Her health had other ideas, however. Her nose was running terribly and the cough, having briefly died down, was now enjoying a triumphant resurgence. She hacked like an old woman dying of the damp. As she pulled out a linen kerchief from the depths of her satchel to wipe her nose, there was a soft knock at the door. Holding her kerchief to her nose, she went to the door and unlatched it only to find de Russe standing in the doorway dressed for battle.
It was the de Russe she remembered from the wharf, the massive warrior in mail and steel so wrapped up in his knighthood that it was difficult to ascertain where the armor ended and the man began. His helm wasn’t on, but his broadsword was, strapped to his hips and right thigh with heavy leather binds to keep the scabbard stable. His smoky eyes were oddly soft as he looked at her.
“I could hear you coughing downstairs,” he said. “Are you ill?”
She blew her nose into the rag in her hand. “I am,” she said, her nose stuffy. “I fear that I have somehow caught a chill.”
He wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “An understatement, my lady,” he said. “I came to see if you were ready to move out but I see that perhaps we must wait until you are feeling better.”
She shook her head firmly before the words even left his mouth. “I will return today,” she said. “I will feel poorly here or on the road so it does not matter… hold a moment, my lord. What did you say?”
She was cocking her head at him curiously. He had no idea what she meant. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What did I say?”
She blinked as if surprised. “We?” she said. “You saidwewould move out?”
“I am not staying here.”
“Ah… I see,” she seemed to understand. “Then you are going home as well.”
“I am going to Erith.”
She was back to being surprised. “ToErith?” she repeated. “Why?”
He cleared his throat as if suddenly uneasy. Whywashe going to Erith? He’d spent all night wondering the same thing after he’d decided, at the conclusion of his meal with Ellowyn, that he would be accompanying her home. He wasn’t sure why he had made the decision, much less possess the ability to explain it to her. But she was looking for an answer and he looked her in the eye whilst giving one, mostly because he didn’t want her to sense anything but sheer, unadulterated decisiveness from him. He didn’t want her to see his uncertainty.
“Because,” he gestured with a big, gloved hand towards the avenue outside. “You have nearly six hundred men to take back to Erith and not one knight to take charge. I am concerned that Deston sent you to retrieve troops without anyone to control them, so I will therefore escort you, and them, back to Erith Castle.”
By this time, she was looking at him with greater surprise than ever. “They will take orders from me, although I thank you for your concern. Truly, it is not necessary.”
Refuted.Brandt found himself in a very odd position as she rejected his offer of escort. He still wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to escort her back to Erith, but as he gazed down at the woman with the red nose and exquisite face, he knew it had nothing to do with the nearly six hundred men outside in the rain. It had everything to do with that damnable conversation last night when he had conversed with her as he’d neverconversed with anyone in his life. She listened intently to him and made him feel as if he had something worth saying.
Certainly, in his position, everyone had respect for his word but it was because of his title. The Duke of Exeter was not a man to be ignored. But last night, he felt as if Ellowyn de Nerra listened to him not because of his title, but because of who he was as a warrior. As a man. He was feeling foolish and unbalanced by it but he also knew that it made him feel as he’d never felt in his life.
“Perhaps,” he said after a lengthy, and contemplative, pause, “but it would seem I have business with your father as well, so we may as well travel together. Are you opposed to this?”
Ellowyn wiped at her dripping nose. “Nay, my lord,” she shook her head. “But you never said anything about having business with my father. This is the first you have mentioned it.”
He was starting to feel like an idiot. “I had forgotten,” he muttered, then pointed towards the bed behind her in the hopes of changing the subject. “Perhaps you should retire for the day. Our trip can wait until you are feeling better.”
Again, Ellowyn shook her head firmly. “I do not want to linger here,” she said, moving back into the room to claim her satchel. “I am strong enough to travel home. Where is my escort? The men I brought with me?”
Brandt could see that she was determined. In fact, if there was one quality about Ellowyn de Nerra that stood out to him, it was her determination. She was fierce about it.
“They are down in the main room,” he told her. “My lady, it is my sincere hope that you will reconsider traveling today. It is raining fairly heavily outside.”
She acted like she hadn’t heard him as she brushed past him, exiting the room. “I will ask the innkeeper if he has something hot to drink. Perhaps that will help my cough. I will be well enough– you’ll see.”
With a sigh of regret, Brandt followed. The great room of the inn was fairly quiet at this hour, bodies strewn about the room in sometimes noisy slumber. Ellowyn reached the bottom of the stairs with Brandt shortly behind her, making her way to the rear of the tavern in search of the innkeeper. Brandt watched as her escort, having been huddled near the smoking hearth, spied the woman and moved to greet her. As the lady went in search of something for her cough, Brandt headed outside into the howling elements.
It was pounding in buckets as he made his way across the avenue where all of the de Nerra men were huddled under the trees, seeking shelter from the rain. Late last night, after the conclusion of his meal with Ellowyn, he had sent Dylan de Lara back to the wharf to disband his army.
The bulk of four thousand, two hundred and thirteen men headed back to the duke’s seat of Guildford Castle while a smaller portion of skilled foot-soldiers had broken off from the main body and marched to Grey’s Inn along with five of Brandt’s most skilled and trusted knights and a few lesser knights. As Brandt moved closer to a thick cluster of trees, he could make out the features of his senior knights lingering in a group near the road.
Dylan and his identical twin brother, Alex, were the first faces to greet him. The two were so alike that most people couldn’t tell them apart, but Brandt could. Alex was slightly bigger and led with his left hand, whereas Dylan led with his right. As Alex acknowledged his liege with a silent salute, Brandt’s gaze fell on the knight standing next to him.
Brennan St. Hèver was perhaps the very best knight to have ever swung a sword, eldest son of the Earl of Wrexham. A tall man with enormously wide shoulders, he had white-blond hair and eyes the color of the sea. He was extremely fast, witty, andintelligent. He was also extremely young at twenty years and two, but had a maturity well beyond his years.
Standing next to Brennan were the remaining two knights that rounded out de Russe’s top generals, Magnus de Reyne and Stefan le Bec, le Bec being the grandson of the legendary Guildford le Bec. Both young knights were from very fine families, descended from the bloodlines of illustrious warriors, and were two of the best knights Brandt had ever seen. Their strength and cunning were beyond measure, and Brandt considered himself extremely lucky to command such a fine senior stable. He had one hell of an arsenal.
