He hesitated again, a moment rife with uncertainty. “This challenge between me and your father,” he ventured, forming his thoughts as he went. “I do not want you to hate me for killing your father. Just as I could not live with your death, I could not live with your hatred, either. I feel as if I am in a situation where I cannot win, and that grieves me deeply.”
Ellowyn gazed up at him, thinking seriously on what he was saying. It was evident that he meant what he said. She could read the emotion in his face. She was careful, and thoughtful, with her reply.
“I told you when we were at Erith that I had ceased to view my father through the eyes of an adoring young girl because of the way he treated you when you asked for my hand,” she said softly. “That man was rash and rude and cruel. He would not even listen to me when I attempted to speak with him about it. He turned me away completely. Then, that same man rouses an army to come to Guildford to challenge you. I have never known my father to be so reckless. Of course I do not wish his death, but he is the one who started all of this. He challenged you and I support your right to answer the challenge and defend yourself.”
“You say that now, but when it comes time to cut your father down, I will wonder if you will ever look at me the same way again.”
She sighed heavily and laid her head on his chest again, hearing his heartbeat strong and steady in her left ear. Her thoughts lingered on her father, his rash behavior and uncharacteristic anger. A thought suddenly occurred to her.
“I saw him turn on my brother the same way he turned on you,” she murmured, thinking back to that dark and turbulent time. “He was very angry and abusive to my brother, eventuallydisowning him. My brother was devastated. All he wanted to do was serve God in his own way, but my father acted as if he had betrayed him.”
“As you have betrayed him by going against his wishes and marrying me,” Brandt said softly.
“He will disown me as well.”
“If he were intent to disown you, he would not be here. He wants you back.”
“I am not going back.”
“Then I must fight him for the privilege of keeping you.”
Ellowyn fell silent, listening to his beating heart, feeling it reassure her like nothing else ever had. He was her husband, a part of her in more ways than she could express. In the short time they had been together, she had never known such happiness or fulfillment. Brandt had become her entire world and everything about him caused her to live and breathe. She could not lose that. As much as she loved her family, her father, Brandt had become what was most precious to her. Still, the thought of losing her father, however rash and foolish he was, tore at her.
“When the time comes with my father,” she whispered. “I will not ask you not to kill him because he has challenged you for your life and, as I said, you have every right to defend yourself. However… if you do not have to kill him, I would be grateful. But if you do… then I trust your judgment. I am sorry it had to come to this.”
“As am I.”
“Whatever happens, you must stay alive. Do you understand me?”
“Aye, madam.”
“Promise me?”
“With all that I am, I do.”
She lifted her mouth to his and they lost themselves in a powerful, passionate kiss. In little time, Brandt’s hands were roving her body, a form he was now so intimately familiar with, and when he finally thrust into her, it was with the sweetest of movements. Ellowyn clung to him, his scent filling her nostrils, his body filling hers, feeling pain and fear and longing such as she had never experienced.
All she wanted was her husband and the ability to live a normal life with him, without the constant threat of her father hanging over their heads. If Brandt had to subdue the man to give them such peace… aye, even kill him… as much as it pained her to think such thoughts, so be it. If she had to choose between her father and her husband, she was not ashamed to choose her husband. The love she felt for him, the bond, ran too deep for words.
When the pink light of early morning began to fill the eastern sky, she found herself on the wall watching the mortal battle between her father and Brandt unfolding below. It was the first glimpse of her father in weeks and had her weeping at the sight.
*
The presence ofBrandt’s army was heavy on the wall facing southwest where the gatehouse was located because outside of the gatehouse a great event was taking place. The foot soldiers were crowded on the parapet and an entire squadron of archers was poised with weapons cocked to keep de Nerra’s army from charging. Even though terms of the challenge had been laid out, Brandt wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted insurance that de Nerra wouldn’t try to trick him once the portcullis was lifted. A fleet of obvious archers would keep anyone from getting too cocky.
Aware of the archers lining Guildford’s walls, de Nerra’s army was held back from the gatehouse by a line of sergeants, far enough so that they were out of the archers’ range but close enough so that they could see what was happening. They had been told the previous night that there may not be a battle after all, as their liege had called out the Duke of Exeter to settle the matter between them. A challenge was not an unusual spectacle, but in this case, it was sure to be very one-sided.
The Duke of Exeter appeared at dawn in the gatehouse, behind the great fanged portcullis. He was dressed from head to toe for combat, the type of combat he had seen in France where men would fight brutally and with every part of their body to attain victory. Loaded down with mail, plate armor, and a variety of weapons, the duke was deadly. He was also far stronger, more skilled and more experienced than Deston de Nerra, who had not seen a battlefield in over twelve years.
The portcullis lifted, spilling de Russe and his five frightening-looking knights forth across the drawbridge and into the clearing that fanned out from gatehouse. As the heavily armed knights stood back by the portcullis, Brandt came forth into the clearing and faced de Nerra’s enormous army. He just stood there, waiting, while the tension mounted. They all knew what he was waiting for.
De Nerra wasn’t long in showing himself. A big man who had been muscular back in his prime, most of that muscle had gone to fat with age and inactivity. It caused his armor not to fit very well and he struggled with it even as he made his way towards Brandt. He kept pulling at the mail. Not a man watching the spectacle didn’t feel a sense of what was about to happen. The once-great knight was about to face a man who inarguably was the most formidable warrior on any battlefield, ever. It was like watching a lamb to slaughter. The drums of doom beat silently,growing louder with each footstep Deston took as he approached his executioner.
Brandt felt it, too. As Deston advanced, he knew the moment he drew his sword it would only be a matter of time before he was the victor, and probably a short time at that. Deston was not in any sort of battle condition. He was out of practice and weak. What he was doing was pride and honor driven alone, which made him foolish and careless.
“You may as well throw yourself on your own sword, de Nerra,” Brandt said as the man drew close. “What you are doing is suicide.”
Deston slowed as he came near. “Mayhap,” he said. “But it is something I must do.”
