Chapter Seven
Rain was pouring outside. Brandt’s knights were waiting for him astride their beastly warhorses but one of Ellowyn’s men had to run off to gather her horse.
Without the two additional men in her escort, the two that were left were sorely strained so one remained with the lady while the other collected the horses.
Ellowyn preferred her leggy mare against a carriage or wagon, so the man returned shortly leading three very wet horses.
Brandt didn’t say a word as Ellowyn and her escorts tied off the baggage and mounted their steeds.
In fact, he left her with her men and went to collect his charger.
The horse had seen more action than most men and was a violent, bad-tempered beast that snapped at anything that moved.
The horse was muzzled tightly as Brandt collected the reins from the wet soldier holding him, mounting the horse smoothly which was no easy feat considering the weight of his armor coupled by the weight of the water collecting on him. He turned to Dylan and Alex behind him.
“The lady will be protected by two knights at all times,” he said. “Surround her and her escort with at least a dozen men.”
Dylan nodded smartly. “Aye, my lord,” he replied. “And our road?”
Brandt flicked a finger off to the west. “Harrow Road,” he replied. “That will take us to the road to Gloucester and points north.”
Dylan nodded again, turning to the men behind him. “Five point formation,” he snapped. “St. Hèver, you take point with le Bec. De Reyne and I will ride center with the lady and Alex will take the rear. Get the men on their feet and moving. Go!”
The knights slammed down their faceplates, going in different directions to carry out Dylan’s orders.
Five point formation was one of de Russe’s traveling formations – usually two knights to the front, two to the rear and one in the center, with de Russe fluid throughout the column.
Dylan altered the usual formation with the addition of Ellowyn and de Russe’s orders that she be guarded by two knights at all times.
There were sixteen lesser knights in de Russe’s corps, young men from good families who were not in the chain of command.
Brandt was very rigid about the men he trusted, and about men in general, and these knights were not in his inner corps.
They served him but they mostly commanded the foot troops.
With his five hundred troops and de Nerra’s nearly six hundred, he had a very sizable army heading north and he had Dylan and Alex position the additional lesser knights accordingly.
It was into this monstrous collection of men and weapons that Ellowyn found herself absorbed.
As the rain pounded and the thunder rolled, she ended up in the middle of the column with her two escorts, slogging through the muddy roads on their way out of London.
Kerchief clutched in her hand, she sneezed and sniffled into it, all the while eyeing the big knights riding near her.
She knew they were there to keep watch over her and protect her.
Maybe they were even there to report back to de Russe on her every movement.
The truth was that she found herself thinking about de Russe more and more.
He was like a completely different man since last night when they’d supped together.
His eyes didn’t hold that hard edge any longer.
Not that she cared. Well, perhaps she was coming to care in the slightest, and that thought scared her to death.
She’d never shown interest for a man in her life and she wasn’t about to start now.
The trek was slow because of the rain, unfortunate because the weather seemed to be worsening.
Everything was gray; the sky, the air, and even the land to some extent.
Because the road was so traveled, it was wide and very well used which meant the mud made from the loose earth and rainwater turned portions of it into swamps.
The men on foot were covered in mud up to their hips and even the horses had some trouble maneuvering through it.
Ellowyn made sure she was very careful when they came to such soupy patches.
That last thing she wanted to do was end up in the mud again.
There wasn’t anything spectacular about the travel as they made their way out of London.
It was cold and wet, and although Ellowyn had initially felt better after her warm brew and porridge, the cough was starting to make a return and her throat was becoming very sore from all of the hacking.
More than that, she was very cold in spite of her layers of clothing, making for a truly miserable ride, so she kept her head lowered and the oiled cloak pulled very tightly around her as the minutes and then hours passed.
Acton. Penvale. Gutteridge. The line of unspectacular towns passed in succession.
The party was so large that they would literally swamp the small villages with men and animals as they moved through.
If the weather hadn’t been so poor, people might have actually turned out to see them, but as the thunder rolled it was as if they were passing through ghost towns.
