Lord of War: Black Angel (9 page)

“I will not be saddled with someone I do not like or do not approve of,” she said simply, then sneezed a few times in rapid succession. “It is not foolish to want to be happy.”

Brandt turned to look at her. “Nay, it is not,” he agreed quietly. “I wish you good fortune in your search.”

Pensive, drunk and sniffling, Ellowyn made her way back over to the copper pot. She set the stuff down on the bed next to the pot and looked at Brandt seriously, as if her muddled mind was in the midst of concocting something. Then she pointed at him.

“You will remove your wet clothing and put it before the fire,” she said, sounding as if she was once again commanding him. “Then you will sit in this chair with your back to me while I bathe.  I will not look at you if you will not look at me and, being a knight and a duke, I will trust your word when you swear you will not watch me bathe. Are we clear?”

He was back to fighting off a grin. “My lady, I am….”

“Wynny!”

He corrected himself. “Wynny, I am not entirely certain that is wise,” he tried to make it simply so her alcohol-soaked brain could understand. “Do you realize what you are saying? You are telling me to take my clothes off, and you will take your clothes off, and the only thing keeping propriety as our cloak and shield is a promise we will not look at each other. Does that sound fitting to you?”

She blinked, thinking hard on his words. “Aye,” she said, looking up at him as if confused by his statement. “I will trust you if you tell me you will not look.”

Brandt had never before seen such naked, complete and utter trust.  It was in her eyes, her expression, everything about her, and he didn’t find her drunken state so funny anymore. He’d had the faith of many people over his life, mostly out of fear and out of respect for his skills as a man and as a warrior, but never had he seen it so trusting and blatant as he did at this very moment in that lovely little face. She was trusting him as a man, not as a warrior or a duke.  To refute her would be to insult her. He didn’t want to do that. More than that, she was determined to take a bath and in her condition, he was coming to think it would not be wise to leave her alone. She could hit her head, pass out, or worse. He didn’t want that to happen.

“I will not look,” he said softly.

Satisfied, Ellowyn went about undressing in a very uncoordinated fashion.  Brandt turned away, acutely aware of every sound she made, as he pulled off his heavy padded tunic, so wet and uncomfortable, and put it out by the fire to dry out.  Off came the boots as well as they ended up in front of the flame.  As he sat with his back to Ellowyn, he began to carve into the cooling mutton when he heard the water behind him slosh as she climbed in. He was hit in the back of the neck with warm water as she began to splash about.

“My lord?” she called.

“I must tell you something,” he said, mouth full of mutton.

“What is that?”

“Since you have so graciously given me permission to call you Wynny,” he said, “I must tell you to call me Brandt in private. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she said, splashing around some more. “Brandt?”

“Aye?”

“Do you have any friends?”

“A few.”

She fell silent a moment, sneezing as she splashed. “I do not,” she said, rather forlornly. “Not really. I have cousins, of course, but it seems as if I only really have my family. We are related to Simon de Montfort on my father’s side, so when people find out, it seems no one wants to know us.  After all these years, that part of the family is still frowned upon.”

“Did you not make friends when you fostered?”

“I did not foster.”

He was surprised. “You did
not
foster?” he repeated, turning around to look at her but remembering his promise not to watch her bathe, so he quickly turned back to face his meal. “That is unheard of. Who took charge of your education, then?”

“My grandfather,” she said. “Braxton de Nerra. He was a very smart man. He taught me everything from when I was young. Did you know him?”

Brandt nodded as he tucked into the bread and gravy. “I knew him,” he said. “He was a great knight.”

In the tub, Ellowyn was busy soaping her feet. “He passed away six years ago,” she said softly. “But he was healthy and vital right until the end. My grandmother misses him every day, you know. They loved each other very much. I suppose they are why I am determined to marry a man I love.  I saw what they had together and I want that, too.”

