“I am not hungry,” she said quietly. “Please take it away.”
Annabeth didn’t turn away as she should have. “My lady, please,” she begged softly. “You have hardly eaten in days. You must keep up your strength.”
Ellowyn was still staring out the window, her eyes glassy and distant. “For what?” she asked, her tone dull. “For the son who will not suckle my breast? For the child now buried in the earthof Melesse’s chapel? There is no reason to keep up my strength. That reason died ten days ago, birthed blue and with the cord strangling him. Nay, Annabeth… there is no reason to keep up my strength.”
Annabeth sighed heavily. They had been through this subject daily, sometimes hourly. The stillbirth of the duke’s son nearly a week after the duke’s departure had done something to Ellowyn. She was dead inside, too. She hadn’t even had the strength or the will or the nerve to send her husband word of the child. Reports had come back from Poitiers telling tale of preparations for a massive battle because negotiations between the French and the English had failed. Ellowyn didn’t want to distract Brandt in the fight of his life. Or perhaps he was already dead. Instead, she spent every day staring out of the window as if waiting for the man to return to her. Her mind was wandering far, far away and sometimes those around her wondered if she had lost control completely. There was no soul left in her with Brandt’s departure and the death of their child.
“It was God’s Will, my lady,” Annabeth said softly. “We do not know why these things happen, only that they do.”
“Do not speak to me of God,” Ellowyn snapped softly. “You may speak to me of anything else, but not of God. I will not hear of him within these walls. God has failed me.”
Annabeth shushed her. “Dare you speak that way with your husband fighting a vicious battle? Say a prayer of forgiveness, quickly, that God will not abandon him because of your blasphemy!”
Ellowyn merely shook her head. “Say it for me, my pious friend,” she murmured. “God and I are not on speaking terms right now.”
As Annabeth muttered a prayer for Ellowyn and Brandt, Bridget appeared in the doorway. She looked at Annabeth, who merely shook her head sadly. Bridget summoned a deep breathfor courage, understanding the silent implication that the mood of the room was bleak.
“My lady?” she said, entering the room. “Lady Rosalind has asked me if she may come to visit you. Would you receive visitors today?”
Ellowyn sighed. Rosalind and Margarethe had been allowed to remain at Melesse while Brandt was away and they had come to visit her before the birth of the child. Ellowyn had actually enjoyed her time spent with Rosalind, who seemed like she genuinely wanted to be friendly. Margarethe, however, was still reserved and uncertain. Ellowyn had enjoyed the brief conversations she and Rosalind had before the event of the birth, but since then, she hadn’t felt much like conversing. She still didn’t.
“Please tell Lady Rosalind that I am still not well today,” she said sadly. “Mayhap tomorrow. We shall see how I feel.”
Bridget nodded and prepared to leave the room when Mme. Simpelace was in the doorway, her severe face taut. Her gaze found Ellowyn.
“Madam,” she addressed her breathlessly. “A messenger has arrived from Chavigny. He comes from your husband.”
Ellowyn felt a bolt of fear and excitement rush through her. It was enough to set her hands to shaking as she moved away from the window.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“In your solar, madam,” the chatelaine told her. “He has come with news for you!”
Ellowyn was moving faster than she had in months. Even though she had birthed a child only ten days before, the truth was that the birth had been rather fast and easy, and she wasn’t particularly sore. She felt rather good.
But all thoughts of births and deaths and battles were purged from her mind as she scooted down the spiral stairs withAnnabeth, Bridget, and Mme. Simpelace in tow. She could hear Bridget hissing insults at the old woman and being called a rodent in return. It was almost enough to make her smile, but not quite.
It was warm on the lower living area as she gathered her heavy skirt and sweater, and charged into her solar. It was even warmer in that room, as Rosalind and Margarethe had been using it for their sitting room with Ellowyn holed up in her chamber. The young women were there even now, seated before the blazing hearth, as Ellowyn and her entourage rushed in. The messenger, an exhausted cavalry soldier bearing Brandt’s crest, was seated near the hearth with a hunk of bread in his hand. He bolted to his feet when Lady de Russe swept in.
“My lady,” he said with his mouth full, startled by her swift appearance. “I come with a message from your husband.”
“Well?” Ellowyn demanded. “What is it?”
The young soldier swallowed the food in his mouth before continuing, nearly choking on it as he forced it down.
“My lord de Russe says to tell you that he is hopeful that you and the child are of excellent health and that he prays for you by the hour,” he began. “On the eve of my departure, there was a terrible battle brewing, my lady. On the fields outside of Poitiers, King Jean of France, Dauphin Charles, and Prince Phillip were aligning their armies against the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Exeter. Thousands and thousands of men, my lady. The duke wanted me to tell you that if he does not return before Christmas, then you must take the remainder of the army he has stationed here at Melesse for your protection and return to England. He begs that you do this for your own safety.”
Ellowyn stared at the young messenger, stunned. Her legs suddenly felt weak and she grasped at the nearest chair, lowering herself onto it. Her mind was so much mush at the moment, making it difficult to grasp a single thought.
“Leave?” she repeated, shocked and incredulous. “Leave without him?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Ellowyn stared at the messenger before tearing her gaze away, her mind whirling with what she had been told. The more she thought on it, the more despondent she grew.
“He speaks as if…,” she began, but quickly recovered. She looked at the messenger. “You said there were thousands of men. How big is the king’s army?”
“Several thousand, my lady,” he replied quietly.
