“What is your name?”
“Sir Brennan St. Hèver, my lady.”
“Do you know much about the Welsh?”
He nodded. “I grew up at Kirk Castle,” he replied. “It is very close to the Welsh border. My father is the Earl of Wrexham and we have seen much of what the Welsh can do.”
She cocked her head. “Yet you serve de Russe. His seat is in Exeter, far from the Marches.”
Brennan nodded. “That was my father’s decision,” he replied. “He and the duke have known each other for years. It was his wish that I serve the duke for a time before returning to assume my station.”
“How old are you?”
“I have seen twenty-two years, my lady.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “And you are already a knight?”
“Fully sworn, my lady.”
“Then you are exceptionally talented to be knighted so young.”
He shrugged modestly, not having an answer for her. Sensing their conversation was at an end, Ellowyn’s gaze moved back to the horizon, now illuminated with the fading sunset. There were clusters of small forests around them the closer they drew to Coventry and the hilly road leveled out. She could no longer see the sunset or the western horizon.
Bored, weary, she began picking at her cloak, thinking on what they would have for sup that night. She was hoping for beef or fowl as she was growing weary of mutton. It always tasted old, to her at least. But those were her last coherent thoughts before something nicked her chin, slammed into her right shoulder, and sent her hurling to the ground.
Horses were screaming around her as men began shouting. Everyone was in a panic. Conscious but stunned, Ellowyn’s only thought was to pull herself out of the mud but there was so much pain in her right shoulder that she was having difficulty sitting up. A large armored body was suddenly beside her, scooping her up. With her clutched against him, he ran towards a tightlypacked grove of trees. As they bounced along, she could see the forest looming as a dark and protective embrace.
There was more shouting going on around her followed by the distinct sounds of fighting. They entered the grove of trees and the knight surrendered his burden to a few waiting soldiers, waiting to help, and Ellowyn was lowered to the ground by several pairs of hands. As they settled her on the ground, the knight knelt beside her and flipped up his visor. She could see it was St. Hèver.
His young face was flushed but he was in control. Their eyes met and he nodded his head at her, firmly, in a move that was both encouraging and businesslike.
“So sorry, my lady,” he said, and she could feel more hands holding her still. “I must remove this.”
She had no idea what he was talking about until he yanked something from her right shoulder, an evil projectile that had embedded itself near the joint. Now the shoulder pain was starting to make sense. It had been painful going in but it was excruciating coming out and she screamed as he removed it and tossed it aside, accepting a wad of boiled linen from someone and pressing it hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. But Ellowyn wanted no part of his battlefield medicine. She cried and squirmed, eventually kicked and beat at his hands as they held that damnable wad over her wounded shoulder. She didn’t want anything to do with it. She wanted out.
“Bren!” Someone shouted from the direction of the road. “Leave her! You are needed, man!”
He held pressure on the wound a moment longer before passing the duty to one of the soldiers. The man took the position occupied by St. Hèver, pressing firmly, as the knight ran off towards the fight.
At that point, Ellowyn was nearly hysterical. She was injured, bleeding, exhausted and ill, and truly wanted out. She beganfighting the soldiers so badly that they eventually had to let her go or she would have probably hurt herself more. But they didn’t move far enough away from her, fast enough, so she screamed and kicked at them until they did.
The majority of the fighting was out on the road but there were dozens of men in the shelter of the trees as they had moved the wagons off of the road. There were many men protecting what they were carrying while the bulk of the army did the fighting. Trembling, on her knees, her right shoulder and arm virtually useless, Ellowyn watched the madness go on.
“What… what has happened?” she demanded, her voice cracking.
“We were attacked,” said one of the soldiers left to tend her. “M’lady, we need to wrap your shoulder. I promise….”
“Nay!” she snapped, struggling to her feet. Her right shoulder felt as if it weighed more than her entire body, dragging her down. “I am getting out of here. I am leaving.”
The soldiers followed her for a few feet as she backed away from them, eventually stumbling and falling onto her bum. Then she turned around and, on her hands and knees, tried to crawl away but her right arm wouldn’t support any weight so she ended up tumbling. A charger suddenly roared up and kicked dirt and rocks on her. As she tried to brush off the cloak that was covered with mud and blood, someone grasped her by the arms.
“My lady?” It was Brandt. St. Hèver had shouted to him of the lady’s wound and even though there was a fairly nasty fight going on around him, all he could seem to think of was her. He’d fought his way through a passel of determined Welshmen to get this far. Now all he could see was blood and her pale face. “Wynny, what happened? What are you doing?”
Ellowyn gazed up at him and, seeing his handsome and familiar face, burst into frightened tears. Deeply concerned, Brandt moved to pick her up but their safe haven of trees wassuddenly overrun by the enemy, and Brandt stood up, fending off an onslaught of angry men with blades. There were at least three of them intent on harming him as he practically stood on top of Ellowyn in order to protect her, his heavy broadsword wreaking havoc against the enemy. But he knew, very quickly, that they were in a bad way.
He couldn’t maneuver with her on the ground at his feet and he very badly needed to. He’d managed to kill one man but there were two more, and perhaps even more. He wasn’t quite sure because it seemed as if they were everywhere. Slugging the nearest enemy soldier in the face and sending the man to the ground, he ducked low when someone slashed a sword over his head and tried to decapitate him. He turned to Ellowyn.
“Wynny!” he snapped. “Get up! I need you to getup!”