Brandt chewed on his bread, digesting their conversation, reflecting on the intelligent and loyal woman he was coming to know.  She was talking quite a bit, that was true, but he knew it was because of the alcohol.  He was coming to learn a lot about her, understanding her, and liking it.  In fact, sitting in the little room with the blazing fire, he was more comfortable with her than he had been with almost anyone in his life. There was something pure about the woman, open to a fault, but also strong-willed to a fault. She reminded him a lot of her father.  She was a woman who knew what she wanted in life and would get it.  He admired that.

“Brandt?” Ellowyn cut into his train of thought.

“Aye?”

“Do you think you shall ever marry again?”

He swallowed the bread in his mouth and went for the wine. “I have not given it much thought,” he said. “Perhaps.”

“You should, you know,” she said. “You should have sons to carry on the de Russe name. Who will inherit your dukedom if you do not?”

“As I said, I have not given it particular thought.”

“Are you returning to war again?”

“Eventually.”

“Then you should think about marrying again and having a son,” she said, splashing around behind him. “You should do this before you leave again, just to be safe.”

“I will take it under advisement.”

“Perhaps I will help you find a wife,” she said decisively. “I can do that, you know. I will search high and low for someone worthy of you.”

He smiled into his cup. “Although I am honored you would think so highly of me, marriage is not a priority at this time.  I have many other things that need my attention and wife is not among them.”

She wasn’t put off in the least. “When you are ready, you will let me know.”

His expression turned distant, pensive, perhaps interested more than he cared to admit. “I will let you know.”

He finished off the wine as she finished off her bath. She sneezed and coughed, but it was far less than she had been doing earlier.  True to his promise, he didn’t turn around to look at her as she slithered out of the tub, dried off with a corner of the bed linen, and dressed. 

By the time she came into view, she was clad in a simple shift that was of one piece, like a dressing gown.  It was some kind of heavier fabric, perhaps cotton or even lamb’s wool that clung to her figure almost indecently. In fact, Brandt had to make an effort not to stare at her as she passed in front of him and sat down on the opposite side of the table.  Her long blond hair was damp, and braided, and he caught distinct whiffs of lavender.  It was a clean and delicious smell.  He was starting to realize that he’d never in his life seen such a radiant and pure creature.

“You are breaking your promise, you know,” he remarked as she began to pull the bread apart.

Curious, she looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He was looking at his wine. “You promised not to look at me in my half-dressed state.”

She stared at him a moment before dropping the bread and slapping her hands over her face. “You are correct,” she muttered through her hands. “I will not look if you wish to dress.”

“Did you not even notice that I only have my breeches on?”

She nodded. “I did, but I did not give it much thought. Forgive me.”

He fought off a grin. “My, but you are comfortable around half-naked men.”

She shook her head, hands still over her eyes. “I suppose I was not paying attention,” she said. “I was more focused on eating. My head is beginning to spin from too much drink.”

He pursed his lips wryly. “So much for making an impression on you,” he grumbled. “Take your hands off your eyes. I suppose if you do not even notice me, then it is of no worry. I might as well be a horse sitting here for all you would notice my state of dress.”

She giggled as she uncovered her eyes. “I
have
noticed you,” she insisted as she resumed her bread. “You are a very handsome man, Brandt. I am sure if you decide to marry, your wife will be a very fortunate woman and she will notice you all of the time.”

His eyes glimmered at her. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said in a low, and nearly flirtatious, voice, “but I am still not sure if I am comfortable with your abject kindness. It scares me.”

Her hands came away from her face. “Why?”

A smile played on his lips. “I am not entire certain,” he said, looking down at his food. “Perhaps I want to believe it.”

Ellowyn gazed at him, still somewhat inebriated, but there was lucidity to her thoughts now as well.  As Brandt cut off a hunk of cheese, she did, in fact, take a look at the man’s naked torso.  Not being an expert on men’s naked torsos, she really didn’t have anything to compare it to, but she did know that he was exquisitely muscled with enormously wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He had the biggest arms she had ever seen and his fair share of scars, all illuminated softly by the orange firelight.  She could see his veins through the skin. As she looked at him, she realized she was feeling quite warm and breathless at the sight and she knew, instinctively, that she liked it.

