Her delicate features clouded with defiance. “My mother was only fourteen years of age when she married my father. I am a whole year older.”
“A whole year,” he repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Practically an old woman.”
“Aye,” the girl insisted, missing the patronizing lilt. “Besides, my grandmother wants me to assume my rightful place.”
“As what?”
She looked at him as if he were daft. “As a great nobleman’s wife, of course. Grandmother says I am the only hope our family has.”
It didn’t make much sense to him, but then again, very little pertaining to women ever did. Before Braxton could reply, they began to hear movement in the trees and looked over to see Gray and Geoff approaching.
Braxton’s blue-green gaze fixed on the luscious woman approaching, feeling such a strong attraction to her that he couldn’t begin to describe it. Brooke, apparently unwilling to wait for her mother, began to follow Geoff as the man walked past them, heading towards the south in the direction that the other men had taken a few minutes earlier. But Braxton waited for Gray, smiling politely as she approached with the big basket of fruit on her arm.
Gray returned his smile weakly, hesitantly; as the minutes ticked by and the realization of guests at tonight’s meal weighed more heavily upon her, she had been scrambling to think of an excuse or a reason to discourage Sir Braxton from attending. For a family that subsisted on only the very basic necessities, guests were out of the question. An army was impossible. Before she could speak, however, Braxton interrupted her thoughts.
“I will again thank you for your generous invitation to sup, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “It is not often we are afforded the luxury of a private home.”
Oh, Lord, she thought to herself. How can I deny the man and not offend him? But her smile grew at his statement, forced as it was.
“As I said, we do not set a fancy table,” she replied. “We live… simply.”
He waved her off. “Not to worry,” he reiterated. “The buck we have can feed an army and then some.”
She was still resistant, struggling not to insult his generosity. “Truly, my lord, you are too kind,” she said. “You do not have to provide us with food from your precious stores. Surely your men will require that food on your travels.”
“My men have more food than they can eat,” he said. “Hunting is something of a sport for them. We are glad to share what we have.”
“If you are certain it will be no hardship.”
“Not at all.”
There wasn’t much more that Gray to say to that. Feeling somewhat ill and resigned, she began to walk with Braxton taking up pace at a respectable distance next to her. They walked in silenced for a few moments before Brooke suddenly re-emerged from the trees, heading in their direction. Gray looked curiously at her daughter as the girl approached.
“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked. “I thought you walked on ahead.”
Brooke shrugged. “There are gangs of soldiers down at the bottom of the hill and I assumed you would become angry if I just walked into the midst of them, so I came back.”
Gray’s brow furrowed. “Gangs of soldiers?”
Braxton was looking at the young girl, so defiant of her mother yet inherently obedient in spite of herself. “My men,” Braxton explained. “We camped down the hill to the south.”
Gray nodded in understanding, watching her daughter take up position on Braxton’s left side as they trudged through the trees. Brooke wasn’t looking at her mother, however; she was focused on Braxton.
“You said that you have traveled a great deal,” she said eagerly. “Have you ever been to Rome? I have heard that there are buildings made with gold. Is that true? And is it also true that the streets are made of white marble?”
Gray thought her daughter was being rather pushy with her demanding tone. “Brooke Elizabeth, you will mind yourself,” she said quietly but firmly. “Sir Braxton is our guest and I will not have you hound him.”
“But I was simply asking him a question, Mama,” Brooke insisted. “Why can I not ask him a question?”
A faint smile on his lips, Braxton focused on the young lady. “Lady Brooke,” he said in his deep, quiet voice. “I will speak until the dawn on whatever you wish to know, but we must make it back to your castle first. If you will direct me to your palfrey, we can be along our way.”
“We do not have a palfrey,” Brooke said before her mother could reply. “We walked.”
“Walked from where?”
“Castle Erith,” Gray said, watching his piercing gaze turn to her. “It is a few miles to the south.”
A light of awareness came to his eyes. “The fortress that sits on the rise near the crossroads?”
“Aye.”
He didn’t say what he was thinking; the structure they had passed on their way north was massive and derelict. He thought it had been abandoned and was rather surprised to discover it was their home. From the outward appearance of the structure, he was sure they did not have the means to feed almost two hundred men. But all he could manage to say was, “That was a long walk.”
Gray shrugged. “It was a lovely morning. It was no hardship.”
He looked away, back in the direction of his encampment. “My men and I will escort you home.”
Braxton took hold of Gray’s elbow with his free hand, a gentle and knightly gesture. Gray, unsure how to respond, simply did as he bade.
The past several minutes had been slightly odd, given the knight’s sudden appearance and Brooke’s strange attraction to him. She did not want to be rude, but she also did not want to invite trouble into her home. It wasn’t just the fact that they couldn’t feed two hundred men; it was the simple fact that Erith had no army and no protection. With Braxton’s army flooding her castle, they would have no way of defending themselves against one hundred and eighty soldiers. She could have spanked Brooke silly for her suggestion. But on the other hand, as a properly bred woman, hosting weary travelers was part of her calling. She could not turn them away.
