Chapter Nine
“Welsh,” Dylan said grimly. “Our scouts said that they raided Kenilworth Castle to the south earlier today. Then they saw us and apparently saw something worth taking.”
It was just after sunset as Brandt stood outside of his tent, a massive structure that bore the black and white of the Duke of Exeter.
The shelter, like all of the others pitched up around the edge of a small and dense forest to the south of Coventry, had seen more than its share of bad weather and use during Brandt’s campaign with the Black Prince in France.
Everyone knew Exeter’s colors, announcing the onslaught of Edward’s war machine.
“They were furious and they were determined,” Brandt finally mumbled, scratching at his forehead. “To attack Kenilworth is foolish enough, but to attack a fully functional army smacks of madness. What is our final casualty count?”
“Eighteen dead and twenty-seven wounded,” Dylan replied. “Most of the dead are de Nerra men. When the Welsh hit us, they slammed into their column first.”
Brandt grunted softly. “And they almost took the lady down with them,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “ ’Tis a miracle she was spared.”
“How is she?”
Brandt glanced around his senior corps, standing in a semi-circle before him.
They were still in full armor, battle-hardened men that were perhaps more comfortable in a fight than most. Alex and Magnus were sporting various cuts about the face but, for the most part, everyone had come through unscathed. His gaze came to rest on Brennan.
“Thanks to St. Hèver, she survived,” he said, his gaze fixed on the blond young knight. “His quick thinking is all that stood between her and certain death. Brennan, you are to be commended. Your father shall know of your valor.”
Brennan, standing between Stefan and Magnus, bowed his head modestly but didn’t reply. He was a humble young man. Brandt’s gaze lingered on him a moment.
“She will recover,” he said, addressing the group as a whole. “I sent to St. Mary’s in Coventry for a physic and two nuns were dispatched. They are with her now and barring anything catastrophic, the lady assures me she will be well enough to travel in the morning.”
The knights glanced at each other, around the semi-circle, unspoken questions presented in the guise of eye contact. The past six days with the lady had seen her remarkably quiet and accommodating, not at all like the banshee of description they had first been introduced to.
De Russe, in fact, had shown her an inordinate amount of courtesy during the trip north and she had responded in kind.
They had all seen it. Now, her injury had them all feeling rather guilty, as if they had collectively let her down somehow.
Only men were supposed to be injured in battle, not innocent women.
“Camp is established, my lord, and posts set for the night,” Dylan spoke up. “Is there anything else we can do for the lady?”
“Nay,” de Russe shook his head. “She is well-tended. For now, I would suggest you all take some rest. You have earned it.”
With that, the group disbanded, wandering off towards tents and campfires and food.
The de Lara twins stayed together, usually including St. Hèver because they had all grown up together, while le Bec and de Reyne formed their own little group.
They were insomniacs, requiring very little sleep, so they tended to wander the night while the others slept.
Brandt watched his men disappear into the night before turning for his tent and pulling back the flap.
Ellowyn was in the center of it, near the flat copper disc that, raised off the dirt floor with stones, contained burning peat or wood.
Tonight, it burned wood and the soldiers who pitched his tent had opened a roof flap for ventilation.
It made the tent very warm but also very smoky.
It was enough to sting Brandt’s eyes as he entered.
“My lady?” he said from the entry. “May I come in?”
Ellowyn was on her back on a mound of furs. She waved her good arm at him. “Please,” she said.
He entered, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
Besides the fire, there were also three or four fat tallow candles sending greasy smoke to the ceiling.
The tent was fairly well lit as he came to within a few feet of where Ellowyn lay but he was prevented from moving closer by one of the nuns.
The woman in heavy brown robes, coarse but clean, rose from her seat near Ellowyn and nearly threw a body block in front of him.
“Psh!” she hissed, putting up her hands. “No closer, my lord. Thou wilt keep distance.”
Brandt lifted his eyebrows at the little nun, with her bird-thin hands and heavy Germanic accent. He didn’t have much patience for pushy women and struggled not to physically shove her aside. She was denying him his wants and he didn’t like that one bit.
“I have come to speak with the lady, not ravage her,” he said somewhat wryly. “How is she?”
The nun still stood in front of him with her hands up. “She will heal,” the woman said. “The wound was not deep.”
