Lord of War: Black Angel (28 page)

She sat in the chair and spread out the blanket, which he noticed was something she was knitting.  She had a big ball of woolen yarn, colored a dark blue, and she had a single very large needle with which she was looping the material with.  She seemed very calm for a woman who had a hostile army at her front door, but Dylan suspected it was because Brandt was here to keep her company.  He also suspected Brandt was here to keep her from running off to talk with her father.  The man had left the walls of Guildford hours ago and had not returned since, unusual for the normally hands-on commander.

“A message?” she repeated curiously as she straightened out her yarn. “From whom?”

Brandt looked over at her. “Your father,” he said. “It seems he wishes to speak with me.”

She stopped fumbling and looked at him with wide eyes. “
I
will speak with him,” she told him. “Brandt, the only conversation he wishes to have with you is one full of threats.  He will not do that to me. Please allow me to speak with him and inform him of the situation.”

Brandt sighed heavily. He knew she would question him again about speaking with her father and he’d been thinking for the better part of the evening on how to dissuade her.  The problem was that he really couldn’t think of a solid reason why she shouldn’t and he realized he was seriously considering her request.  Still, his pride stood in the way. He ultimately shook his head.

 “That would be the coward’s way,” he told her quietly. “What man would send his wife to do his talking for him? Nay, sweetheart, I will speak with your father face to face and explain the way of things.”

She grunted in frustration. “Would you not wish for a peaceful end to all of this?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then you must let me speak with him. You will only upset him.”

Brandt gave her a disbelieving glance before returning his attention to Dylan. “Tell Deston I will speak with him,” he replied. “But I will set the terms - we will meet at the gatehouse in one hour.”

Dylan bowed and silently quit the keep.  Brandt watched the man go, thinking on the conversation he would have with Deston, when he caught sight of his wife from the corner of his eye. 

Ellowyn was staring at him, her big needle in hand.  Her expression was one of disapproval.

“It is not cowardly to want a peaceful end to this,” she said quietly. “I do not want to see you hurt and I do not want to see my father hurt. There are many men out there with sharp weapons and if I can end this without a drop of blood being shed, I will happily do so. Why do you resist me?”

He shook his head. “Why must we discuss this again?” he asked. “Do you think me so weak that I must have my wife do my talking for me?”

She appeared rather taken aback. “Of course not,” she said softly. “But if I can help….”

“If I want your help, I will ask,” he said, rather sternly. “But if I do not, you will kindly cease badgering me.”

A frown appeared on her delicate features. “I do not badger.”

“Aye, you do.”

The frown deepened. “If I do, it is because you are hard-headed and stubborn.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up. “I will not have this discussion with you,” he said, moving for the plate armor he had removed a few hours before, perched as they were on a frame near the door.  “You will stay to this keep until I come for you. If you do not, I will catch you and lock you in a room. Mayhap I will even throw away the key. I do not like to be constantly questioned as if you do not trust me and I will like it even less if you disobey me. Do you comprehend?”

Still frowning, now feeling scolded, Ellowyn dropped her face and focused on the knitting in her lap.  She kept her mouth shut as Brandt silently donned his plate armor and strapped on his weapons.   When he was finished, he came over to her as she sat by the fire with the great half-knitted cover on her lap.

“Give me a kiss,” he said, bending over. “I will return as soon as I can.”

She turned her face petulantly and he ended up kissing her cheek.  Fighting off a grin, he could see that she was pouting.

“You will be sorry you did that,” he told her as he moved for the door. “What if I am struck down by lightning in the bailey?  What if the earth opens up to swallow me as I move down the motte? You will be very, very sorry that you did not kiss me farewell.  You will regret being so terrible to me.”

By now, Ellowyn was trying not to grin at his dramatic account of the dangers awaiting him outside, none of which had anything to do with an impending battle.

“Nay, I will not,” she said callously, focused on her yarn. “If you are struck down or swallowed up, it will be God’s way of punishing you for being so mean to me.”

He stopped at the door, his eyebrows lifted. “
I
am mean?” he repeated, feigning outrage. “Madam, you have a twisted sense of perception. Are you going to kiss me or not?”

She lifted her gaze, fixing him in the eye. “Why should I?”

“Because you love me. You said so yourself.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I can love you and still be annoyed with you.”

“Nay, you cannot. Come here, you silly wench.  Kiss me.”

She indicated the heavy blanket on her lap. “I cannot,” she said. “You must come back over here if you want a kiss.”

He stomped back over to her, so loudly that the dogs began to bark.  Then he growled as he swooped down on her, listening to her squeal as he nibbled her ear, her neck.  She giggled uncontrollably as his nibbles turned to kisses, and his mouth eventually slanted hungrily over hers.   Ellowyn responded eagerly to him and the knitting needle fell to the floor.

“The next time you do not kiss me on demand, I shall not return for a second attempt,” he murmured rather lustily.  “You will obey me the first time, do you hear?”

She grinned at him slyly, causing him to kiss her hard enough to snap her head back.   She gasped, and giggled, as he nibbled her lips, her cheeks, and her face. It was a sweetly tender moment yet wholly passionate moment.

“I hear you,” she whispered.

“Hear me and obey.”

“I will.”

“For how long?”

She giggled again.  “At least until you leave the keep.”

With a grin, he kissed her again and made his way to the keep entry, turning to glance at her before he left.  She was illuminated by the firelight and the torch in the room, giving her an ethereal quality. Brandt had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, reiterating the fact that she was indeed worth fighting for.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he had his suspicions.

***

“You
married
her?”

