Lord of War: Black Angel (4 page)

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Ellowyn was feeling disoriented, astonished and sickened. Everything she could possibly feel all rolled in to one. Her exhaustion, coupled by the events, all fell in to line and before she realized it, she was feeling rather woozy. She couldn’t look at the man with the snapped neck on the ground next to her and she tried to turn away, but she couldn’t quite catch her balance.  She could see the trough in front of her and she thought she might make her way to it and sit down again, simply to collect herself, but her body had other ideas. She hadn’t taken two steps when the world faded to black.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was that field again, the one with the men dying upon it, as plentiful as driftwood upon the sea.

She was slugging through the bloody mud, trying not to step on the dead and avoiding the desperate hands of the dying. She should have felt guilty for ducking those who needed care, but she couldn’t manage it. All she could feel was a desperate yearning to seek out something, something that drew her to it like a moth to flame. She could think of nothing else and her heart was near bursting with fear and anxiety because of it.  God, if she could only find it!

The bottom half of her surcoat, shift, and cloak were soaked with mud that smelled like the bowels of hell. The stench was everywhere. She thought perhaps she would smell that scent forever, like a fog that would never leave her. It was horrifying. As she pushed through it, her cloak snagged on something and as she reached down to yank it free, a hand grabbed at her from one of the countless bodies strewn about and took hold of her glove.  He yanked it off as she drew her hand back in horror.  Her naked hand, exposed to the dark and heavy hair, glinted oddly.  Gazing at her exposed flesh, she could see a ring on it.

A wedding ring.

***

Something was popping and crackling, and there was a great deal of warmth on her face. Ellowyn gradually became aware of heat on her body and the smell of smoke, and her eyes rolled open to the sight of an enormous fire a few feet in front of her. 

Somewhat startled, she pulled away from it, realizing that she laying on a floor in only her shift. It was dirty and cold.  Her heavy brocade surcoat was hanging above her head on exposed rafters, drying in the heat of the blaze.

Confused, frightened, she looked around the small, dark room. She had no idea where she was, or what had happened, but as she rolled into a sitting position, bits of her memory began to return.  She remembered the inn, the aggressive knight, and de Russe’s appearance.  Hand to her aching head, she remembered tripping on the road when the aggressive knight came after her but nothing after that. Looking around the small room again that smelled heavily of unwashed bodies, she had no idea what was going on.

Standing up unsteadily, she reached up for her surcoat and realized that it was wet.  Parts of it that were nearer the fire seemed to warm and moderately dry, but other parts were almost sopping. Curious, she was in the process of fingering it when the door to the chamber jerked open.

Startled, Ellowyn jumped away from the door.  Her first instinct was to protect herself and she grabbed the first thing she could find, which happened to be a well-used ash shovel propped up near the hearth. She raised it like a club just as an enormous figure emerged from the dark hallway and into the weak light of the room.

It was de Russe. He spied Ellowyn pressed against the far wall with a small, dented shovel in her hand.  She was poised, ready to brain him if he came any closer. He paused in the open door, inspecting the woman who was half-illuminated by the firelight.

“Are you planning on using that?” he asked somewhat drolly.

He was nodding his head in the direction of the shovel.  Ellowyn’s attention flickered between Brandt’s face and the spade in her hands, not wanting to admit that it looked rather ridiculous. It was like trying to fight off a bull with a twig. But she didn’t lower the shovel.

“That depends,” she said. “What am I doing here?”

He came in to the room, slowly, and shut the door.  He didn’t want to make any sudden movements because he could see that she was genuinely frightened.

“I brought you here,” he said. “You fainted.”

Ellowyn thought hard on her last memories of the angry knight and de Russe’s involvement in... something. She couldn’t quite remember.  After a moment, she shook her head.

“I do not remember much,” she admitted. “What happened?”

Brandt shrugged. “You were overwrought, I assume,” he said. “You fainted in the street so I brought you back to the inn and secured a room.  You were wet so I put you in front of the fire to dry off.”

