Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Rubbish,” Constance snapped softly. “Your mother is not an eligible young maiden.”

  “But if he likes her…”

  “I will hear no more of that. ’Tis you we will match with him.”

  Though Brooke tried to understand her grandmother, truth was, the woman could be very overbearing at times. Rebelling against her mother was one thing; rebelling against her grandmother was another. Brooke believed her grandmother had her best interests at heart. She believed that Constance wanted her to be rich and happy and well taken care of. It would have never crossed her young mind that it was anything other than pure devotional family love, not some sick, twisted vision of reclaiming something for herself.

  “But he does not have a House, grandmother,” Brooke said after a moment. “And he is not from a fine family. Did you not say that I must marry someone from a fine family?”

  “He is a de Nerra of Anjou, child. Their family is older than the crown of England. And when he marries you, he can make Erith his house and repair the fortress so that there is no finer castle in all of England.”

  “But he is an old man.”

  Constance laughed softly. “He is not terribly old. But young or old, he is very wealthy. Just look at all he has done for Erith in the short time he was here. You want a wealthy husband, do you not?”

  Brooke agreed, simply because her grandmother had drilled that objective into her head for the past two years.

  “But… grandmother,” Brooke said as she sauntered into the room, picking at the only chair. She seemed distracted. “What… what do you think mother would say to all of this? I know you said it was a secret, but she will know some time. She will find out. And then what?”

  Constance’s smile faded. “She must accept it. Your duty is to marry well, Brooke. Your mother knows that. You are of marriageable age and the time to find a husband for you is now.”

  Brooke faced her grandmother. “Do you think I shall have any more suitors other than Sir Braxton?”

  Constance shrugged. “It is possible. I have sent word to a few. But if you do not, we must take advantage of our opportunities.”

  “You mean the arrival of Sir Braxton?”

  “Precisely.”

  Brooke continued to stare out of the lancet window. She was able to observe the newly hung portcullis on the inner wall. Constance watched her granddaughter’s profile, a thousand calculating thoughts running through her mind. She was positive that she knew what was best for the girl, fighting off the knowledge that Gray would undoubtedly become irate when she found out what her mother was doing. It was a miracle she’d not found out yet, considering the planning that Constance had been doing. But no matter. Gray obviously did not have her daughter’s best interests at heart.

  “Do not worry, darling,” she went to her granddaughter, stroking the silky blond hair. “You shall have a wealthy husband, I promise. But the next time Sir Braxton comes to Erith, we must ensure our position with him. We must make sure that he does the honorable thing.”

  Brooke looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  Constance played with the girl’s hair. “There are… ways.”

  “What ways?”

  Constance leaned in close, her lips almost against the girl’s ear. “Listen and learn, darling. Your grandmother knows best.”

  *

  Creekmere Castle was a small fortress built in the shape of a triangle. It was partially buried against a heavily forested hill and nicely arranged, as Braxton noticed as his army approached. Baron Wenvoe carried around one hundred fifty men, not a sizable force. In fact, Creekmere seemed like a miniature version of a normal sized castle. Everything about it was small, including its lord.

  Neil Wenvoe met Braxton in the bailey of his small, red-stoned fortress. He was short and round, with small eyes and a smelly aura. Braxton left Dallas settling the men and went inside the small keep to conduct business.

  He was on edge as he followed the baron into the dark, fragrant structure. He had been on edge ever since leaving Erith, feeling more apprehension with every step of his destrier. It was unusual that he felt such apprehension; he had been a mercenary for twenty-one years and in that time, had learned to keep his apprehension at bay. He knew his anxiety was not because of the job itself. He did not fear battle. His trepidation lay in the unknown details that would soon be made clear to him. Something told him to expect the worst, and for good reason; Cumbria was relatively sparsely populated. How many troublesome neighbors could Wenvoe have? With an unsettled debt with Garber Serroux, a neighbor less than a day’s ride to the south, there was good reason to be suspicious.

  The keep was three stories, with one room per floor. The baron took Braxton into the great hall, well furnished with fresh rushes, fat tapers, and even a tapestry hung high on the wall. Fine wine, cheese and brown bread were brought out to refresh them. The baron took a seat on the long scrubbed table, motioning for Braxton to sit opposite him.

  “I take it your travels were uneventful,” Wenvoe said.

  “We had no trouble, my lord,” Braxton replied.

  “Good. Then we may get to business.”

  So much for the pleasantries, though in Braxton’s business, he was used to the lack of social graces. Men did not hire him for his oratory skills.

  “Your initial missive stated that you had need for my military services, my lord,” Braxton said. “You mentioned trouble with a neighbor. I would hear the entire story and what, exactly, you want of me.”

  Wenvoe nodded. “Trouble indeed,” he snorted. “I will tell you my situation and exactly what I need from you. You shall be well paid for your efforts.”