Brandt couldn’t understand why Deston was genuinely shocked.  It was a struggle not to sound sarcastic in response.

“I told you I wanted to marry her,” he said steadily. “Did you truly think I would not?”

Standing in Guildford’s great gatehouse, separated by the lowered portcullis, Deston and Brandt faced each other.  Knights stood around both men, in the shadows as silent and deadly support, while torches burned hot and dense, sending black oily smoke against the low ceiling.  Brandt held a torch simply so he could see in the darkness, but Deston was somewhat obscured by the blackness. It was difficult to see the man very well; even so, he could still see the outrage on his face. 
This is not going well already
, Brandt thought.

That was an understatement.  As he watched, Deston’s face turned shades of red, even in the darkness.

“I told you that I did not want you for my daughter,” he snarled. “You had no right to take her.”

Brandt remained cool. “It is strange how I was your ally and comrade when I returned your men to Erith,” he said,  “but the minute I spoke to you of marriage to Ellowyn, I became your enemy.  I am as good if not better than any man in England for your daughter, and your weak argument of war tactics and brutal rumors are without merit. You insulted me without basis.”

Deston was furious. “Basis or not, she is my daughter to give,” he said. “I denied you yet you still took her. It is thievery!”

“It is marriage.”

“I shall take this to Edward!”

Brandt couldn’t help it; he smirked. “Do as you must,” he said. “I am sure Edward will tell you to shut your mouth and go home, but you are welcome to bother the King of England with something as petty as a man marrying your daughter without permission.  Don’t you think the king has greater things to worry about?”

Deston started to snap back at him but held his tongue; he knew, as everyone else did, that Brandt was much favored by Edward. It wouldn’t do him any good to go to the king and try to charge de Russe with thievery.  In fact, it might upset the king and work against him.  So he cooled, eyeing the man through the iron grate, and thought of his next move.  He was exhausted, in pain, and furious beyond reason.  Because of it, his thought processes weren’t as clear as they should have been.

“You had no right to take her,” he said, sounding despondent now. The anger was fading. “Why did you do it? Why did you show me such disrespect? You call yourself an ally but an ally would not have shown such disregard for my position.”

Brandt wouldn’t admit that the man had a point. “Deston, you had no basis for denying us,” he said, with some emotion. “Would you hear me tell you that I love your daughter and she loves me? Would you hear me tell you that she means everything to me? I would have told you all of this but you did not allow me to.  We are not speaking of possession in this case; we are speaking of passion and adoration.  Your daughter is the most important thing in the world to me and I could not leave Erith without her. I
would
not. If you must condemn me for being a man in love, then so be it.  But I would hope the fact that I care for your daughter outweighs any shame you might feel.”

Deston stared at him without saying a word.  The blue-green eyes just stared at Brandt to the point where it made him uncomfortable.   When he finally spoke, it was low and deliberate.

“If a man came to you to ask permission to marry your daughter and you denied him, what would you do if he married her against your wishes?” he asked.

Brandt knew the question might come and he was prepared. At least, he thought he was until visions of a beautiful blond daughter with Ellowyn’s features flashed before his eyes. He already knew he would love her more than anything on earth.  If a man absconded with her, he knew exactly what he would do – he would kill him.  After a moment, he cleared his throat softly and averted his gaze.

“I would do what you are doing,” he said quietly. “I would want her back.”

“Would you want to kill him?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because she would be my daughter. I would kill any man who laid a hand on her.”

Deston sighed faintly; he suddenly looked very old, and extraordinarily weary.  The anger had eased but the fight was still there.

“I want her back,” he finally said.

“You cannot have her. She is my wife.”

“Then I demand satisfaction.”

“Name it.”

“You and I will battle to the death at dawn.  Just you and me, de Russe; the armies will stand down.  This is between you and me, and no other.”

Brandt looked at the man as if he was mad. “Deston, I cannot fight you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I will win. I cannot kill you.”

“Then I will kill
you
.”

Brandt shut his mouth, eyeing the man a moment. “Are you truly serious about this?”

“I am.”

“Ellowyn will not be happy about this. She will be the one ultimately affected by your death.”

“It could be your death.”

“Would you hurt her so?”

“She is worth fighting for and, if necessary, dying for. She is my daughter. I demand satisfaction for what you have taken from me. If I win, she will come back to Erith and if you win, well…  all I ask is that you return me home. I would be buried next to my father.”

Brandt understood him completely, mostly because if Ellowyn had been his daughter, he would do the same thing. He began to feel sick in the pit of his stomach, knowing how Ellowyn would react to all of this. This was going to tear her apart, a battle between the two men she loved best in the world.  He couldn’t even think of himself at the moment; all he could think of was her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked hoarsely.

Deston’s jaw was set, his mouth a firm line. But his lips were trembling. “Aye.”

Brandt’s jaw ticked. There was nothing more he could say; the man had a right to his own sense of satisfaction.  He was already devastated for Ellowyn at what would surely be the outcome.

“Very well,” he murmured. “If that is your wish. I will meet you at dawn.”

Without another word, Deston turned and faded off into the darkness, his soldiers closing in around him as they headed off towards their encampment in the distance.  Brandt just stood there, watching them go, until they faded from sight.  Then, he turned to the men surrounding him.

Dylan, Brennan, Magnus and Stefan were all looking at him with varied degrees of seriousness. They had heard the challenge. Already, they knew the outcome.  Dylan locked eyes with Brandt.

“If you kill him, she will hate you,” Dylan muttered what they were all thinking. “If he kills you, she returns to Erith. Either way, you lose your wife. This is a battle you cannot win.”

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.