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 of the floor dirt 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, course 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
“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 of the floor dirt 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, course 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
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