Brandt was on the run. He raced down the spiral stairs, through the keep entry, and down to the bailey. The first knight he came across was a lesser knight, helping with some repairs on the keep stairs, and he sent the man on the run into the town for the midwife. Only a command from Brandt was able to open all three portcullises and the gate, and Brandt made sure the knight was well on his way before ordering the gates closed again and retreating back inside the keep.
All the while, his mind was a blank slate of distress. He could not think on Ellowyn or the child at the moment because it would surely cripple him and it was imperative that he keep his head. He had to remain calm and in control, but the truth was that he was feeling more panic than he had ever felt in his life.
Battles and kings and frightening men with weapons could do nothing to threaten his heart. But a lovely slip of a woman that he loved with every fiber of his being could. By the time he reached the second floor chamber, he was wiping the tears from his eyes. He just couldn’t fathom anything happening to Ellowyn or their child. He was emotional, exhausted, and distraught.
The chamber was very quiet as he entered. Bridget and Annabeth were sitting by the bed, their eyes big on Brandt as he entered the room. His gaze was riveted to his wife, curled up on her left side and sleeping peacefully. His eyes never left her as he pulled up a chair and sat next to Annabeth and Bridget, staring at Ellowyn as if afraid she were about to disappear. The tears he had been trying so hard to wipe away were back and they coursed down his cheeks as he stared at her.
Annabeth and Bridget watched in shock as the mighty Duke of Exeter crumbled. As Annabeth sat next to him, wondering how on earth she could provide the man with some comfort, Bridget rose to pour him a measure of wine. They were desperate to do something to comfort him. Brandt took the wine gratefully and gulped it down, so Bridget poured him another. She was pouring him a third cup when she noticed a figure in the slightly ajar door.
Brennan stood there, peering into the room. He was dirty and exhausted, his sea-blue eyes lined with circles. He locked gazes with Bridget, so she carefully handed Brandt his third cup of wine and left the room, pushing Brennan back out into the darkened corridor. She shut the door softly behind her.
“What is the matter?” Brennan hissed.
Bridget put her hands on his chest, quieting him. “My question first,” she insisted softly. “Are you well?”
His face softened somewhat and he nodded. “I am well,” he whispered. “Most everyone is well.”
She smiled at him and he took one of her hands and kissed it gently. “What is happening with Lady de Russe?” he asked, her hand still against his lips. “The duke sent someone to fetch the midwife. I came to see if he needed anything else.”
She shook her head. “I will ask him,” she said. “Lady de Russe has been in pain since yesterday and we do not know what is wrong. He is understandably distraught.”
Brennan looked rather distressed himself as he nodded, kissing her hand again as she left him and went back into the room. Bridget left the door cracked as she quietly moved to Brandt.
“My lord,” she whispered. “Brennan is here. He wants to know if you require anything at all.”
Brandt was still staring at his wife, now fortified by three cups of strong wine, which was loosening him up. He thought a moment on the question.
“Have him see to my daughters,” he replied. Then, he glanced up at Bridget and Annabeth. “Please leave us alone. I would be grateful.”
Without another word, the ladies slipped out and closed the door. When Brandt heard the door shut and he was finally alone with Ellowyn in their comfortable chamber, his head sank face-first onto the mattress next to his wife. He could no longer control what he was feeling. He held her hand tightly. It was the worst thing he had ever experienced.
“Please, God,” he whispered, the tears flowing. “Please spare her. I shall never ask another thing from you ever again if you will only spare her.”
He lay there, face down, praying fervently until his exhaustion swamped him and he fell into a deep and troubled sleep.
*
“I cannot tell you what is amiss with the child,” the midwife told Brandt. “Your wife is in pain but she is not ready to give birth. Her body is not in preparation.”
Brandt was pale, unshaven, and edgy as he listened to the old woman from the village speak of the things he loved most in the world. He expected more of an answer but when she didn’t elaborate, he lifted his eyebrows expectantly.
“And?” he demanded. “What do you intend to do about it?”
The old lady was little and wrinkled. She had also been in hiding from the siege along with most of the village when Brandt’s knight came looking for her. It had been hours before she had been located and brought back to the castle. Brandt’s army was ready and waiting below to pull out and follow the king’s army south, but they could do nothing more than mark time. Their liege wasn’t ready to leave until the midwife gave him a report.
But it wasn’t a report he wanted to hear. After an examination of a miserable Ellowyn, the woman didn’t have much to say about the situation and Brandt could feel his frustration mount.
“Only time will decide my course of action,” she replied, intimidated by the big warlord. “It could be something within her own body causing her pain and not something to do with the child. The pain seems to be located in her back more than in her belly, but it is difficult to know. We will have to wait and see which course the body takes.”
Brandt didn’t like that answer at all. “So we just wait?” he repeated. “Wait for what? Wait for her or my son to die?”
The old woman took a step back, fearful to tell him what more she suspected. In fact, she decided against telling him that the child’s movements were weak. It might not reflect well on her. She gave one last try in an attempt to give the man some hope.
