Brandt didn’t do much other than watch his men work the doors. It was methodical and calculated. He knew they would eventually open the keep and he was under no illusion that de Nerra wasn’t going to fight him once he entered, so they had a master plan – they would wait until both doors were open and create a bigger, louder diversion at the keep entry while Brandt entered through the kitchens and went in search of Ellowyn. He would be armed, of course, but he would try not to kill anyone. All he wanted was Ellowyn. So far, they’d managed to not lose a single life and he wanted to keep it that way.
It was a simple notion, or so he thought. The entry was breached before the kitchen door was, and that proved a mess to bring down. Ultimately, they brought out a couple of axes and Brandt lent his considerably strength to chopping down the rest of the kitchen door.
When the gap was big enough for a man to slip through, he handed the axe off to le Bec as Dylan went to the door to see what was waiting for them on the other side. Unfortunately for him, he got too close to the breach and the panicked cook hit him on the head with an iron pot in a blow that sent him to his knees.
With Dylan dazed, Brandt tried to charge through but found himself fended off by several kitchen women using spits and pokers to keep him at bay. When one came too close to his eye, he furiously reached out and tossed the spit outside into the yard. That prompted the other women to start whacking him with their pitiful weapons. Brandt grabbed at them, yanked them free, and tossed.
Soon the kitchen yard was full of iron kitchen implements because Brandt was genuinely trying not to hurt anyone. He simply didn’t want to be hurt in the process, either. Those pokers were coming awfully close to his eyes and face to the point where he had to lower his visor. Then he looked terrifying and the servants were panicked even more.
Eventually, he had enough of the foolery. He pushed his way into the kitchen, batting away the crude weapons the servants were using against him. St. Hèver pushed in after him and actually pushed a woman onto her backside, which brought a chorus of screams. Brandt glanced back at him to see what he done, to which the young knight only shrugged. It was the oddest battle they had ever fought – weaponless and against women. But all of Brandt’s knights understood what he was trying to accomplish. They wanted Ellowyn and didn’t want to have to kill everyone to get to her.
Brandt pushed his way through the close quarters of the kitchen, heading to the alcove that eventually led into the great hall, when he ran head-long into another woman. It was a rather violent collision in the dark. He reached out to prevent her from falling over only to realize it was Lady Gray. And trailing after Lady Gray, holding on to the woman’s skirts, was Ellowyn.
“Brandt!” she shrieked.
Gray shushed her granddaughter harshly, thrusting her at Brandt when she realized who it was.
“Take her,” she hissed. “Deston is at the entry. Take her now or you will have real blood on your hands.”
Brandt didn’t need to be told twice. Flipping up his visor and with a loud kiss to Lady Gray’s cheek, he whisked Ellowyn back towards the kitchens with St. Hèver covering their retreat. In the dim, smokiness of the close-quarters kitchen, Brandt and his men backed their way out of the keep and out into the sunlight. When Dylan de Lara saw them emerge, he began bellowing the retreat orders, eventually taken up by de Reyne, le Bec, and his brother who were at the keep entry creating all sorts of havoc.
The duke’s men deteriorated into organized chaos as they scrambled for their mounts. The provisions wagons, having been positioned in the outer bailey by the gates, rallied and fled out into the countryside, followed by the retreat of the troops. The senior knights managed to mount their horses with Brandt and Ellowyn leaping aboard his muscular charger. Ellowyn nearly fell off as Brandt spurred the beast out of the front gates of Erith, leaving de Nerra’s naked army behind, wondering why the duke’s army had cleared out so quickly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was that dream again.
As Ellowyn moved towards a grove of stripped trees, the mud became shallower and less binding, and she struggled to get up onto firmer ground. But she slipped and fell to her knees, bracing herself with one arm to keep from falling completely while the other arm went around her belly. A big, swollen belly.
She put a hand to her gut, feeling the life kicking within. It brought a rush of joy and euphoria, feeling the tender life she carried. But it did not take away from her sense of urgency as she scratched and clawed her way up onto firmer ground, out of the mud that was sucking her down. Finally free of the cold, gray mud, she stood for a moment, gaining her bearings.
