Lord of War: Black Angel (11 page)

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 of the floor dirt 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, course 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 ravage 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 then. 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 moment and most unexpected. At least, it had been a bonding moment for her. She realized at that moment she was coming to feel something towards him more than simply camaraderie.  It was a both 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-smiled. “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 in 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; have a heart and a soul as well.”

He just stared at her. “Do you think so?”

She nodded firmly. “Of course I do.”

He gazed at her a moment longer before slowly shaking his head. “I have never heard anyone say that to me,” he said quietly. “I am not quite sure how to respond.”

She shifted so she was laying more on her side, facing him. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you
want
people to see that side of you?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “I do not,” he replied firmly, but then he looked at her, hesitantly, before continuing. “But I do not mind if you see that side of me.”

Ellowyn grinned brightly. “Do you know what else I see?”

“What?”

“You are afraid of nuns.”

He shook his head, smiling, as she burst out laughing. “The Brides of Christ are frightening,” he replied. “I can remember many a nun taking a switch to me as a child. My mother employed them as governesses.”

“Your mother did not tend you?”

“Nay,” he replied. “My mother was only a mother in the literal sense.  She married my father for the Exeter title but there was no affection between them. Once I was born, she considered her duty complete and went on to other pursuits.”

Ellowyn wasn’t smiling any more. “How sad,” she murmured. “What of your father? Did he care for you?”

Brandt shrugged. “I was his son,” he stated the obvious. “As long as I did not shame the family name, he was civil, but he died when I was young so to be honest, I do not remember much of him.  I do remember that he was very big and very intimidating.”

“Like you.”

“Like me”

“Any siblings?”

“An older sister that died in infancy.”

As Ellowyn gazed at him, she began to feel very sorry for him. His upbringing, his life, had been so unlike hers.  The things she took for granted, the familial love and affection, was evidently unknown to him. He was alone.