Brandt’s jaw ticked as he pondered the scenario. “I do not have a choice,” he said. “The man has a right to seek justice.”
“So you agree to a duel against him? If you die, he wins and if he dies, he wins. How is this justice?”
Brandt didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he had to see Ellowyn. Pushing past his knights, he made his way across the darkened bailey, heading for the keep at the top of the motte. He gazed up at the structure, seeing weak light emitting from the windows. It was like looking into his heart and seeing the light there. Ellowyn was in the keep, and she was also in his heart. Wherever she was, there was light. He raced up the steps to be with her, to tell her what had happened.
Ellowyn wept when Brandt told her of Deston’s challenge.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The dream hadcome again, like shadows and mist, and she struggled to see through the fog until that scene of death and mud came clear again.
She was moving for the trees where the armored figure sat, slogging through mud that was as thick as honey on a frozen winter morning. It made moving almost impossible, but she couldn’t stop. Her heart was pounding in her ears, louder and louder. Her breathing was coming in short gasps. She had to get to the man beneath the trees, the man she loved with all her heart.
She glanced behind her to see if her grandfather was still there. He was gone, evaporated like a puff of smoke. The castle in the distance was still burning deep, although somehow it had changed. The walls were no longer black with soot but now red, like blood. The entire structure looked as if it were melting, a blobbish mass that was slowly collapsing. Blood gushed from the lancet windows, now twisted in a macabre fashion.
The sight panicked her. She had to get away from the collapsing castle, terrified that she was going to be caught up in the collapse although she was a good distance away from it. The castle was sinking into the mud, just like everything else, and she was frightened. She clawed and struggled, trying to get away from it and towards the man in armor lying beneath the trees.
Somehow, she found her footing. She was on firm ground again, straining with exertion as she made her way onto solid ground once more. She could move more quickly now and shebegan to run as fast as her swollen body would allow. Closer and closer she advanced, finally catching a glimpse of the man beneath the tree. The first thing her gaze fell on was the man’s chest. There was an arrow embedded in it.
She slowed. The man didn’t move. She inched towards him, terrified, feeling overwhelmed with sorrow. The man’s breastplate had an insignia on it and she peered closer. There was a massive bird of prey on the metal. It looked a good deal like the de Nerra falcon.
Ellowyn awoke with a scream.
*
It was anhour or so before dawn. Brandt knew this because the moon had gone down. He could see the black sky from the chamber window. The birds were starting to come alive, soaring across the still-dark sky in search of their morning meal.
He didn’t think he had slept at all. He had spent the night with Ellowyn wrapped up in his arms, listening to her mutter in her sleep. He was just drifting off when she suddenly screamed and pitched herself up into a seated position. He sat up alongside her, wrapping his arms around her to comfort her.
“Everything is all right,” he told her softly. “You are safe. All is well.”
Ellowyn began weeping hysterically. “My father,” she sobbed. “He is dead!”
Brandt had his mouth against the side of her head. “He is not dead,” he assured her softly. “It was a dream, Wynny.”
She was still half-asleep, burying her face in his chest. “He will be dead at dawn,” she wept.
Brandt sighed heavily, snuggling her into his warm embrace and laying back down on the bed. “Go back to sleep,” he directed.
Ellowyn was becoming more lucid, struggling to shake off the effects of the bad dream. “I cannot,” she sniffed. “Brandt, I cannot sleep knowing that my father will be dead in a few hours. Please let me go and speak with him. Let me end this madness.”
Brandt caressed her as he stared off into the darkness. “It will not do any good,” he told her. “His honor is damaged. He must reclaim it at any cost.”
Ellowyn closed her eyes, hot tears finding their way down her temple and onto Brandt’s chest. “What do I do?” she whispered. “I do not want to see my father die.”
He pulled her closer. “Are you so sure he will? I could die, you know. He could just as easily kill me.”
She pulled her head off his chest and looked up at him. “If you were to die, I would not want to live,” she told him seriously. “Although I love my father, I will survive his death. But I could not survive yours, Brandt. There would be nothing left to live for.”
He gazed down at her, only the weak light from the glowing embers in the hearth illuminating her face. He stroked her cheek, kissing the end of her nose.
“You have married a lord of war,” he murmured. “There is always the possibility that I will perish in battle. Youknowthis, Wynny. If I die, it would make me very happy if you would live your life with the dignity and grace befitting the Duchess of Exeter. You could do me no greater honor and every man would envy me my strong and virtuous wife. But to take your own life… that is shameful. Would you shame me so?”
She shook her head, reaching up to run a gentle finger over his lips. “Nay,” she whispered. “But living without you would be a hollow, dreadful thing.”
“I understand completely,” he muttered, “because living without you would be the same.” He paused, thinking of Dylan’sprophetic word before continuing. “I must say something, Wynny.”
“What is it?”
