Chapter Ten
Erith Castle was a massive two-hundred-year-old bastion that had been built for Henry II.
It sat at the base of a range of mountains and protected the gap that led into an area of Cumbria that was heavy with ports along the western coast. The castle had remained in royal hands for over one hundred years until it was given as a gift to Simon de Montfort when he married Eleanor, Henry’s granddaughter.
After that, it had passed to their son, Richard, and then to his daughter, the Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux who had eventually married Braxton de Nerra.
Upon their marriage, De Nerra had given the castle to his step-daughter, Lady Gray’s daughter Brooke and her husband Sir Dallas Aston as a wedding gift, but Dallas returned the castle to Braxton when his eldest brother died and he inherited his father’s barony in Devon.
That was how the castle came into the hands of Sir Deston de Nerra, Braxton and Gray’s eldest son, and it was this man who waited impatiently in the bailey as Brandt brought the man’s army home.
Deston wasn’t a particularly tall man, like his father, but he had a muscular and powerful build.
He had his mother’s amber-colored eyes, his father’s graying blond hair, but his personality was all de Nerra.
He was aggressive, loud, passionate, highly intelligent, and lived for a good fight.
However, a disease of the joints had hit him at a very young age, like his grandfather and one of his uncles, and his hands were so gnarled that he hadn’t been able to hold a sword in many years.
Still, he had fists like hamhocks and could still ball one up to deliver a devastating punch.
When he saw Brandt ride into his bailey, he began to crow with delight.
“The great duke himself!” he yelled happily. “I see you survived your years in France!”
Brandt flipped up his visor, smiling at the loud man. He was glad to see him. Wearily, he dismounted and handed his snapping charger over to a soldier as Deston marched up and slapped him on his armored arm.
“You look whole enough,” Deston said with satisfaction.
Brandt pulled his helm off, peeling his hauberk off his wet black hair. The army was trickling in after him, weary men kicking up the dust and dirt of the bailey, creating clouds of grit.
“I am, fortunately,” he replied, eyeing the worn army. “But it was not for their lack of trying. The French have been trying to kill me for years.”
Deston sized up the man he hadn’t seen in at least three years. He started to say something more but a woman on a palfrey caught his eye and he turned to see his daughter entering the gates. Deston forgot all about Brandt and walked towards her, very quickly.
“Wynny!” he held up his hand in greeting. When the palfrey came close, he reached up and grabbed his daughter right off of the horse. “My sweet little Pickle Snuff. Praise God you have arrived home safe and whole.”
Ellowyn let her father hug and kiss her, with the annoyed patience that children often show, before pulling away. “Dada, stop it,” she hissed at him. “I am fine. Do not paw over me like that. And do not call me Pickle Snuff!”
“Will you make the expression for me, please? I have missed it so.”
“Nay!”
Deston just grinned, not put off in the least. “I am happy to see you,” he said. “Your mother will be thrilled. But you were sent to bring my men home, not bring de Russe with you. He is a busy man with much to do. He is well out of his way up here at Erith.”
Ellowyn looked at Brandt. “He said he had business with you.”
Deston’s eyebrows flew up as he looked at Brandt, at least a head taller than he was. “Is that so?” he said. “Then I am honored. But first things first, how many men are you returning to me?”
“Five hundred and forty-eight,” Brandt replied. “Until four days ago, there were five hundred and sixty-two but we ran into some trouble near Coventry. We were attacked and lost some men.”
Deston grew serious. “I see,” he said, looking at his daughter. “I am sorry to know that. Where was Wynny when this happened? Was she safe?”
“I was in the middle of it,” Ellowyn said before Brandt could reply. “I was hit with an arrow but Lord de Russe saved me. He was heroic, Dada, truly.”
Deston turned pale and his eyes widened. “Hit with a…?” He put his hand over his heart, unable to finish the sentence. “God’s Bones, Wynny, what happened? Where were you hit?”
Ellowyn put her hand on her father’s arm, patting him soothingly. “I was hit in the shoulder,” she said, pointing to the spot. “Truly, Dada, it was of no consequence. I am fine.”
Deston wasn’t over his fright. He looked straight at de Russe. “And you allowed her into mortal danger?” he boomed. “God’s Bones, man, what were you thinking?”
