Lord of War: Black Angel (33 page)

“What are you doing crowded around?” he wanted to know.

Brennan looked innocent, Stefan shrugged, and Alex was the only one to answer truthfully.

“I saw the redhead, my lord,” he said. “I wanted to get a better look at her.”

Brandt just shook his head. “I brought these women for my wife, not for you,” he said, thumping Alex on the chest and turning the man around. “Get on with your tasks, all of you. You will not hound those women like dogs on the prowl.”

“A pity,” Dylan muttered. “The brunette is something to behold.”

Before Brandt could scold him, he scattered with the rest of them. Brandt should have gone along with them but he just couldn’t seem to do it.  He stood outside of the hall entry, listening.  For several minutes it was very quiet, but soon enough, female voices could be heard lifted in humor and every once in a while someone would laugh.  Eventually, he heard his wife laughing.  It was good to hear.  After what she had gone through, he was pleased to hear that she hadn’t lost her ability to laugh.

With a smile, he went about his business.

FRANCE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

August 1356 A.D.

Chateau Melesse

Brittany

Ellowyn and Annabeth were giggling so hard that they were nearly crying. They could hear Bridget screaming at the French chatelaine of Melesse Castle, a severe woman who had to be at least seventy years old. She was precise, nasty-tempered, knowledgeable, and a bully.  Ever since Brandt and Ellowyn had arrived nearly seven months prior, the woman went out of her way to make the duke and duchess comfortable but she was horrid with their retainers.  

It had proven something of a challenge for Annabeth and Bridget.  Both young women had turned out to be wonderful companions and Ellowyn was very fond of them both, and they both seemed to have a somewhat wicked streak when it came to the haughty French servants of Melesse.   The chatelaine, Mme. de Simpelace, was the queen of the roost and Ellowyn’s two ladies had taken to calling her Mme. de Pimpleface.  The chatelaine was not amused when she caught wind of the nickname and the battle for supremacy was on. 

Ellowyn had brought up the subject of dismissing the woman but Brandt wasn’t keen on hiring anyone new; they were, for all intent and purposes, in an enemy land, and he didn’t want a new chatelaine, perhaps with a great hatred for the English, so close to his beloved wife. 

Meanwhile, old Mme. Pimpleface would go out of her way to make things difficult and this moment was a perfect example. On this warm and lazy afternoon in the last week of August, Ellowyn had asked for warmed cider and the woman had produced a scorching product that was anything but cider.  Very protective of their young duchess, Bridget had gone after the woman and even now was demanding that the squeeze the apples herself and boil the juice. Mme. de Simpelace was not inclined to do so, and the catfight was on.

So Ellowyn and Annabeth giggled like fools as they sat in a richly appointed solar that Brandt had assigned to Ellowyn for her personal use.  She sat in a very comfortable chair, perhaps the most comfortable in the entire castle, and held her swollen belly as she snorted. 

“Mayhap I do not need any cider after all,” she finally said, sobering. “It seems to be too much trouble for Madam.”

Annabeth made a face. “It is not too much trouble for her,” she sniffed. “She simply likes to make things difficult, and I am positive she likes to argue with us. I think she feels she is doing her duty to France to protest the English in her own small way.”

Ellowyn, still grinning, picked her knitting up off her lap and looked to resume where she left off. “I suppose,” she said. “Brandt trusts her because she has been with the family for so long so I suppose there is not much we can do about her.”

As Ellowyn resumed knitting a large and lovely blanket that was to be part of the baby’s trousseau, Annabeth picked up the needlepoint she had been working on.  She watched Ellowyn out of the corner of her eye, her slow and steady stitches with the soft white wool. Having spent every single day with the woman since the moment she met her, not only had they become good friends but she was also very attuned to Ellowyn’s moods.  She could tell by her mannerisms, her behavior, and her movements what she was feeling. And she knew that today she was feeling particularly blue.

“Mayhap the duke will return today,” she said as she stabbed at the material in front of her. “He has been gone for quite some time now.  He never leaves you for long.”