Her gaze flicked up to the hanging surcoat. “Did… did you remove the coat?”

He nodded. “I did, but one of the tavern wenches assisted. Never was I alone with you, I swear.”

It was a rather chivalrous statement and something he wanted to be clear on. Ellowyn eyed him; she had known a lot of knights in her life, as her father and grandfather were great knights, and it was her grandfather who had taught her to be a good judge of character.  He had instilled the caution and the protocols in her. 

From the moment she’d met the Duke of Exeter, he’d come across as arrogant and rude, that was true, but never lascivious.  He wanted her to be clear that he’d not molested her and her instincts told her to believe him.  At that moment, she started to see something more in the man, not simply the haughty warrior.

 More than that, he was starting to make some sense about the situation so she slowly lowered the shovel. As she eyed him, she also recalled the army he had dumped on her, leaving her to fend for the shelter and nourishment of nearly six hundred men.  Her head was throbbing and she was feeling nauseous, made worse now that her memory was returning. She was remembering every sickening and frightening thing. With a heavy sigh, she tossed the shovel aside.

“I thank you for your concern for my safety,” she replied, “but I have several hundred of my father’s men I must attend to. If you will kindly vacate the chamber, I shall dress and be gone.”

Brandt shook his head. “It is not necessary,” he told her. “I have tended to the men.”

She regarded him some doubt. “Why would you do that? They are no longer your concern.  At least, that is what you told me.”

He could feel the brittle peace between them and sensed she was not particularly the forgiving type.  At least, not with him.  Not that he blamed her.  He’d had a momentary flash of guilt when she had fainted and had sought to make amends by taking charge of her welfare.  Now he was starting to feel stupid for allowing himself to feel any compassion for her.  The woman was still as hostile towards him as she had ever been.

“My concern is with the men,” he said. “With you incapacitated, someone had to tend the weary troops so I took the initiative.”

Truth be told, Ellowyn felt marginally better knowing she didn’t have to worry over housing and feeding all of those men this night.  However, along with her relief was a measurable amount of awkwardness. She wasn’t particularly comfortable with de Russe, nor did she care for him much, so she was determined to vacate his presence as soon as possible.

“You have my thanks,” she said. “Now, if you will kindly leave the room, I shall dress and find my own way.”

He didn’t move. “It is late, my lady,” he said. “You may sleep here tonight.  I have ordered food and your cloak is still being cleaned. It would not do for you to be out and about at this time of night.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. “You do not need to be concerned for me. I can take care of myself.”

He lifted an eyebrow as if he did not doubt her. “Be that as it may, your father would never forgive me if something happened to you.  Please be my guest this eve, enjoy the room and the meal, and that will be the end of it.”

“The end of what?”

“Our association. I apologize that it has not been pleasant.”

Ellowyn was caught off guard by the apology. She was smug in her acceptance of it, gratified he had been the one to acknowledge and make amends for their rough relationship, but it began to occur to her that he was not entirely to blame. If she thought hard on their first meeting, she realized that she had been the first one to throw a metaphorical punch. True, he had been rude, but she had taken it to an entirely different level with her reaction. Perhaps if he was apologizing, she should give it a try as well. But swallowing her pride was easier said than done.

“It...,” she tried again, shrugging in resignation. “It is not solely your fault, my lord. I... well, I believe I was quite angry with you this afternoon when you ignored me and I should not have been so…furious.”

“You were belligerent.”

“Aye, that too.”

He fought off a smile. “You, my lady, have a bit of a temper.”

“I do. I admit it. But if you know my father, then you also know it is an inherited trait.  He is a de Nerra, after all.”

Brandt’s grin broke through, a surprising gesture. “Your father and I have fought a few battles together,” he said. “Fortunately, I was always on his side.  There were times when I pitied the enemy.”