Ellowyn started to explain but Brandt cut her off. She had upset her father already with her casual telling of a near-death experience and he hastened to clean it up so that her father wouldn’t think him careless.
“Your daughter was well-protected in the center of the column when we were attacked,” he explained succinctly.
“The Welsh plowed into our column in the middle in an attempt to divide us, I would assume, and your daughter was struck in the initial wave. One of my knights carried her off to safety where she was initially tended, but later she was cared for by two nuns from Coventry. I assure you that she has been very well tended the entire time.”
Deston eyed him as if he didn’t believe him.
He still had his hand over his heart. “To think of my daughter, my precious child in danger, is horrifying to say the least,” he said, looking at Ellowyn.
But then, he sighed. “I only wish I could have gone myself to London, but unfortunately, I cannot travel these days. The pain… it is too much. I had no choice but to send her.”
Brandt glanced at Ellowyn, his gaze warm. “She is as competent as she is fearless,” he told Deston. “You were wise to send her. She sought me out immediately and we made arrangements to bring your men back to Erith.”
Ellowyn shot him an expression when her father wasn’t looking, wondering why he had concealed the truth of their first meeting so eloquently. Brandt winked at her.
“I have much faith in my daughter,” Deston said, hugging her again so that she grunted because he squeezed too hard. “We are very glad to have her returned. And you also, my lord. Please come inside and we will discuss your business.”
Brandt nodded as he began to loosen his gauntlets. “In a moment,” he said. “I wish to settle my men first.”
Deston understood. He stood politely for a moment until one of his knights caught his attention and he excused himself.
Ellowyn collected her satchels from her saddles before a servant led her palfrey away, casually moving next to Brandt as the man focused on his men as they were settled in Erith’s enormous outer bailey.
His knights were yelling, animals were braying, and Brandt watched it all like a hawk.
“What business do you have with my father?” she asked.
Brandt didn’t look at her. “I have a question first.”
“What?”
“What is Pickle Snuff?”
Ellowyn rolled her eyes. “It is a nickname, from childhood,” she said. “If you call me that, I shall be furious with you, so you would do well to remember that.”
“I will.”
She eyed him. “Will you answer my question now?” she asked. “What business do you have with my father?”
“That is between Deston and me.”
She wasn’t offended. In fact, since they declared their interest in one another, the mood between them had been pleasant and, at times, sweet, which was made difficult due to the fact that they were traveling with a host of witnesses including Brandt’s very astute knights.
Brandt had kept a distance from her most of the time as she rode mostly with St. Hèver or Alex de Lara, but Ellowyn wasn’t particularly distressed by it.
When they had been afforded a moment alone, Brandt had explained the need for discretion, at least until he could speak with Deston.
She understood completely and she was thrilled.
She still felt as if she were living some kind of wonderful and unexpected dream, for never in her life could she have imagined finding interest and affection with the mighty Duke of Exeter.
As she shifted her satchels to one hand, she looked up at him. “You have hardly spoken to me since the incident in Coventry,” she said quietly. “Will you please tell me what you are going to speak to my father about?”
“I told you why I have kept my distance.”
She turned to him fully. “Aye, you have,” she said, her big eyes swallowing him up. “But we are no longer traveling. There are no ears to hear us. Will you please speak with me now or have you changed your mind about me?”
He looked at her, puzzled. “Of course I have not changed my mind.”
“Then you intend to speak to my father about courting me?”
“About marrying you.”
A light of joy came to her eyes. She was trying very hard not to smile. “You are still so certain about it?”
“I am. Are you?”
She giggled. “I am, but only if you will swear you will not keep a distance from me in front of your men once we are married. I do not like not being able to speak with you whenever I please.”
He sighed uneasily, the dark eyes glittering. “You make it seem as if it were easy for me to stay away,” he said softly. “It was not a simple thing, you know. I had to force myself every single minute to keep from rushing to your side.”
She was flirting with him by this time. “How flattering,” she said coyly. “Tell me more.”
He fought off a grin and looked away. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because I will turn into a giddy, silly fool right before your eyes and I do not wish for anyone to see that side of me in public.”
“But I would like to see it.”
“You shall, when we are alone. It is for your eyes only.”