On the ground, Ellowyn put her good hand over her face and groaned. “Please,” she muttered softly. “Save me.”
Brandt looked at her, brow furrowed. “Save you from what?”
The hand flew away from her face. “Boredom!” she hissed. “They have been reciting the Book of Job since they arrived. I am so despondent with his trials that I am ready to throw myself in the fire!”
Brandt struggled not to laugh. “It is not a very big fire,” he told her. “I doubt it would kill you.”
She grunted, unhappy. “Probably not,” she said, looking him in the eye. “But they feel it necessary to not only heal my wound but save my soul.”
“Why?”
She made a face. “They think I am a camp whore.”
He did burst out laughing, then. It was a short guffaw that he quickly stilled. “That is madness,” he said, looking at the little nun in front of him. “She is not a whore.”
The little nun lifted her eyebrows at him as if she didn’t believe him. “Thou wilt leave, my lord.”
He frowned, putting his big hands on his hips. “I will not leave,” he said. “She is… well, she is not a whore and I will not leave.”
On her back, Ellowyn sighed rather dramatically. “I told them I was your wife.”
His head snapped to her. “Wife?”
“Wife.”
He caught on quickly to the lie. “Aye, wife,” he confirmed, although he didn’t sound sincere. He sounded off-guard. “This woman is my wife. It is you who will leave now. We no longer require your services.”
The little nun took a rather surprising stance. Rather than outright believe him, she questioned him. “If that is true, my lord, why does she not wear a band signifying her marriage?” she asked. “Married women wear it as a symbol of their union.”
Brandt was finished being polite. His dark eyes narrowed. “Get out,” he growled. “I will not tell you again.”
Ellowyn, who had been fighting off a grin to this point, heard the death in his tone.
She didn’t want him snapping the woman’s neck out of sheer exhaustion and frustration.
She lifted her voice to capture their attention before things deteriorated into unholy mortal combat.
One enormous knight against a determined little nun would not have a good outcome.
“I do not wear a band because… because it was stolen when I received this wound,” she told the woman quickly, fearful of what Brandt might do.
“We were married in Kendal five years ago come May and… and we have two sons. Big, healthy sons. They live… with my parents in Cumbria because I went with my husband to France. We are going home now. Although I sincerely thank you for your assistance, I believe it is no longer required. My husband has surgeons with his army who can tend to me further if needed. Is there anything more you wish to know?”
By this time, the little nun and Brandt were both looking at her with some interest. The nun, in fact, was starting to back down. She glanced at Brandt with some uncertainty before replying to Ellowyn.
“It is my duty to protect you, my lady,” she said rather firmly. “Although I mean no disrespect, lies do not please our Lord.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I am simply saying that our Lord is displeased with sin.”
Ellowyn fixed the woman in the eye. “As He is displeased with stubbornness and the lack of humility,” she said, growing irritated.
“Who are you to question us? My husband is the Duke of Exeter. He is an extremely powerful and influential man. You are unworthy of questioning his integrity. Now, you and your companion will leave. I no longer require you.”
It was clear the nun did not believe them but she bowed out without another word, taking her silent colleague with her.
Brandt simply stood aside as they quickly gathered their things and fled the tent.
He stuck his head from the open flap to make sure the nuns were escorted back to St. Mary’s, but that was the extent of his attention toward them.
His focus quickly returned to Ellowyn. He smiled at her.
“You will have to say many Hail Mary’s for lying to a nun,” he told her. “In fact, we both will.”
Ellowyn giggled. “I thought you were going to come to blows with her.”
He wriggled his dark brows. “I thought so, too. Fortunately, you took charge of the situation and saved me. I could not possibly pray enough rosary novenas to save my soul from Hell if I were to go to battle against a nun.”
She laughed softly as he made his way over to her. “I will give her credit for being a brave woman. Not many would stand up to you as she did.”
“You did.”
“I was a fool.”
He grinned as he crouched next to her, joints in his knees popping. His gaze never left her face. “How is your shoulder?”
She moved it gingerly. “It is sore,” she admitted. “Honestly, I do not need to lay here like an invalid. I am perfectly capable of sitting up.”
He shrugged. “Why would you want to?” he asked. “It is late and we will be getting an early start in the morning. It would do you good to rest until then.”