Lord of War: Black Angel (35 page)

All she could feel was sheer terror as she gazed down at the man beneath the tree.  He was leaning up against the trunk, his helmed head facing away from her, and she crouched down on shaking legs next to him.

Angst and terror and panic gripped her.  It was raining again and the tree provided minimal shelter. She felt wet all over.  A nervous glance over her shoulder showed the castle in the distance to be half-melted now, bleeding out into the fields around it.  It was horribly unsettling.  The mud fields were churning now, churning the bodies in the ground , making them appear as if they were rolling over and over in their graves.

Frightened, she turned back to the knight against the tree. With a shaking hand, she reached out and lifted the visor so she could see his face. Then, all she could see was his eyes.

She knew those eyes.

***

Ellowyn was entrenched in the awful dream when she felt the bed give slightly.  It wasn’t a big shift, but big enough to rouse her somewhat.   She was so exhausted, however, that very soon she was drifting back to sleep, snoring softly.  The dream was gone but the anxiety was still there. Someone gently kissed the hand by her face and Ellowyn slowly opened her eyes.

Brandt was lying next to her, smiling into her sleeping face.  Mind foggy from the terrible dream, it took Ellowyn a moment to realize she was looking at him and when realization dawned, it was as if the sun had emerged from behind the clouds.  All was bright and well in her world again, and her apprehension had vanished. She smiled sleepily.

“Are you real?” she whispered.

“I am real.”

“I am not dreaming?”

“Nay, sweetheart, you are not dreaming.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“With everything I am, I love you more with each breath I take.”

That was enough for her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, overwhelmed with joy and ecstasy as he pulled her into his muscular embrace.  She pressed tight against him, and he against her, but when he realized how big her belly was, he backed off.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, one hand on her stomach as the other held her. “Did I hurt you?”

Ellowyn didn’t like being held at arm’s length. She resumed pressing herself against him. “Of course not,” she murmured, her lips on his face. “You have finally returned to me. It seemed as if you were gone forever.”

“It seemed that way to me as well,” he said, his hand still on her hard belly, feeling the growing life within with awe and gratitude. “My son has grown quite large.”

She grinned. “He will become bigger still,” she said. “He is not due to be born for another few weeks yet.  His is very restless, however; I believe he wants to be born now.”

Brandt was grinning because she was. “What is he doing?”

She rolled onto her back so he could get both hands on her belly; it seemed that he was most interested in that at the moment.  She put her hands on his as he felt up her stomach.

“He kicks constantly,” she said. “Sometimes I cannot sleep because he is kicking me.”

Brandt’s grin broadened. “He will be a strong knight.”

“The strongest,” she insisted. “You have given him a great standard to live up to. He will not fail you.”

Brandt took his eyes off her belly and looked at her face. She was round and rosy, but she looked very tired.  He stroked her head with his big hand.

“And his mother?” he whispered. “How is she feeling?”

Ellowyn’s smile was back. “So you noticed the mother, did you?” she said, laughing when he did. “I am feeling quite well. Hungry and tired most of the time, but quite well.”

He leaned down and kissed her reverently, a sweet gesture that quickly turned hungry.  Ellowyn wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the familiar passion warm her vein, the heat of contact that flashed so brightly between them, but when he refused to do more than kiss her lustily, she backed away.

“Why do you not touch me?” she whispered hungrily. “I have not had my husband in weeks, yet you do not touch my body?”

He gazed back at her rather fearfully. “I do not want to injure you or my son,” he told her. “I cannot make love to you although I would dearly love to.”

She frowned. “That is ridiculous,” she said. “You will not injure me.”

As he lay there indecisively, she struggled to sit up in bed.  He helped her, wondering where she was going, when she pulled off her shift and displayed her naked, pregnant body for him.  She was beautifully proportioned with her swollen belly and full breasts, and he had to admit he was wildly aroused.  Her pert breasts were perfect, large, and very perky, and her belly was so beautifully round.  She was perfect.

