Chapter Twenty #3
Deston’s jaw ticked furiously. He averted his gaze, wondering how this entire situation had veered so out of control. He couldn’t surrender now, not when he had come so far.
“Do you not understand that I want something better for you?” he finally hissed, his hesitant gaze lifting to Ellowyn’s beseeching face.
“You are meant for far better things in this world than a man who lives and breathes battle for a selfish young man. I know that vocation all too well, for I was involved in something like it years ago. You may be de Russe’s wife, but war will always be his mistress.
You will have to share him. Even now, he prepares to leave you for France.
You are not the most important thing to him, Wynny, Edward is.
You will always be second. I wanted something better for you than that. ”
It was an extraordinarily valid point. Brandt heard it like hammer blows to his heart. He didn’t dare look at Ellowyn, mostly because they both knew it was true. He had never heard his life put into those terms before, but Deston was entirely correct. It was a sickening realization.
“I understand your words,” Ellowyn replied, more subdued than she had been during the entire conversation, “but this is a choice I made. You must let me make my own decision and, if necessary, live with the consequences of my choice. I am a woman grown, Da. You must accept that.”
Deston drew in a long, deep breath. “I want you to come home with me, Wynny. De Russe is going to France as it is and you will more than likely never see him again. I want you to come home with me now.”
Ellowyn frowned. “He is going to France and I am going with him,” she told him frankly. “Edward may hold his fealty but I hold his heart and he holds mine. The only way that will change is if he is dead.”
“He will die,” Deston was growing heated again. “It is only a matter of time before he is dead and when that happens, I will take you home.”
Because he was growing angry again, so was Ellowyn. “I will not go home,” she said hotly. “Guildford is my home now. If Brandt is dead, I will administer his dukedom in a manner that will honor him. I will not run home to my father who only seeks to shame and demean me.”
Deston’s mouth fell open. “I do nothing of the sort,” he fired back. “You are a stubborn, willful wench, Ellowyn de Nerra. You disrespected and shamed your family when you ran off with de Russe. You are fortunate that I forgive you for that.”
They were back on the same old subject and Ellowyn would not be sucked into it. She pulled free of Brandt’s grasp and took a few steps towards her father, shaking a finger at him.
“I do not care if you forgive me or not,” she told him sternly. “Go home. I do not want to see you here ever again. You are hateful and nasty, Da. Go home and never return.”
Deston was starting to turn shades of red. “You cannot order me about, you little fool.”
Ellowyn put her hands on her hips. “I just did,” she snapped.
“Go home. I do not want to see you anymore. Everything I ever believed in, my father whom I loved so dearly, has all been a lie. The father I knew and loved would have never hurt me this way. If you do not go home this second, I swear that any love I ever felt for you will be forever turned to hatred.”
Deston was struck with the devastating impact of her words.
He sensed the conversation was at an end and he was furious, shattered, and all things in between.
He had never heard Ellowyn speak to him like that, not ever.
It was de Russe’s doing, he was sure. The man had turned his loving, sweet daughter against him.
He could hardly believe it. Rational thought gave way to irrational thought.
He had to eliminate what stood between him and Ellowyn.
Only then would things be right between them again.
De Russe had caused all of this and the man would pay.
With a growl, he brought his sword up again.
He was aiming for Brandt but Ellowyn heard the noise, saw what he was intending, and all she could think of was preventing it.
She was deeply protective of Brandt, in any situation, and this was no different.
With a scream, she threw up her hands and charged at her father, putting herself between Deston and Brandt.
Unfortunately, there was a sword between her and Deston, and it was the beloved and powerful sword of Braxton de Nerra that accidentally carved a searing path into the right side of Ellowyn’s torso.
It all happened so fast. Brandt saw Ellowyn rushing towards her armed father but he was unable to get to her in time.
When he saw the blade pierce her torso, he shouted something.
He wasn’t even sure what it was. All he knew was that it was a cry of pure anguish.
As he shouted his agony, a nervous St. Hèver archer thought it was a command to fire and let loose an arrow that hit Deston in the throat.
As Ellowyn went down with a sword wound, Deston slammed onto his back with a spiny arrow in his throat.
Chaos ensued.