Brandt took a long drink of his wine, watching Dylan rip into a warm and succulent piece of beef. In fact, all of his senior knights were seated around the table in various stages of a food-and-drink stupor. Le Bec and de Reyne, overstuffed and bordering on drunk, were arm wrestling at the end of the table while St. Hèver, the ever-proper and pious young knight, was trying not to look at a young and rather pretty serving wench who was trying very hard to catch his eye. Alex de Lara was aware of this and kept calling the girl over to the table to refill their cups while Dylan, newly returned from settling the menand debriefing the scouts, ignored everything else and tucked into his food.
Brandt watched it all with some amusement and, surprisingly, a great deal of relaxation. He was more at ease than he had been in quite a while knowing that Ellowyn was safely asleep over his head. He really didn’t care about de Nerra in the least. Alcohol and a rush of emotions had seen to that. At the moment, he simply wanted to enjoy the situation and his new marriage. He’d never felt such contentment.
“We will not be here long enough for them to catch up to us,” he finally said. “We leave this berg before dawn. If all goes well and the weather holds, we should be home in less than two weeks. If de Nerra wants to attack Guildford after a battle march across the whole of England, then I invite him to try.”
Dylan wriggled his eyebrows, his mouth full. He was starving and had spent a good deal of time securing the men while the other knights ate their supper. He didn’t want to talk anymore but he couldn’t help stating the obvious.
“We are traveling with weary men and a woman, my lord,” he pointed out. “If we make it back to Guildford in two weeks, we will be fortunate. Much can happen in two weeks, now with an angry father on our tail.”
Brandt cocked an eyebrow at him. “Much can happen indeed,” he agreed, not particularly pleased with Dylan’s attitude. “In fact, I would suggest we send your brother to solicit support from your father and St. Hèver to the Marches to solicit support from his father. I have enough to deal with now with de Nerra nipping at my heels and preparations to return to France. I will not be able to attend the Duke of Carlisle and the Earl of Wrexham personally.”
Dylan simply nodded his head, his mouth too full and his mind too weary to think on anything more that evening. As a tense silence settled, le Bec entered the conversation.
“My lord?” he said. “Is your lady wife well? She seemed rather fatigued when we arrived earlier. I am sorry she was not able to join us for sup.”
Brandt set his cup down, exhaling wearily. “She is well, simply exhausted,” he replied, his thoughts turning to his wife. “She went upstairs, fell on the bed, and went straight to sleep. I should go and check on her. Perhaps she is awake and will join us now.”
He stood up, feeling every inch of his exhaustion, as Dylan muttered. “Or perhaps you should simply stay in the room with her,” he said, mouth full. “You are a bridegroom, after all. Why would you wish to share your wife with us on this night?”
As the knights snickered, Brandt actually grinned. He slapped Dylan on the shoulder as he walked past him and lumbered up the uneven stairs.
The corridor was dim, the only light from the common room down below seeping up through the floorboards. Brandt headed for the room at the far end of the hall, the one farthest from the inn’s main chamber. He had tried to find a quiet spot for Ellowyn, something rather difficult in a packed inn, but as he inserted the crude key into the equally crude iron lock, he opened the door to a darkened and quiet chamber. It seemed worlds away from the quagmire downstairs.
It was a long and skinny chamber that stretched all down the side of the structure with a big window that overlooked the stable yard below. He could smell the animals wafting through the oilcloth. The bed, barely big enough for two, was shoved against the far wall with the foot of it close to the small fireplace, now laying low and glowing with a mixture of peat and wood.
As he made his way quietly over to the bed, he realized there was noise coming from the darkened corner. He could hear sniffles and sobbing. It took him a moment to realize that Ellowyn was weeping.
Brandt sank down on to the mattress, full of concern. “Wynny?” he asked softly. “Why do you weep, sweetheart?”
Ellowyn wiped furiously at her face. “It… it is of no worry” she whispered. “I suppose… it has been a long day. I am simply fatigued.”
Brandt’s brow furrowed as he stroked her red hair. “But you were fine when I left you earlier,” he insisted quietly. “You were dead asleep. Why are you crying now?”
The fact that he was pressing her on the reasons behind her tears made her weep more. “I… I will not see my father or mother again,” she sobbed. “I miss them already.”
He sighed heavily. He wasn’t about to remind her that he had warned her of such a thing. Now was not the time. He stroked her head again and kissed her forehead.
“Aye, you will,” he assured her. “They will not stay angry with us for long, especially when their grandchildren come along. That will make them forget everything.”
Ellowyn wasn’t entirely convinced but she nodded anyway, wiping at her nose. “Mayhap,” she said. “But I miss them just the same. And… and I had a dream.”
He bent over her so that he was nearly laying on her, stroking her silken hair and kissing her cheek.
“What dream, sweet?”
She gazed up at him, shadows on her face as her tears glistened in the weak firelight. “I do not exactly know,” she murmured, her tears lessening. “I have had the same dream for a while now. Sometimes I have dreams that come true and this one scares me.”
He smiled faintly. “Are you a prophetess, then?”
She nodded seriously even though he had meant it in jest. “Since I was young, I have had dreams that sometimes come true,” she said. “I dreamt that my brother would no longer be a knight but no one believed me, and then he left for the cloister. Ialso dreamt my grandfather was ill well before he told anyone. I have dreamt of other things, as well, that have come to pass.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You did not tell me you were an oracle. Perhaps I can use you to my advantage.”
She grinned weakly because he was, wiping away the last of her tears. “I cannot divine your warring future,” she told him. “But… but this dream. Itisabout war. There is a castle with a big keep and it is raining heavily. The castle is on fire and there are bodies strewn everywhere. I am walking through the mud and rain searching for my love but I do not know who he is nor can I find him. I am so terribly frightened and it is then I realize I am with child. I walk through this mud and blood, my hands on my swollen belly, looking for… someone. It is a horrible dream.”
Brandt took absolutely no stock in prophetic dreams. He was a logical man and knew there was an explanation for everything. Moreover, the mind could do strange things when weary or frightened. He had experienced it for himself. He stroked her head again and kissed her cheek.
“Now I am here and I will chase these evil dreams from your mind,” he said softly. “I will bring you comfort where you have had none before. Once you feel safe and cherished, this dream will stop. Do you feel like eating something now? Perhaps some food will help chase your nightmares away.”