Trapped, she attempted to think of a plausible explanation as to why his men could not enter the gates of Erith. She could not think of anything that did not sound rude or suspicious. Even when Braxton mounted her on his own fine charger for the ride home, she continued to think of a way out of this. The closer they drew to Erith, the more panicked she became.
By the time they entered the crumbling ward, she had lost the battle completely.
CHAPTER TWO
Braxton’s first impression of the massive and imposing Castle Erith was that it had once been a beautiful place that had aged very badly. It appeared to be a few hundred years old with its mossy stones and degenerating façade, but he knew that it was not as old as it looked.
The castle had been built by King John during the early part of the last century to seduce a northern baron for his support. When the allegiance had fallen apart and the castle abandoned, it had eventually fallen into the hands of Simon de Montfort during his relationship with Henry III. As Braxton and his men rode upon the massive, crumbling walls, he drew in the view of what had once been, for a short time, a mighty place.
The castle had been named Erith after the waterfalls three miles to the north, the very falls that had almost claimed Brooke’s life. The fortress possessed the unusual feature of concentric walls; a shorter outer wall encircled a taller inner wall with five towers built into it. The place was oddly shaped, too, with five sides to it.
Passing through the non-existent outer gate and an equally rotted inner gate, the ward was fairly small and there was a single keep to the northwest side, soaring three stories to the sky. Other than the keep, the ward was fairly devoid of structures but for haphazard stables built against the western wall. There were a few servants milling about, dressed in rags, terrified of the army now entering their domain.
Although the entire picture was a sobering sight, Braxton did not voice his opinion to the la
dy. It would not due to insult his hostess. He positioned his men near the outer gates and placed his five massive provisions wagons up against the outer wall. Each wagon had its own force of men to protect the contents. He made sure to settle his men and wagons before helping the lady off his charger.
“Your men may make themselves comfortable where they will,” Gray told him. “I am afraid the keep is not big enough for all of them, though some may find shelter in the great hall if they wish.”
“Your hospitality is very much appreciated, my lady,” he said. “I will have my men bring the meat around to the kitchen.”
“The kitchen is to the rear of the keep.”
He nodded his thanks and she excused herself along with her daughter. Braxton’s gaze lingered on her shapely form as she made her way across the bailey and up the rotted wooden stairs into the keep. He thought it rather comical how Brooke kept pausing to look at him and Gray kept shoving her daughter onward.
“Any orders, my lord?”
A voice from behind broke him from his thoughts. His next in command and the man who had saved young Brooke’s life, Dallas, had asked the question. Braxton thought a moment before replying.
“Make sure the men are properly settled and the wagons guarded. And have someone bring that buck around to the kitchens.”
Dallas moved smartly to do his lord’s bidding. He was young, quiet, immensely strong and capable. He was also quite handsome with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes, sending many a maiden’s heart fluttering. But he was more focused on his duties than on women at this point in his life, something that worked well in Braxton’s favor. As Dallas began barking orders, the men moved towards the inner wall to set up camp within its shadow. With a final glance at the entrance to the keep, Braxton gathered the reins of his black charger and moved off after his men.
They were a hard-core bunch, used to travel, and therefore quite efficient when it came to setting up camp. Braxton had two squires, orphaned brothers, who would tend to his personal set up. One of them, the younger brother called Edgar, took Braxton’s charger and led the animal away to feed it. Braxton alternately watched his men settle in and observed the keep.
“The men will set up camp as directed, my lord,” came a voice. “Are there any further orders?”
The inquiry came from Sir Graehm de Leron, another of Braxton’s knights. Graehm’s question lingered in Braxton’s mind as his blue-green eyes roved the inner wall of Erith. Ideas were beginning to take hold.
“There might be,” he said after a moment. Then he started to walk. “I shall return.”
Braxton crossed the compound, leaving Graehm staring curiously after him. The stables were several yards before him, ramshackle but serviceable. There were a couple of horses, three goats and a cow. He was moderately surprised to see livestock in such a poverty-stricken castle. The four big chargers that belonged to Braxton and his knights were being watered by the squires and made the other animals nervous. He could hear the bleats of fear.
Braxton inspected the stable supports and studied the roof. It was thatched adequately, and had obviously been repaired many times. He moved on, finding his way around behind the keep and into the kitchen area. There was a fairly large garden off to his left and an exterior oven built into the wall several feet to the right of the garden. There were at least four kitchen servants going about their tasks, all women, and two of those were tied up tending the buck that his men had just delivered. It was a heavy thing and the old women were having trouble handling the weight, but they managed.
There was a ground floor entrance to the keep from the kitchen. It opened into the bottom story of the structure, divided into two rooms, which were used for stores. A ladder led up to a trap door in the ceiling, which presumably led to the hall above. Peering inside the gloomy, cool storeroom, Braxton could see that what little they had was neatly stacked and carefully covered. It was becoming clear to him why Lady Gray had seemed so reluctant to offer a meal to him and his men; it was apparent they barely had enough for themselves. Now they would have to, literally, feed an army. With that thought, he went back to where his men were camped.