The dream was oddly fluid. Everything rippled, like movement upon a lake. She turned to look at the castle again, seeing the fingers of smoke spiraling upwards even in the rain, and as she gazed steadily at the broken walls and gray-stoned keep, she could see that every window in the keep was glowing red. They looked like eyes, pulsating a red and liquid reflection of the evil that surrounded it. As she watched, the red turned to blood and began dripping down the side of the keep. All of those windows, now dripping blood.
Horrified, frightened, Ellowyn tore her gaze away from the hellish castle, arms around her swollen belly as she began to walk. Tears filled her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks, as she began to call for her love, her life, the man she was looking for. In dreams past, she had only come this far before the dream ended. So many times it had ended and so many times she had awoken upset and frustrated. But this time, the dream didn’t end. She was able to keep going, searching with panic that swelled her heart so that she thought it might burst. Bodies were at her feet but she didn’t recognize any of them. She kept going, feeling the cold rain against her face, feeling the cold, howling winds that grabbed at her.
And then she saw someone she knew. Her grandfather was standing by the edge of a grove of trees. His armor was clean, untouched, and dry. Rain was pouring down upon her, but her grandfather was completely dry. He looked at her with some sorrow. Ellowyn ran to him.
“Papa!” she cried. “Help me! I cannot find him!”
Braxton simply stood there, looking at her. When she tried to touch him, her hands went right through him. Then, he pointed.
Ellowyn’s gaze moved in the direction he was indicating. She had no idea what he meant or what he was pointing at. All she could see was a sea of corpses that were beginning to turn into liquid, being absorbed into the ground. But as they drained away, into the mud and earth, she saw a figure propped up against a tree in the distance.
As she focused on the distant figure, Braxton began to howl in her ear. It was a mournful and terrifying sound, enough to make her scream as everything else faded to black.
*
“They have not followed us yet but our scouts report that de Nerra is amassing his army,” Dylan told Brandt. “He knows we have her and it is evident he intends to pursue.”
Brandt gazed up at the man, his expression without emotion. It was towards midnight as he sat at a heavy, damaged table before a smoking fire in a public house in the village of Garstang. Twenty-six miles south of Erith, it had been the logical place to stop for the night so Ellowyn could gain a few hours of sleep.
Garstang was a larger berg, with several public houses, that were well used and littered with all kinds of people. Brandt had his army park themselves south of the town in an open field that had a clear field of vision in all directions, while he took his senior knights to an inn on the edge of town called the Punchbowl. It was unusual comfort for the usually hard-core men, but in Brandt’s opinion, they deserved it. Besides, it was his wedding night and he was feeling particularly generous.
“Of course he knows I have her,” Brandt grunted as he rubbed his weary eyes. “Deston can pursue me to the ends of the earth but it does not change the fact that I married his daughter earlier today and that she is now my wife. He cannot destroy the bonds of matrimony. Whether or not he likes it, Ellowyn belongs to me.”
Dylan shrugged
as he claimed a seat next to St. Hèver. “I am sure he will be happy to discuss that with you when he catches up to us, my lord,” he said, rather sarcastically and wearily. “Our scouts did not seem to think his army would be departing this night which leads me to believe he will be departing at dawn and, just as we have scouts, I am sure he has his own who are reporting back to him that we are holed up in Garstang.”
Brandt took a long drink of his wine, watching Dylan rip into a warm and succulent piece of beef. In fact, all of his senior knights were seated around the table in various stages of a food-and-drink stupor. Le Bec and de Reyne, overstuffed and bordering on drunk, were arm wrestling at the end of the table while St. Hèver, the ever-proper and pious young knight, was trying not to look at a young and rather pretty serving wench who was trying very hard to catch his eye. Alex de Lara was aware of this and kept calling the girl over to the table to refill their cups while Dylan, newly returned from settling the men and debriefing the scouts, ignored everything else and tucked into his food.