  “I always am, my lord.”

  Wenvoe lifted a bushy gray eyebrow at the comment but continued along his line of thought. “I have many friends and allies in Cumbria and elsewhere. Not too long ago, my ally, Edward de Romille of Skipton Castle, sent a missive to me that was of particular concern.”

  “And what is that?”

  “‘Twould seem that someone is trying to cheat me out of what is rightfully mine.”

  “If you would be plain, my lord.”

  Wenvoe’s round face flushed. “Years ago, a former ally borrowed a great deal of money from me. When he could not pay it back, he promised me the hand of his daughter when she became of age in repayment for this debt. Now I am to discover that the family is soliciting marriage offers for this same daughter when the girl, and the fortress, rightfully belong to me. And I would now take what is mine.”

  Braxton suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He simply could not believe what he was hearing, though in truth, he was not surprised. The coincidence was nauseating and he knew, before names were even spoken, who the family was. It was all too close, too coincidental. It was like a bad dream.

  “And this family, my lord?” he asked steadily.

  “Serroux,” Wenvoe’s expression took on a furious cast. “They are in possession of Erith Castle, to the south about a half day’s ride. Garber Serroux was a close ally until he took my money and failed to pay it back. When I discovered his deceit, he promised me his daughter’s hand when she came of age, the fortress and his hereditary title of Baron Kentmere in repayment. The fool got himself killed before we could strike the written contract, but of no matter; it was a verbal contact and binding. My majordomo is my witness with that.”

  Braxton took a long, steadying breath. “How did de Romille come to know that the family was soliciting marriage offers?”

  “Because they were sent a missive from Erith. De Romille has two marriageable sons.”

  “Yet he knew of Serroux’s contract with you. How?”

  “De Romille is married to my cousin. We have oft spoke of the time when Erith would belong to me. It would strike an unbreakable line of allies between Kendal and Skipton. So when he received the solicitation of marriage, naturally, he knew that I would want to know.”

  It was a struggle for Braxton not to react. “What do
you want me to do?”

  Wenvoe’s eyebrows rose. “Lay siege to Erith, of course. I am told that they have no army and no defenses, so it should not be a difficult task for you to take the castle.”

  Braxton stared at him. He fought off the urge to laugh at the irony of the situation. “You have over one hundred men here. Why do you not lay siege yourself? Why send for me?”

  “I will send some of my men with you, but your vicious tactics are well known. I heard tale from Carlisle that you led a charge against Grassgarth Castle last year that had your men infiltrating a nearly impenetrable fortress within a few hours after the siege began. You lay siege towers on their sides, bridged the moat, burnt the portcullis and entered. Lord Carlisle said it was the most brilliant strike he had ever seen, hence my reason for contacting you. I would pay handsomely for that brilliance, de Nerra.”

  Though Braxton had not signed anything, by his sheer presence he was implying that he would take on the task. That is how his sort usually worked. He wasn’t sure how he could back out of this. Moreover, Wenvoe had a claim that would hold up. If Serroux had indeed given him a verbal promise, with a witness no less, his claim was quite legitimate. He had every right to seize Erith, and Brooke Serroux, in payment for the debt.

  Braxton’s mind began to work quickly.

  “My lord,” he began. “I passed Erith on my way here. It is a broken down castle and nothing more. Certainly not worth all of the expense you are going to pay me to claim it.”

  “Perhaps not. But the land is worth something. What will be your fee for such a task?”

  Braxton regarded him a moment. “How much did Serroux owe you?”

  “Why is that of concern?”

  “Curiosity, my lord.”

  Wenvoe shrugged. “He had borrowed twenty thousand gold marks, a handsome some.”

  “That is a good deal of money.”

  “Indeed. So you can understand why I would claim my right to Erith.”

  “I will give you thirty thousand gold marks if you will relinquish your right.”

  Wenvoe’s puny eyes widened. He abruptly straightened, the bench beneath him groaning under his weight. “What’s this you say?”

  “You heard me. Thirty thousand gold marks and you sell me your rights to Erith.”

  The baron was clearly astonished. He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly. He gave Braxton a most queer expression.

  “What is your interest in Erith, de Nerra? You are a soldier of fortune. You are paid to fight other men’s wars. And now you would give me money to forget about mine?”

  “My reasons are my own. I will pay back Serroux’s debt and then some. Enough so that you should be satisfied.”

  Wenvoe’s wide eyes suddenly narrowed. “But you make no sense. What is Erith to you?”

  “Absolutely nothing. But as I said, I passed it on my way to Creekmere. It is a place unworthy of my talents. A child could raze the place. No amount of money could coerce me to shame myself by kicking over a castle made of sand and call it a victory. My skills are worth far more than that.”

