what Brandt might do. “We were married in Kendal five years ago come May and… and we have two sons. Big, healthy sons. They live… with my parents in Cumbria because I went with my husband to France. We are going home now. Although I sincerely thank you for your assistance, I believe it is no longer required. My husband has surgeons with his army who can tend to me further if needed. Is there anything more you wish to know?”
By this time, the little nun and Brandt were both looking at her with some interest. The nun, in fact, was starting to back down. She glanced at Brandt with some uncertainty before replying to Ellowyn.
“It is my duty to protect you, my lady,” she said rather firmly. “Although I mean no disrespect, lies do not please our Lord.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I am simply saying that our Lord is displeased with sin.”
Ellowyn fixed the woman in the eye. “As He is displeased with stubbornness and the lack of humility,” she said, growing irritated. “Who are you to question us? My husband is the Duke of Exeter. He is an extremely powerful and influential man. You are unworthy of questioning his integrity. Now, you and your companion will leave. I no longer require you.”
It was clear the nun did not believe them but she bowed out without another word, taking her silent colleague with her. Brandt simply stood aside as they quickly gathered their things and fled the tent. He stuck his head from the open flap to make sure the nuns were escorted back to St. Mary’s, but that was the extent of his attention toward them. His focus quickly returned to Ellowyn. He smiled at her.
“You will have to say many Hail Mary’s for lying to a nun,” he told her. “In fact, we both will.”
Ellowyn giggled. “I thought you were going to come to blows with her.”
He wriggled his dark brows. “I thought so, too. Fortunately, you took charge of the situation and saved me. I could not possibly pray enough rosary novenas to save my soul from Hell if I were to go to battle against a nun.”
She laughed softly as he made his way over to her. “I will give her credit for being a brave woman. Not many would stand up to you as she did.”
“You did.”
“I was a fool.”
He grinned as he crouched next to her, joints in his knees popping. His gaze never left her face. “How is your shoulder?”
She moved it gingerly. “It is sore,” she admitted. “Honestly, I do not need to lay here like an invalid. I am perfectly capable of sitting up.”
He shrugged. “Why would you want to?” he asked. “It is late and we will be getting an early start in the morning. It would do you good to rest until then.”
She knew he was right, so she managed a reluctant nod. They were gazing at each other quite openly and Ellowyn could feel something warm in the air between them. It was that same warm feeling she had experienced with him after the battle, that moment when they had finished off the Welsh soldier together. It had been an oddly bonding event and most unexpected. At least, it had been a bonding event for her. She realized at that moment she was coming to feel something towards him more than simply camaraderie. It was both a terrifying and thrilling realization.
“I want to apologize for my behavior earlier,” she said, finally averting her gaze. “In the battle… I suppose I was more frightened and overwhelmed than I realized. All I could think of was escaping to safety. I did not mean to put you in such danger and I know I did.”
His expression was rather gentle as he looked at her. “You did not put me in any more danger than I already was,” he said. “I was simply terrified that you were going to be killed. I apologize that my efforts to remove you from the battle were not immediately successful. That you should be in such peril for so long is inexcusable.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “You did your best,” she insisted softly. “With you as my protector, I never had a doubt that I would come through safely. You are quite impressive to behold in battle.”
He gave her a half-smile. “Have you seen many battles, then?”
She shook her head. “None, in fact,” she said, her eyes on him growing intense. “But I know an excellent warrior when I see him. No wonder the French call you l’ange noir.”
He could feel the intensity from her beautiful eyes. It sucked him right in and rather than curb himself, as he had been doing all along, he allowed himself to feel it.
“Compliments?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. “I told you I was not sure I am at all comfortable with them.”
“Because you want to believe them.”
He stared at her before nodding, faintly. “I do.”
“You may believe them, because they are the truth,” she murmured. Then, she smiled. “I would lie to a nun, but not to you.”
He smiled because she was. He even chuckled. Whatever was brewing between them had gone from a small spark to a healthy blaze fairly quickly, at least as far as he was concerned. It was so alien to him, these feelings of warmth and attraction, that he found he was actually somewhat giddy. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his palms were beginning to sweat. It was odd but wonderful. But being a man unused to romantic games of any kind, he had no idea how to deal with them.
“I appreciate that,” he said after a moment. “I would never lie to you, either.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation fell into warm if not slightly awkward silence. He didn’t want the conversation to die and
struggled to come up with something more to say to her. He didn’t want to leave.
“You said you were going to find me a wife,” he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Did you have anyone in mind?”
She laughed softly. “Did you have anyone in mind?” she countered. “I told you that I do not have many friends, at least friends that I would consider an appropriate match for you, so surely you must have someone in mind? Tell me and I shall write her forthwith with an introduction.”
Brandt had no idea how to play these flirtatious games, at least with a woman he genuinely respected and was genuinely attracted to. But he gave a good stab at it. If nothing else, perhaps he could discover what she thought of him. It might end his little infatuation with her fairly quickly without leaving him feeling too much like a fool. But he knew it would disappoint him a great deal if she was she not receptive.
“I am not sure,” he shrugged, lowering himself to his buttocks next to her pallet. “Women are not usually interested in me and if they are, it is only for my reputation and title.”
Ellowyn grew serious. “Surely there is someone who would see you as a man and not as a war machine.”
“I am one and the same.”
She shook her head. “Untrue,” she countered firmly, softly. “Who you are as a man is completely different than who you are as a warrior.”
He sat back, one big arm propped up on a bended knee. “Explain.”
She looked thoughtful. “Well,” she said, “as a warrior, you are bent on death. I saw you in the battle today and you were focused, alert, and skilled. That is the man they call the Black Angel. But right now, as you sit here and converse with me, you are kind, interested, and thoughtful. You are concerned for my shoulder and concerned for me. To me, that speaks highly of who Brandt de Russe is as a man. You are more than the Bringer of Death. You have a heart and a soul as well.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 83