Brandt watched it all with some amusement and, surprisingly, a great deal of relaxation. He was more at ease than he had been in quite a while knowing that Ellowyn was safely asleep over his head. He really didn’t care about de Nerra in the least. Alcohol and a rush of emotions had seen to that. At the moment, he simply wanted to enjoy the situation and his new marriage. He’d never felt such contentment.
“We will not be here long enough for them to catch up to us,” he finally said. “We leave this berg before dawn. If all goes well and the weather holds, we should be home in less than two weeks. If de Nerra wants to attack Guildford after a battle march across the whole of England, then I invite him to try.”
Dylan wriggled his eyebrows, his mouth full. He was starving and had spent a good deal of time securing the men while the other knights ate their supper. He didn’t want to talk anymore but he couldn’t help stating the obvious.
“We are traveling with weary men and a woman, my lord,” he pointed out. “If we make it back to Guildford in two weeks, we will be fortunate. Much can happen in two weeks, now with an angry father on our tail.”
Brandt cocked an eyebrow at him. “Much can happen indeed,” he agreed, not particularly pleased with Dylan’s attitude. “In fact, I would suggest we send your brother to solicit support from your father and St. Hèver to the Marches to solicit support from his father. I have enough to deal with now with de Nerra nipping at my heels and preparations to return to France. I will not be able to attend the Duke of Carlisle and the Earl of Wrexham personally.”
Dylan simply nodded his head, his mouth too full and his mind too weary to think on anything more that evening. As a tense silence settled, le Bec entered the conversation.
“My lord?” he said. “Is your lady wife well? She seemed rather fatigued when we arrived earlier. I am sorry she was not able to join us for sup.”
Brandt set his cup down, exhaling wearily. “She is well, simply exhausted,” he replied, his thoughts turning to his wife. “She went upstairs, fell on the bed, and went straight to sleep. I should go and check on her. Perhaps she is awake and will join us now.”
He stood up, feeling every inch of his exhaustion, as Dylan muttered. “Or perhaps you should simply stay in the room with her,” he said, mouth full. “You are a bridegroom, after all. Why would you wish to share your wife with us on this night?”
As the knights snickered, Brandt actually grinned. He slapped Dylan on the shoulder as he walked past him and lumbered up the uneven stairs.
The corridor was dim, the only light from the common room down below seeping up through the floorboards. Brandt headed for the room at the far end of the hall, the one farthest from the inn’s main chamber. He had tried to find a quiet spot for Ellowyn, something rather difficult in a packed inn, but as he inserted the crude key into the equally crude iron lock, he opened the door to a darkened and quiet chamber. It seemed worlds away from the quagmire downstairs.
It was a long and skinny chamber that stretched all down the side of the structure with a big window that overlooked the stable yard below. He could smell the animals wafting through the oilcloth. The bed, barely big enough for two, was shoved against the far wall with the foot of it close to the small fireplace, now laying low and glowing with a mixture of peat and wood.
As he made his way quietly over to the bed, he realized there was noise coming from the darkened corner. He could hear sniffles and sobbing. It took him a moment to realize that Ellowyn was weeping.
Brandt sank down on to the mattress, full of concern. “Wynny?” he asked softly. “Why do you weep, sweetheart?”
Ellowyn wiped furiously at her face. “It… it is of no worry” she whispered. “I suppose… it has been a long day. I am simply fatigued.”
Brandt’s brow furrowed as he stroked her red hair. “But you were fine when I left you earlier,” he insisted quietly. “You were dead asleep. Why are you crying now?”
The fact that he was pressing her on the reasons behind her tears made her weep more. “I… I will not see my father or mother again,” she sobbed. “I miss them already.”
He sighed heavily. He wasn’t about to remind her that he had warned her of such a thing. Now was not the time. He stroked her head again and kissed her forehead.
“Aye, you will,” he assured her. “They will not stay angry with us for long, especially when their grandchildren come along. That will make them forget everything.”