“I can administer a potion that will cause her to have the child, my lord,” she said quietly. “It is early, that is true, but I have seen earlier children survive. Only when we purge the child from her body can we truly hope to discover the reasons behind her pain.”
Brandt didn’t like that answer, either. He was starting to feel sick. He sighed heavily and seemed to deflate, leaning up against the wall in the corridor outside of the chamber where Ellowyn was. Brennan and Magnus were with him, silent support for the duke with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had enough to worry over with the King of France, with the Prince of Wales, and with the winds of war that had now turned into more of a tornado. Now, with his wife’s illness, it was almost too much for the man to bear, but he had no choice.
“If we do not force her to deliver the child early, what are her chances?” he asked hoarsely.
The midwife didn’t want to lie to the man but she didn’t want to get her head cut off, either. “It is difficult to say without knowing what is wrong,” she said truthfully. “We could force her to deliver and discover that the child was not the issue. Or, we could let nature take its course and discover that the child was indeed the problem. There is just no way of knowing. I have seen your wife regularly over the course of the past few months and never at any time did I see an indication of a problem. I am as concerned as you are.”
Brandt stared at the old woman a moment before running a weary hand over his face. He was indecisive and frustrated.
“The babe is not due until October,” he muttered.
“I realize that, my lord.”
He looked at the woman. “What would you recommend?”
The woman was in a tight spot. Either option could see the death of one or both of her patients, which would more than likely result in her own death at the hands of a distraught father. She knew the duke and knew his reputation; most in France did. He was the Black Angel, the Bringer of Death, and she had no desire to experience his reputation first hand. Still, she knew her job. She trusted her instincts.
“I would recommend we leave the
child inside of her and see where it takes us,” she said. “The child would be born very early and chances of survival would be difficult. The longer we leave him in the mother, the better. However, if her pain does not subside or grows worse, I can give her a potion that will begin her labor. I am afraid we have limited options, my lord.”
As Brandt leaned against the wall and weighed his choices, Dylan came off the stairs and entered the corridor. He was exhausted, just like the rest of them, his gaze fixed on Brandt.
“My lord,” he said as politely as he could. “A word, please.”
Brandt just looked at the man. He didn’t move. There was a deluge of reluctance in his expression, something that made him want to forget everything but his wife and her health. So much of his life had been dedicated to war. Now, all of that seemed to pale by comparison. He didn’t want to fight anymore, but he knew he had an entire country depending on him. It was a horrible burden to bear.
Wearily, he pushed himself off the wall and moved towards Dylan as the midwife retreated back inside the chamber. Brennan and Magnus crowded around as well.
“Our patrols have returned from following the king,” Dylan said, his voice low and hoarse. “They tell us that terrible weather is occurring to the south and that the king’s army has camped for the night south of Rennes. They have been slowed by the wounded they carry and also by the weather. If we leave now, it is possible to catch up to them.”
Brandt thought on that a moment. “Our troops are relatively fresh,” he said. “Our men were locked up in the fortress dodging arrows while his men were doing everything they could to breach the castle. We could conceivably catch them and weaken them further before they reach Edward.”
“That was my thought, my lord.”
“Jean carries more men than I do.”
“But the beast is weakened. If we strike while it is weak, we have a good chance for victory.”
Brandt knew that. “But what of these alleged negotiations to prevent Poitiers from becoming a massive battle? Jean violated that suggestion when he attacked Melesse to keep me away from Edward. Now he rides for Edward himself. We must show him that the Prince of Wales’ war machine is not weakened in the least.”
Dylan, Brennan, and Magnus nodded. “The men are prepared, my lord,” Dylan assured him.
Brandt could feel the familiar excitement of a battle march in his veins but it was tempered by his concern for his wife. He was terribly torn, not wanting to go with his men but by virtue of the fact that they were his men, knowing he must. It was his sense of obligation, of honor, that forced him to comply. It was not his heart, which very much would remain here at Melesse with his wife. He’d never felt so torn or miserable in his life but he knew what he had to do.
“Ready my charger,” he told his men without any enthusiasm whatsoever. “I will be down shortly and we will depart.”
His knights left the corridor, noisy armor and mail echoing off the walls, the stairwell, until the sounds of death and warfare faded away. Brandt stood in the corridor, summoning every ounce of courage he had to do what he knew he had to do. Already, it was killing him. He would have to leave his wife.
Quietly, he pushed open the chamber door. The midwife was burning white sage and peppermint because, Brandt suspected, she had a bit of mystic in her so the room smelled strongly as he entered. Ellowyn was lying on her back on the big bed, her eager attention focused on him as he came into the room. He smiled at her as he approached the bed.
“So you are awake?” he asked lightly. “I have not seen those lovely eyes in quite some time.”
Ellowyn smiled weakly in return. “How is everything?” she asked. “Did the castle fare well in the siege?”
He hadn’t really spoken to her about any of it because she had been sleeping so much. He sat down on the bed beside her and collected her soft hand, kissing it.