“You should believe it,” she said, averting her gaze to find her bread. “It is the truth.  I wish you much success with a future wife.  She will be a fortunate woman.”

He looked at her, noting she was focused on her food and not on him. Strangely enough, her comment didn’t sound like a passing remark. It sounded sincere, something that peaked his interested more than he cared to admit.  He also noticed, even in the weak light, that she was rather flushed. It didn’t occur to him that it was, in fact, because of him.  He thought it was her illness. Wiping his hands off on his breeches, he reached across the table and trapped her head in his big hands.  Feeling her forehead, he hissed.

“You have a fever,” he said somewhat grimly.

Head contained in his massive palms, Ellowyn looked surprised. “I do not believe so,” she said as he felt her warm cheeks. “It is because the bath was warm.”

He just shook his head. “This has nothing to do with the bath,” he told her. Then, he stood up and went over to the bed closest to the fire and pulled back the linens. “Get into bed. I will go in search of a physic.”

He said it in a manner that invited no resistance. Ellowyn stood up, bread still in hand, and looked at him with curiosity and bewilderment.

“I am fine, truly,” she said, punctuated by first a sneeze and then a hiccup. “I do not have a fever.”

“Get in bed. That was not a request.”

He had the innate ability to give an order that sounded as if the devil himself had just given a command. Ellowyn tried not to be intimidated. “But I am hungry,” she said, pointing at the food behind her. “Can I please eat first?”

Brandt grunted, unhappy, but he relented.  “Very well,” he said, ripping the coverlet off the bed and wrapping it around her like a babe in swaddling.  He guided her back to the chair next to the table and pushed her down on it. “Sit there and finish your meal. But the very moment you are finished, I want you to get into bed. Is that clear?”

She gazed up at him, indecisive, preparing to refuse, but the look on his face killed any sense of resistance. She nodded with resignation.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“I do not need a physic. I am sure I do not have a fever; it is only the warm bath.”

“I would feel better if we had a physic make the diagnosis.”

With that, he pulled on his nearly dry padded tunic, his boots, his armor, and his overtunic with the dark green and black dragon of the Duke of Exeter.  Ellowyn picked her bread apart, dipping it in the cold gravy, as he dressed.  She found herself watching him more than she was paying attention to her food.   When he was finished dressing, he quit the room with a lingering glance.  But not word came forth out of his mouth.

 He didn’t need to speak, however. Ellowyn understood the silent words radiating forth from his eyes more than if he had shouted at her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The rain was back.

She was in the field of bodies again, avoiding the pleading hands of the dying, staring at her left hand and the gold and garnet ring upon it. She was married and somehow, somewhere in this mess, was her husband. That must be why she had come; to find him. She wasn’t sure how she knew, only that she did. In this sea of death and destruction, littered with the dead like flotsam upon the sea, she had to find him. She would do it or die trying.

She was knee deep in unfathomable mud, now a dark brick red in color because of the blood mixed into it. Rivers of it coagulating, creating dark veins in the mud. She struggled to walk through it, panic in her throat.

She looked up at the sky, that great steel-colored mess, thankful for the lack of sun; it would dry up the mud and would trap the dead within it. She had to find her husband before that happened, heightening her sense of urgency.  God, please help me, she prayed. Please help me find my love.

My love, she thought. Aye, he is my love, my life.  As she moved towards a grove of stripped trees, the mud became shallower and less binding, and she struggled to get up onto firmer ground. But she slipped and fell to her knees, bracing herself with one arm to keep from falling completely while the other arm went around her belly.  A big, swollen belly.

Shocked, she looked at her midsection to realize she was pregnant.

***

“I am with child!”

Ellowyn started herself awake with those words, disoriented for a moment until she realized she was on the back of her mare, riding in the midst of de Russe’s column of battle hardened warriors. She glanced around, sheepishly, realizing she had fallen asleep and praying no one had seen her.