Ellowyn wasn’t entirely convinced but she nodded anyway, wiping at her nose. “Mayhap,” she said. “But I miss them just the same. And… and I had a dream.”
He bent over her so that he was nearly laying on her, stroking her silken hair and kissing her cheek.
“What dream, sweet?”
She gazed up at him, shadows on her face as her tears glistened in the weak firelight. “I do not exactly know,” she murmured, her tears lessening. “I have had the same dream for a while now. Sometimes I have dreams that come true and this one scares me.”
He smiled faintly. “Are you a prophetess, then?”
She nodded seriously even though he had meant it in jest. “Since I was young, I have had dreams that sometimes come true,” she said. “I dreamt that my brother would no longer be a knight but no one believed me, and then he left for the cloister. I also dreamt my grandfather was ill well before he told anyone. I have dreamt of other things, as well, that have come to pass.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You did not tell me you were an oracle. Perhaps I can use you to my advantage.”
She grinned weakly because he was, wiping away the last of her tears. “I cannot divine your warring future,” she told him. “But… but this dream. It is about war. There is a castle with a big keep and it is raining heavily. The castle is on fire and there are bodies strewn everywhere. I am walking through the mud and rain searching for my love but I do not know who he is nor can I find him. I am so terribly frightened and it is then I realize I am with child. I walk through this mud and blood, my hands on my swollen belly, looking for… someone. It is a horrible dream.”
Brandt took absolutely no stock in prophetic dreams. He was a logical man and knew there was an explanation for everything. Moreover, the mind could do strange things when weary or frightened. He had experienced it for himself. He stroked her head again and kissed her cheek.
“Now I am here and I will chase these evil dreams from your mind,” he said softly. “I will bring you comfort where you have had none before. Once you feel safe and cherished, this dream will stop. Do you feel like eating something now? Perhaps some food will help chase your nightmares away.”
Ellowyn sighed wearily. “I am not hungry,” she told him. “I simply want to sleep.”
He didn’t push her. “As you wish,” he kissed her cheek again. “As your husband, may I join you?”
She smiled, a genuine gesture. “I was hoping you would.”
Brandt didn’t need any further prompting or conversation. He stood
up from the bed and began pulling off pieces of armor and his mail. When he had it all gathered up, he sent a servant for his squires, who came on the run. There were two of them, big strapping lads, and they carried away the duke’s expensive protection to clean it and have it ready for him in the morning.
When the young men fled, Brandt pulled off his tunic and sat down on the bed to remove his boots. He found that he was very eager to get into bed with his new wife, reminding himself that he had to take it slowly with her. She was sweet, sensuous and delicious, but she was also very virginal. He didn’t want to frighten or hurt her, although he knew the latter was inevitable as an untouched bride. He found that he was actually shaking with anticipation as he slipped his leather breeches off and, in the darkness of the room, climbed into the narrow bed next to her. But the moment he went to pull her into his arms, she snored and sighed. It was so dark in the room that he had to get right up to her face to see that she had fallen back asleep.
He sighed, feeling a good deal of disappointment. Then, he chuckled at the irony of the situation. He lay down quietly next to her, folding a big arm under his head and just watching her. The firelight was very faint but he could still see her features in the glow. She was such an exquisite creature. He was still having difficulty believing that she belonged to him now because the events of the past day, not to mention the past week, had been overwhelmingly swift. He felt like he was still trying to catch up with all that had happened.
Reaching out with his free hand, he gently touched her hair, her forehead. Then he touched her neck and shoulder and wound back up to her head again. She had such lovely hair. She stirred a bit but didn’t waken.
Lifting a rather devious eyebrow, Brandt shook the bed a bit. She didn’t stir. He wriggled harder, enough to move her fairly significantly, and she stirred again but she didn’t awaken. Then, he bounced around like a fool two or three times, enough to jolt her out of a deep sleep. As big a man as he was, he nearly flipped her right out of bed. He lay there innocently as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 89
