Chapter Nineteen #3
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 amber 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 were 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 agreed. “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.
Ellowyn wept when Brandt told her of Deston’s challenge.