“Well enough,” he replied, but he changed the subject right away. He didn’t want to speak of the castle or his army just yet. “How are you feeling?”
Her smile faded. “Well, I suppose,” she said. “I want to get up and move about but the midwife will not let me.”
Brandt glanced at the midwife, who shook her head at him. He returned his focus to his wife.
“Has the pain in your belly gone away?” he asked.
She turned her head, not looking at him. “Not entirely.”
“Then perhaps you should listen to her.”
Unhappy with the opinion, Ellowyn simply kept her head turned, bordering on a pout. Brandt looked over at the midwife again and jerked his head in the direction of the door, silently ordering the woman to leave. Fortunately, she understood his command and slipped from the room.
When they were finally alone, Brandt leaned over Ellowyn, arms braced on either side of her. He studied the shape of her face, seeing perfect beauty in her delicate features. But she was staring off into the room, refusing to meet his eye, so he leaned down and began to gently suckle her jawbone.
“Do you recall when we first met that I said you were pleasing to the eye?” he murmured.
Ellowyn closed her eyes as he kissed her, thinking back to that day of days. “You also said you had no use for me.”
“I lied.”
Her grin broke through and she looked up at him, seeing how very weary he appeared. Reaching up, she stroked his rough cheeks tenderly.
“What is happening?” she begged softly. “Is there more battle to come?”
The twinkle in his eyes dimmed. “Eventually,” he told her. “Jean’s army is bivouacked about twelve miles south. They did not make it very far with all of the wounded they are carrying. Additionally, I am told that there is very bad weather to the south which is also hampering their travel. The king is moving south to attack Edward, I believe, and it is my intention to weaken him seriously before he can accomplish that.”
She gazed up at him. “When will you leave?”
He sighed heavily and averted his eyes. “Before the sun sets.”
“That does not give us much time to say what needs to be said.”
He looked at her again, his expression guarded. “I do not want to go, Wynny.”
She nodded patiently. “I know,” she said. “But you must. Too many people are depending on you.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“Of course not. But if you remain with me, who else can command in your stead? Who else can bring fear to the hearts of men but the Black Angel?”
He grunted with displeasure at her statement, at the situation in general, before stretching out on the bed beside her and wrapping her up in his arms as much as he was able. Armor and a mail coat made it very difficult but he did the best he could. He had to hold her, to feel her in his arms. It gave him such comfort. As he lay there with his mouth on her forehead, tears began to fill his eyes. He simply couldn’t help it.
“The midwife says she does not know what is wrong with you,” he whispered. “She believes we should wait and see if your pain subsides because it is too early for the child to be born. However, if your pains do not subside, she says there is a potion she can give you to induce the birth. Wynny, if it comes to saving your life or the child’s, I will choose your life every time. We can always have another child, but there will never be another you.”
She sighed faintly. “The child will be fine,” she insisted. “There is nothing to worry over.”
“Are you still feeling pain?”
“Not much,” she lied.
He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not but he let it go. He leaned back, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcing her to look at him.
“Do you understand me?” he said softly. “If the choice is between you and the child, I will choose you. Those are my wishes and you will not disobey them.”
“I understand.”
Gazing into her bottomless eyes, he kissed her tenderly. Then he kissed her again and hugged her tightly, staving off the flood of tears that t
hreatened. Ellowyn sensed his sadness, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. She sensed his deep reluctance and his unwillingness to do what he had been born and trained to do. His mind was with her and as long as he believed she was in danger, his thoughts would be with her even though his body would be with the army.
Distraction is deadly. It was all she could think of. She didn’t want her distracted husband taking an arrow to the chest because he wasn’t being vigilant. It would absolutely destroy her. She tried not to think on that terrible dream that had plagued her for so long, the one she now determined had something to do with Brandt.
The de Russe dragon on the breastplate. Brandt didn’t give any stock in her dreams and she would not bring it up. Perhaps this one would not come true, as others had not. Perhaps it was just the musings of her overactive mind. Still, it was difficult to shake off the sense of foreboding she had at Brandt’s imminent departure.
But it would be her burden to bear alone. As much as she didn’t want him to go to war, she knew she had to be the strong one at this moment. He had to continue Edward’s fight and she could not stop it. Brandt had to believe she was well and that everything was going to be all right.
“I do not want you to worry,” she said, forcing her courage. “I am feeling much better. I am sure everything will be fine. But I must ask you a question.”
“What is that?”
“How are you feeling?”
He paused, considering the question. “My strength has never been better,” he replied. “But my mind….”
“Your mind is sharp and cunning,” she insisted. “You must not worry over me, Brandt. The babe and I will be fine and I swear I will send you word if anything changes. But for now, there is a prince who needs you as he has always needed you. You must go.”
He knew that. God help him, he knew it. He pulled back to look at her, the sweet lines of her face, tucking it back into his memory for days that were particularly lonely. But he knew the risks, not only to her but to him. She was facing an uncertain pregnancy. He was facing battle. There was every reason to believe he would never see her again but every hope that he would. His throat was tight with emotion as he kissed her gently on the mouth.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 105
