He nodded slowly, his dark eyes riveted to her. “Aye, you will.”
“Be safe, my love.”
There was nothing more to say. He kissed her one last time and climbed out of bed. His heart was so heavy he didn’t think he could stand it. He knew that if he turned to look at her one last time, all would be lost. He wouldn’t leave at all. So he squared his shoulders and quit the room without a hind glance. There was no other way he could accomplish it. By the time he hit the stairwell, he was weeping silent tears.
Back in the bedchamber, the one that smelled of sage and peppermint to ward off the bad spirits, Ellowyn was weeping sorrowful tears of her own. Dear God, she missed him already.
But Brandt had a job to do, one he had no choice but to see through. He had wiped his face and cleaned up by the time he reached the bailey where the army was waiting. It smelled strongly of smoke, men, and animals as he set foot in the dusty bailey and as he glanced overhead, he could see dark and angrystorm clouds well off to the south. It must have been the terrible weather the scouts had described. As he made his way towards his big black charger, he noticed a painted white wagon off to his left.
Rosalind and Margarethe were standing next to the wagon. Brandt noticed them, hesitated his forward momentum, and then headed over in their direction. The girls seemed to grow increasingly nervous as he approached.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, indicating the wagon. “It will grow dark soon. Mayhap you should remain here until I return and we can speak more of your return to England at that time.”
The young women looked at each other, shocked, before returning their attention to him.
“You… you would have us return to England?” Rosalind was genuinely shocked. “We thought that mayhap… well, you certainly have a good deal on your mind. We thought we should return to Gael and perhaps speak to you again about England another day.”
Brandt could see they were nervous, as they seemed to be around him. He was growing soft in his old age, feeling more and more pity for them. He was also reconsidering his harsh stance against them. They had made the effort to come see him, after all. As Rosalind put it, perhaps it was time for a rapport between them. He was coming to hope so.
“Remain here until I return,” he said again. “At some point I plan to return to England and mayhap you will go with me. Moreover, I would have you here where you will be better protected than at Gael. Is that acceptable?”
The young women nodded readily. As Margarethe turned back to the wagon, Rosalind took a few timid steps towards Brandt.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said genuinely. “We are very appreciative of your offer.”
Brandt nodded his head, not having much more to say. As he turned away, Rosalind caught his attention one last time.
“My lord,” she called. When he turned to look at her, she grew nervous again. “I… I wanted to wish you luck in battle.”
He looked at her, seeing a well-spoken young woman who, much like him, had been without parents for most of her life. Her father had been absent and her mother had run off. Now, she was trying to make an effort to know him, having the opportunity that he himself never had with his own parents. Something about her effort warmed him. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her completely, but he was willing to give it a try. Ellowyn had given him the confidence to open himself up emotionally. He was much more sure of himself than he had ever been.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Should you need anything, please let Mme. Simpelace know. She will provide for you.”
“And your lady wife, my lord?” Rosalind asked. “May… may we come to know her?”
He cracked a smile. “I think she would like that.”
Rosalind smiled timidly in return and gave him a little wave to bid him farewell. “Thank you, my lord.”
“You may call me Father if you wish. I am yours, after all.”
With that, he turned away and headed to the area where the bulk of his army was staging.
He had a battle to fight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Three weeks later
12 September 1356
Ellowyn sat motionlessin a chair, gazing out of the long lancet window over the rainy Brittany landscape. A cold breeze was blowing and she could smell the mist. Although the bedchamber was warm and fragrant with new rushes, the cold breeze made her shiver. She thought she could smell death upon it.
The door to the chamber opened quietly and Annabeth entered. She carried a tray of food with her, laden with all manner of tempting offerings. Her mistress hadn’t truly eaten in over a week so she wanted to entice her. Setting the tray on a small table against the wall, she approached Ellowyn.
“My lady?” she said timidly. “I have brought you something to eat.”
Clad in a dark blue, wool surcoat with a heavy, knitted sweater over it that flowed all the way to the floor, Ellowyn glanced over her shoulder at Annabeth. Her face was pale, her lips without color, and her red hair knotted at the nape of her neck.