He folded. Silently, he pulled her down to him and turned her around so she lay facing away from him.  Pulling off his breeches, he pulled her back into his embrace and suckled on her shoulders and back as his hands roamed her breasts and belly.  Ellowyn closed her eyes, savoring every touch as he wordlessly told her how very much he loved her.  She could hear every syllable as if he had shouted the words.

She was hot for him, aroused as she had never been aroused in her life when he finally entered her from behind.  He was careful about it, not wanting to hurt her or the babe, and the slow pace was both erotic and maddening.  Her senses were so highly aroused that in little time she was climaxing, feeling the release more strongly than she ever had.  The pregnancy seemed to magnify the sensations. 

When he found his own release, she wouldn’t let him withdraw.  She kept him trapped deep inside her until he grew hard once more and they made love again.  It went on four times that morning until Brandt fell into an exhausted sleep and Ellowyn, feeling energized and relaxed, rose from bed to get on with her day.

The Black Angel was evidently weaker than a pregnant woman.

***

By early afternoon, they had unexpected visitors.

Ellowyn was in her solar working on her knitting alone because Annabeth was with Dylan and Bridget was with Brennan. She had given her ladies permission to spend time with their respective interests and in truth she was enjoying the quiet time. As much as she loved her ladies, and she very much did, she was coming to crave being alone.

One of her three big windows faced the bailey, so she could hear the sentries when they began to sound off the alert that visitors had arrived. It wasn’t unusual for the sentries to announce various visitors, and there always seemed to be people coming in and out of Melesse, but this announcement seemed different.  It seemed to go on and she could hear soldiers in the bailey shouting back to the sentries on the wall.  Curious, Ellowyn set her knitting aside and struggled to her feet.  Making her way over to the window, she peered outside.

The day was dry and sunny, and a fairly strong breeze kicked up from the west.  Brandt was flying the dark green and black standards of the Duke of Exeter upon the walls, and when Ellowyn didn’t spy the visitors right away, she glanced up at the snapping standards because there were two of them in her line of sight.  She’d seen them hundreds of times but never particularly paid much attention to the details of the standard. However, they were snapping loudly on this blustery day and she happened to look up at them.  They were moving so swiftly in the breeze that all she could see was part of the talons from the Exeter dragon. 

The sight of the talons gripped her. She began to feel a creeping sense of foreboding.  She had seen those talons before, of course, but she was experiencing an odd sense of déjà vu as she looked at them.  They looked just like the talons in her dream, those emblazoned on the breastplate of the faceless knight who lay dying beneath the tree. 
Dear God….

“My lady?”

Jolted from her thoughts, she whirled to see Bridget and Brennan standing in the entry to the solar.  Bridget smiled when Ellowyn’s gaze fell on her.

“My lady, there are visitors in the bailey,” she said. “They have introduced themselves as heirs to the Dukedom of Exeter and say they have come to see the duke.”

Shaking off the odd feelings that the talons had provoked, Ellowyn looked at Bridget curiously.

“Heirs to the dukedom?” she repeated, confused. “Did they give their names?”

Bridget shook her head but Brennan, standing behind her, spoke. “They are two young women, my lady,” he said. “Knowing the duke has two daughters leads me to believe they are his children.”

Startled, Ellowyn pushed out of the room with Bridget and Brennan on her tail. “Good Heavens,” she exclaimed softly. “Do you really think so?”

“It is very probable, Lady de Russe.”

Ellowyn was still quite baffled by the whole thing. “But how did they know he was here?”

“Most of France knows he is in residence at Melesse,” Brennan replied. “News travels. Mayhap it has traveled to his daughters.”

It made some sense.  Knowing Brandt was still sleeping, Ellowyn didn’t want to wake him until she solved the mystery of the visitor’s identity.  He’d only spoken of his daughters once and that hadn’t been in the best of terms, so she would see for herself who these young women were before allowing them access to her exhausted and overworked husband.

In fact, the as she made her way down the wooden steps into the bailey, she found that she was fairly worked up about it.  Brandt had stated that his daughters only looked upon him as a bankroll for their dowries; was that the reason they had come to Melesse? Only for his money?  She felt some anger at that.