Worse yet, Ellowyn’s illness was making her extremely drowsy and after four hours in the saddle, she was struggling to stay awake.
Twice, she had nearly fallen off her horse. She hoped no one had noticed.
She tried everything to stay awake, including eating the bread and cheese that the innkeeper had given her but, much to her chagrin, a full belly only made her sleepier.
She was deeply thankful when the column finally came to a halt outside of a small village.
Ellowyn could see the huddle of houses in the distance, with smoke from the fireplaces heavy upon the air.
She heard someone say that the village was called Beaconsfield, and as she sat upon her horse, soaked to the skin and coughing, she very nearly gave up any hope of surviving the trip.
She was feeling horrible and it surely would kill her.
Perhaps she should have stayed in London as de Russe had suggested. Perhaps he had been right.
“My lady?”
A deep, quiet voice roused her from her thoughts and she looked over her right shoulder to see de Russe standing there.
He was soaked too, his mail rusting in the bad weather and creating black streaks on his chin and cheek.
His nose was pinched red from the cold but the glimmer in his eye was rather warm. Weary, but warm.
“I have secured a room for you in town,” he told her. “It is not much, but at least it is warm and dry.”
Ellowyn was deeply grateful. In fact, tears popped to her eyes as she thought of actually being warm and dry. It was a great relief.
“Thank you,” she sighed, appreciatively. “I must be honest when I say that I was coming to think I would never be dry again.”
His lips twitched with the flicker of a smile. Silently, he took the reins of her horse and pulled the beast along towards his charger. As lightning lit up the sky overhead, he managed to mount his steed still holding on to the reins of her horse, and proceeded to lead her into town.
There was a small town square, or at least the semblance of one, and an inn tucked deep amongst the poorly constructed buildings.
Brandt dismounted his warhorse and tethered the animal before moving to Ellowyn and helping her from her mount.
The problem was that she was so stiff from having ridden all day, and ill to boot, that she could hardly dismount, so he pulled her from the horse and carried her into the inn.
Entering the establishment was like walking through the gates of Hell. They were hit in the face by a blast of hot, smelly air, and the great room was filled to the rafters with people. It smelled like an ocean of unwashed bodies as Brandt set Ellowyn carefully to her feet.
As hardened as he was to people and places, even he was a bit put off by the sheer smell and volume of people. He glanced at Ellowyn, apologetically, before emitting a shrill whistle that almost immediately silenced the writhing throng. When the sound died down, he bellowed.
“Barkeep!”
Ellowyn jumped at the sound of his voice. It was like the voice of God, echoing off the walls, powerful in its timbre and baritone resonance. As she coughed into her hand, a skinny man with a crooked back appeared.
“M’lord?” he stammered nervously.
Brandt’s intense gaze zeroed in on the man. “You have a room for the Duke of Exeter.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly and he bowed swiftly once or twice. “Aye, m’lord,” he began to walk, motioning them to follow. “This way, if ye please.”
Ellowyn stumbled after the man, following him to the rear of the building where there was a small corridor with three doors.
The hunched man led her into the last door, shoving it open because it was stuck in the ill-crafted doorframe.
Beyond was a rather large room with two beds and a snapping fire.
In fact, Ellowyn came to a halt just inside the doorway, shocked at the room.
For all of the crowded dirtiness of the inn, she hadn’t expected something as spacious or well-kempt as this. Her eyes widened.
“All of this?” she asked no one in particular. “For me?”
The barkeep slipped past her. “I will bring food, m’lady.”
He vanished back into the busy inn, leaving Ellowyn and Brandt standing in silence until Ellowyn began hacking and Brandt stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him to keep the warmth in.
“Perhaps you should remove your cloak,” he said quietly. “In fact, perhaps you should undress completely so your clothes may be dried before we embark again on the morrow. And a hot bath probably would not hurt, either.”
Ellowyn coughed again, realizing how very cold she was. Her brain was moving rather slowly, muddled with fatigue and illness. With freezing fingers, she fumbled with the ties at her neck.
“If one could be arranged, I would be very grateful,” she said.