Ellowyn was carefully stitching her blanket. “Forty-seven days,” she said softly. “It is the longest he has been away yet. Sometimes I think I forget the color of his eyes or the feel of his skin.  It seems like such a long time.”

Annabeth sighed faintly; they had the same conversation almost every day since the duke left.  Since the moment they arrived in France back in February, the duke would go off with the Prince of Wales for days or weeks at a time, but he would always return.  Strangely, the prince had never come to Melesse and Annabeth had heard the knights whispering that it was because he was jealous of the woman who had stolen the Black Angel’s heart.  For whatever the reason, they had never met the man.  

“But the duke will return,” she insisted softly. “When he left this last time, he said he would be in the Aquitaine, did he not? That is some distance away. It will take time to return home again.”

“And Dylan with him?” Ellowyn glanced up, grinning at Annabeth when the woman blushed.

“I would hope so,” Annabeth said softly. “And Bridget is most anxious for Brennan to return.”

“I know she is,” Ellowyn looked down at her knitting again. “Has he even kissed her yet?”

Annabeth shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “But Bridget is determined that he will very soon. She wants to be married to him before the end of the year.”

The door to the solar opened, interrupting their conversation.  Bridget entered the room, the pale and lovely redhead, with a cup in her hand wielded high like a trophy.   

“I have it!” she said. “Cider, my lady. I had to kill several Frenchmen to get it, but here it is.”

Ellowyn and Annabeth were back to giggling. “Really, Bridget,” Ellowyn admonished softly. “Warmed cider is not worth murder.”

Bridget grinned as she carefully handed Ellowyn the cup. “I beg to differ, my lady,” she said. “The infant demands apples and apples he shall have.  Whatever goes into your mouth goes directly to him to make him big and strong like his father. We are quite anxious to meet him, you know.”

Ellowyn rubbed her belly. “Not too soon,” she said. “He is not due until October.  We do not want to meet him too soon.”

Small talk bounced between them as Bridget went to one of the three long and slender lancet windows in the room to secure the oilcloth that had come loose from its binding.  There was a nice breeze, cooling the warm air as she gazed out over the enormous bailey of Melesse.

It was a massive bastion that had been in Exeter’s family for nearly two hundred years, part of a dowry from a grandmother several generations back.  Situated on the top of a wooded hill with vast views of the surrounding countryside in all directions, it was a truly magnificent structure of golden stone and soaring towers.  It was at least twice the size of Guildford and four times the size of Erith, with rooms and passages, kitchens, two halls, and innumerable miscellaneous chambers. For the first several months of their residency, they’d had great fun exploring it all until Brandt put a stop to it, fearful his pregnant wife would hurt herself going up and down narrow stairs or squeezing through tight passages.

It wasn’t particularly strange that a man so devoted to his wife should become even more devoted with the event of her pregnancy.  Ellowyn had felt fine since the beginning and ate like a horse as Brandt watched every move she made with a nervous edge.  He was thrilled and deeply thankful for the pregnancy, which made it extraordinarily difficult for him to leave from time to time to go on campaigns with Edward.

In fact, the situation was heating up with Edward’s wars as he drove north from Aquitaine on a campaign to grow his base and strengthen his troops, and Brandt was simply going through the motions. His heart wasn’t in it; he wanted to be home with his wife and he certainly wanted to be present for the birth of the baby.  Rumor had it, according to the knights, that Edward and Brandt were growing increasingly hostile towards each other because of it.

Which was why Bridget knew Brandt wouldn’t be away for too much longer.  They had been counting the days.  In fact, as she stood in the window watching the bailey below, a group of soldiers flooded in from the gatehouse. Because of the angle of the road and the trees surrounding it, it was often difficult to spot visitors to Melesse until they were upon them.  Curious, Bridget peered closer to the worn-out group, suddenly realizing a knight from Brandt’s Corp was with them.  She recognized the charger.

“Magnus has returned,” she said, bolting away from the window. “He is in the bailey!”

Ellowyn was so startled that she jumped up, her knitting falling to the floor.  “Is Brandt with him?”