There was a small party off to her right near the smithy shacks.  The horses were rather fine and there was a very fine carriage with two simple bench seats, white washed and decorated with elaborate painted patterns.  Two young women, dressed in fashionable clothing, sat atop one of the bench seats.  Ellowyn, now with the entourage of Dylan and Annabeth as well as Brennan and Bridget, headed straight for the wagon.

“I am Lady de Russe, Duchess of Exeter,” she announced to the group on and around the wagon. “I understand you have come to see my husband.”

The women on the bench looked over at her and she could immediately see Brandt’s features reflected in their faces.  They were quite lovely, dark-haired and dark-eyed, as they gazed at Ellowyn with surprise as well as suspicion.

“Lady… Lady de Russe?” one of the girl’s repeated.

Ellowyn focused on her. “How may I be of assistance?”

The girl looked at her and her obviously pregnant belly before turning to the girl next to her. They both seemed at a loss for words. Then they started to appear nervous.

“I am the Lady Rosalind de Russe,” the young woman finally said; she had darker hair than the woman seated next to her and finer features. “This is my sister, the Lady Margarethe. The Duke of Exeter is our father.”

Ellowyn smiled politely. “He has mentioned you,” she said. “Welcome to Chateau Melesse. May I ask what your business is?”

The young women seemed genuinely overwhelmed. It was an odd reaction, truly, and seemingly a bit extreme, but given the unfriendliness Brandt had described with his daughters, she shouldn’t have been surprised. As the women struggled to find their tongues, she took charge of the situation.

“The duke is a very busy man,” she said, clipped because she was frustrated with their seeming reluctance to tell her the nature of their business. “You will tell me what your business is with him.”

Still, neither woman seemed willing to answer. They kept looking at Ellowyn and then whispering between them.

“Ladies, I am addressing you. What is it that you want?”

Rosalind finally looked at her. “Our business is with our father,” she said with strained politeness. “Is he in residence?”

“You will tell me what your business is with him or I will have you escorted out.”

Margarethe, silent until this point, looked at her with fury. “You cannot have us escorted out,” she said. “We are his daughters, his flesh and blood.”

“And I am his wife.”

“Our mother is his wife!”

“Your mother is dead.”

“Nay, she is
not
!”

Rosalind slapped a hand over her sister’s mouth and the two of them struggled on the bench seat as Margarethe tried to yank her sister’s hand off her mouth.  Ellowyn, alarmed by the younger girl’s angry reply, rushed to the wagon and grabbed Margarethe by the arm as she fought with her sister.  She yanked so hard that Margarethe nearly came off the bench seat.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

Margarethe was fearful and angry. She tried to peel Ellowyn’s fingers off of her wrist and finally took to smacking her hand. Meanwhile, Brennan and Dylan had rushed forward to break up the tussle, pulling Ellowyn away as gently as they could while trying to keep Brandt’s daughters calm.

“You will tell me what you mean by that!” Ellowyn would not be eased. “What do you mean your mother is not dead?”

“Ellowyn!”

The boom came from the direction of the keep.  Everyone turned to see Brandt heading towards them, his features tight.  He had been awakened by the cries from the sentries announcing visitors and by the time he dressed and exited the keep, he had been confronted by his wife in some kind of altercation with two women on a wagon.

Furious, he hadn’t realized who the women were until he came off of the steps leading from the keep and by that time, he was in full blown rage.  He wasn’t sure how the altercation got started but anyone who touched his wife was sure to pay, even his daughters whom he had not seen in several years.  They weren’t hard to recognize; they looked just like their mother, and he was unmoved by their appearance.  Perhaps a bit surprised, but unmoved.

“Take my wife inside,” he instructed Brennan as he came upon the group.

“I am
not
going inside,” Ellowyn told him, slapping at Brennan when the man tried to politely grasp her.  She pointed at the women on the wagon. “Those young women say they are your daughters. Furthermore, that one said that her mother was not dead and I want to know what she meant.”

Brandt hadn’t heard any of the conversation; all he had seen was the struggle. As Ellowyn told him what had been said, the reasons behind the scuffle, his head snapped in the direction of his daughters.