A couple of fires were already started in the shadows of the outer wall. Braxton found Dallas, Graehm and Geoff standing together and talking quietly between them. He motioned his men to him, away from the others.
“My lord?” Dallas asked in response to Braxton’s furrowed expression.
Braxton threw a thumb in the direction of the keep. “I believe we’ve made a mistake in coming here,” he said. “Do any of you notice anything unusual about this place?”
The knights looked at each other. “Other than the fact it is crumbling around us?” Graehm asked.
“These people can hardly afford to feed us,” Braxton lowered his voice. “From the looks of it, they can barely feed themselves. Our presence here is burdensome and presumptive.”
His knights still weren’t sure what he was driving at. “Should we leave, my lord?” Geoff asked tentatively.
Braxton’s pale gaze drifted across the wall over their heads. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “But we will make our stay here worth their while.”
“What do you mean?” Graehm asked.
Braxton crooked a finger and his men gathered close.
*
Constance Gray de Montfort had been a beauty in her time. A slight woman with graying blond hair piled high on her head, the family resemblance to her daughter and granddaughter was apparent. She was a cool woman, bluntly so, bred from the high nobility of England. Though her circumstances had been reduced to poverty over the years, she still retained a haughty manner and a piercing gaze that could drill holes through walls.
As Constance gazed out of the lancet window facing the section of the bailey where the mercenary army was settling in, her mind was working in a thousand different directions. If nothing else, Constance had learned over the years to be very resourceful to ensure her family’s survival. And she had learned not to discount any opportunity.
“What do we know of this knight?” she asked her daughter.
Gray was seated on the only chair in the room, mending in her hands. Once her father’s solar, it was now a sad reflection of its glorious past. Anything of value had been stripped and sold, even things of sentimental value. But Gray had long gotten over the sorrow that selling her father’s items had provoked.
“His name is Braxton de Nerra,” Gray said as she struggled with an uncooperative piece of thread. “He told Brooke that he is a knight bannerette. Beyond that, I do not know.”
Constance’s cool gaze lingered on the men in the distance. “A knight bannerette,” she snorted softly. “Hardly a man of noble breeding. Why on earth did you not refute your daughter when she offered him shelter and sup?”
Gray was used to her mother’s disapproval at her actions. That was normal. “I told you; it would have been rude to do so. The man had just saved Brooke’s life and I felt as if we had to do something to thank him. Moreover, they have brought their own food. It is not as if we shall be feeding them from our stores. We shall even eat meat. Do you know how long it has been since we have eaten meat?”
Constance turned away from the window, pulling her tattered shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders. “I shall not join you for sup,” she said imperiously. “I will take my meal in my room.”
Gray did not look up from her mending. “Though we rarely have visitors, Mother, you have always taught me that the true mark of nobility is impeccable manners. It would be unmannerly of you not to at least greet our guest.”
“You’ll not lecture me,” Constance snapped softly. “I know more of nobility and manners than you could ever hope to.”
“Then you will attend us.”
“I shall do as I please.”
The last exchange was spoken sharply, the words overlapping. Gray would not acknowledge her mother’s disdainful words. She had long learned to deal with her supercilious mother who still f
ancied herself a fine lady of wealth and power. In tense silence, Gray finished mending the girdle, one that had belonged to her and she now modified for Brooke. Her daughter was growing by leaps and bounds, developing the figure of a woman that must be property outfitted. Though it was an old girdle, it was still serviceable. They certainly could not afford to buy another one. Biting off the thread, she collected her things and stood up.
“Then I shall excuse myself to see to the preparation of the meal,” she knew her mother would not fight her for the task. “I would hope you change your mind about attending us.”
Constance didn’t reply. Her silence was her dismissal. She listened to her daughter walk from the room, her well-worn shoes making scuffing noises along the boards. She continued to gaze out over the ward, watching the men in the corner of the bailey, noting that they did not appear ragged or impoverish as traveling armies sometimes did. In fact, she had counted four big chargers adorned with expensive saddlery. Poor knights could hardly afford a horse, much less lavish tack. And the knights themselves, that she had been able to see, were clad in well-made armor. These mercenaries were well-supplied and apparently with some means of wealth.
Men such as these did not usually take wives, but with the promise of a fortress as the dowry, even a traveling soldier might consider. In fact, being that these men fought for money, the lure of monetary or material gain was their primary motivation. Constance began to see a positive side to their presence.
She reconsidered her decision not to join them for sup.
*
The great hall of Erith had once been a fine place back in the days when men of power inhabited its stone walls. It was still the nicest room in the keep, but that wasn’t an overwhelming statement. The hearth had been built as in the olden days, a massive fire pit in the center of the room that emptied smoke into the ceiling. The hall itself was two stories tall; consequently, the second and third floors of the keep butted up along the south side of the hall and were a single room a piece. Both rooms were reached by a narrow spiral staircase, one stacked upon the other.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 54