She was rushing to the window with Annabeth on her heels. Bridget closed in on them and the three of them crowded around the window, straining to see the dusty bailey below.  Ellowyn couldn’t see much now that the party had fully entered the bailey and, frustrated, she turned away.

“I am going to see Magnus,” she declared as she moved for the door.  Then, she froze, eyes wide. “You do not suppose… Sweet Jesus, you do not suppose he is here to give me bad news?”

Annabeth and Bridget tried not to look fearful. Before they could reply, Ellowyn was bolting from the room and making haste towards the massive spiral staircase at the end of the hall that led to the first floor beyond.  She was in a panic now, terrified that Magnus had come bearing news of Brandt’s injury or worse.  By the time she reached the lower floor and fled to the keep entry, she was in tears.

Cooler heads prevailed with Annabeth and Bridget as they followed. They caught up to Ellowyn as she reached the entry and grasped her gently by the arms, stopping her panicked flight.  By this time, most of the keep had been made aware of a knight’s return and even old Mme. Simpelace appeared.  When she saw Ellowyn’s hysteria, she was naturally concerned.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Why is my lady so upset?”

Annabeth cast the woman a long look and shook her head,
do not ask more
.  The old woman, silly and vindictive as she might be, took the hint.  She may have been at odds with the ladies but she was not at odds with Ellowyn. She was genuinely concerned.

“I will bring her something soothing,” she said as she scooted off.

Annabeth and Bridget exchanged relieved glances that the old biddie had left them alone.  Ellowyn, however, was insistent that they go down to the bailey where Magnus was, so they calmly escorted her down the big wooden stairs to the dusty, rocky bailey below.

It was windy upon the mountain top, gusts whipping around hair and hemlines. Magnus was with several other soldiers near the stable block to the south.  Melesse had a wide-open and sloping bailey because of the shape of the mountain top they sat upon, and the stables were lodged on perhaps the flattest part. Ellowyn pulled free of her escorts and gathered her skirts, racing across the dust until she came to the smelly stables.  She didn’t want to wait any longer for whatever news Magnus brought.

“Magnus!” she called as she approached. “
Magnus!
”

Magnus was just removing his helm as he heard Lady de Russe’s voice.  Startled, he whirled around to see that she was racing towards him. With her big belly evident, he did what her ladies often did – he made haste towards her and tried to stop her momentum.

“Lady de Russe,” he said, grasping her by the arms. “Why are you running? You should not be exerting yourself so.”

Ellowyn would have none of his mothering.  “Stop telling me what I should and should not be doing,” she snapped. “Everyone tells me that and I hate it, do you hear? Tell me where my husband is this instant.”

He wasn’t surprised by the tone of the demand. Lady de Russe was well known for her snappish manner at times, made worse by the babe she carried.  In fact, all of the knights had lived in fear of it, including her husband, making going to war somewhat of the less fearful option.

“He is a few days behind me, my lady,” he replied steadily. “He has sent me back to Melesse to wait for him.”

Ellowyn cocked her head, calming now that her husband was the subject of the conversation. “Wait for him?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

Magnus sighed faintly and it was then that Ellowyn noticed he looked particularly pale. So pale, in fact, that the circles beneath his eyes were almost green in tint.  She peered closely at him.

“Magnus, are you well?” she asked. “What is the matter?”

He took her elbow and turned her for the keep.  As they walked, Ellowyn and her ladies noticed that he was moving particularly slow.

“I was wounded nearly two weeks ago,” he replied. “I have been unable to keep up with Lord de Russe although I have tried.  I was nearly killed yesterday because my reflexes are slow, so the duke asked me to return to Melesse and rest until he returns.”

Ellowyn was very concerned for him. “Where were you wounded?”

Magnus gingerly touched his right hip area. “Here,” he replied. “We were in a skirmish near the town of Niort and I took a bad blow.  At least the poison seems to be diminishing now, but I am fairly useless in battle at the moment.”

Ellowyn watched his face carefully. “Is there a lot of battle now?”

They had reached the steps leading up into the keep.  Magnus’ gaze fell on the heavy woods stairs, the rocky ground, and the massive keep. Anything but her face.  When he finally spoke, it was quietly.