Ellowyn couldn’t help but smile in return; she really couldn’t. It came so easily when he smiled first. She also couldn’t help but notice de Russe was a truly handsome man with a dashing smile. He had straight white teeth and big dimples in both cheeks. Embroiled as she had been in her anger towards the man, it was the first time the thought of his handsome looks had occurred to her.

“He has considered taking me into battle with him, in fact,” she said. “He is convinced I would make a fine commander.”

Brandt’s grin broadened, an unusual gesture for him and one he did not readily display. But Ellowyn, in spite of everything, seemed to easily provoke it. Perhaps it was because she was truly a beautiful woman, more beautiful when she smiled, and her smile erased her bad behavior from his mind. Something about that warm, angelic face just made him want to smile as if he had no control over such a thing.

“I would believe that implicitly,” he said. “You have shown tremendous bravery in the short time I have known you, an admirable quality.  And you showed no hesitation in showing me that side of you.”

He meant earlier by the Thames. Ellowyn simply lifted her shoulders. “I was angry,” she said, realizing she was feeling rather bad for her behavior now that the conversation was becoming civil. Warm, even. “I am sorry if I was insulting.”

He waved her off. “You already apologized,” he said.  “Further apologies are not necessary. I am as much to blame as you are. I am willing to forget about it if you are.”

She nodded fervently. “I am.”

“Then you will accept my hospitality tonight?”

She had to admit, the bed looked inviting.  “I will. Thank you. You are very kind to offer.”

He continued to smile at her, his smoky dark eyes acquiring something of a glimmer. “And you are very kind to accept.”

Ellowyn giggled, something she didn’t normally do. She wasn’t silly or flighty by nature, but the duke, in a complete swing of the situation, had taken her from suspicious to giggly. It was rather remarkable, Ellowyn thought, but she didn’t give it much thought beyond that.  She was a little too naive of her own emotions to realize the man had managed to garner her interest.

“Have... have you eaten yet, my lord?” she asked. “I would be honored if you would partake with me.  As you are friends with my father, I would like to hear what you know of his valor. He has been ill most of my adult life, you see, so I do not know the man as a great knight. I only know from the stories I have heard. Perhaps you know more stories?”

Brandt’s lips twitched with a smile. “I have never met a lady who was interested in tales of valor. That is a man’s inclination.”

She shrugged, almost embarrassed. “I come from a long line of great knights.  I can remember tales of my grandfather’s exploits as far back as I can remember.  And my father... well, I love him dearly and it is sad that so great a knight has suffered such bad health.  I am always eager to hear stories of his greatness.”

Brandt’s smile broke through at the tender sentiment, something that, even an hour ago, he would not believe her capable of.  He could see in that statement that she had a very soft side. She was capable of deep emotion, like attachment. He liked that side of her much better than the aggressive side.

As he gazed at her, softly illuminated by the firelight, he found himself thinking of all of the duties he had awaiting him; the king was expecting his report as a result of the Black Prince’s wars in France, plus he had a meeting with his subordinates that needed to take place before they could begin moving men and material again. So many things awaiting the Duke of Exeter’s attention, but at the moment, all he could see was a lovely red-head before him who had invited him to sup. He wasn’t a man normally given to accept such a thing; in fact, he made it a policy to avoid women in general. Too much trouble. But her gently-uttered invitation had him thinking of accepting.

“Very well,” he agreed quietly. “It would be my pleasure to sup with you and tell you what I know of your father. We have had a few adventures together, Deston and I.”

Her entire face lit up happily and a strange, giddy feeling fluttered in his chest. It was odd but not unpleasant. It was another of those feelings that made him smile before he could stop himself, a trigger release that was quick and before he realized it, he was smiling in return.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the repartee, returning Brandt to the grim and imposing knight as if he was afraid someone might see him with warmth in his expression.  He didn’t reply to the summons, choosing to open the door instead.  A serving wench stood outside, a heavy tray of food in her hands, and he silently summoned the woman inside.  When the food was set out on the very small table, which leaned a little so the food slid to the edge, Brandt kicked the woman out and shut the door.