  “Your talents are for sale and if I pay the right price, you will do as I wish.”

  “Sell me your rights or I’ll raze Creekmere.”

  What had been a fairly pleasant atmosphere of professional bargaining suddenly turned ugly. The mood that swirled between them was ominous. The baron looked at Braxton as if the man had lost his mind.

  “You come into my home and threaten me?” he hissed.

  “Not a threat, my lord. Consider it a promise of things to come. I will buy Serroux’s debt for thirty thousand gold marks, assume your rights to the Serroux heiress, and hear no more about it from you. Are we clear?”

  The baron was red in the face. His mouth worked into a thin, angry line. “What about an alliance? You will be my neighbor. Can I expect hostility from you as my neighbor?”

  “If you are worried about allegiance, consider me a loyal neighbor.” He leaned forward on the table, his blue-green eyes as hard as stone. “And I assure you, baron, that you would much rather have me as a friendly neighbor than a bitter enemy.”

  “You are giving me little choice.”

  “I am giving you none at all.”

  Wenvoe weighed his options. This day had not gone as planned, but with the acquisition of thirty thousand marks of gold, it had not been entirely unpleasant. He held his furious gaze a moment longer, just to know how displeased he was with de Nerra’s threats.

  “Pay me my money before daybreak and be gone with you.”

  “Put your agreement in writing and you shall have your money by within the hour.”

  Exactly an hour and half later, Braxton and his men were back on the road to Erith. But not before they made a slight detour to Kendal.

  *

  “Mama!”

  In the kitchen yard, Gray heard her daughter calling her. But she was busy churning butter, as the elderly cook had injured her back, and had not the time to stop what she was doing to respond to her child. She called out instead.

  “Here, Brooke. In the kitchen!”

  Clad in brown broadcloth and the mended apron, Brooke raced around the side of the keep and straight into the kitchen yard. Her blond hair was everywhere, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Mama, he’s come back. Sir Braxton has come back!”

  Gray did come to a halt, then. Puzzled, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand before wiping her palms on her apron. It was just shy of sunset; Braxton had been gone a little over a day and already he was back. She felt a strange sense of excitement at her daughter’s announcement. But she also wondered why he had returned so soon.

  “Where is he?” she asked as the two of them left the kitchen yard.

  Brooke was half-trotting, half-walking. “In the bailey. Hurry, Mama. He’s brought gifts!”

  Gray froze for a moment, staring at her excited daughter. A bit bewildered and more than curious, she resumed following her bouncing child out into the main portion of the bailey.

  Braxton and his men were indeed returned. The five massive wagons were being parked against the southern wall while the bulk of the army was already setting up their encampment. Brooke decided her mother wasn’t moving quickly enough and raced back to grab her hand, tugging her along. Very shortly, they ran headlong into a big black charger with an equally big knight astride it.

  “Sir Braxton,” Brooke said excitedly. “Here she is. I found her just as you asked.”

  Gray looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. Braxton was astride his destrier, clad in full battle armor. She’d never seen the man with his helm on. In fact, she’d never seen him in full armor. Every time she had been around him, he had been in various stages of dress – mail only, pieces of plate armor, and no armor at all. He didn’t seem fanatical about maintaining his plate protection at all times as some knights did. Now, clad as if going to war, he looked imposing, powerful, and frightening. He smiled down at her, his blue-green eyes glowing.

  “My lady,” he greeted in his soft, deep voice. “This day has you looking well.”

  She smiled faintly. “And it has you looking as if you are preparing invade a small country,” she replied, to which he snorted. “Why have you returned? Has something happened?”

  He wriggled his eyebrows in response, dismounting his charger. The two squires were there to take the reins, the older one passing a lingering glance at Brooke. The girl looked back. But the adults were oblivious to the youngsters exchanging glimpses as Braxton focused solely on Gray. In the short time he’d spent away, he’d missed the sight of her.

  “Plans have changed,” he said vaguely, removing one of his heavy mail gauntlets. “May I be so bold as to ask you to accompany me into your hall?”

  Gray nodded while Braxton removed his helm, handed it over to the younger of his squires, and extended an elbow to her. When she looked at him, still puzzled by his swift reappearance, he merely s
miled. It loosened her enough to the point where she smiled back. Then she took his arm; it felt solid, reassuring, and safe. She realized she was glad to see him.

  Even as he led her up the stairs, there was tremendous activity going on in the bailey. Men were clustered in well-organized groups and several of them were offloading wood and other materials out of one of the wagons. That was about all Gray saw before Braxton took her into the keep, yet she could still hear the noise behind her. Once inside, Braxton took her straight into the hall.

  Gray recognized Braxton’s three knights lingering near the massive dining table. Servants were bringing out pitchers of the nasty wine and trays of dried fruits, as they were the only items of hospitality they had to offer. As she drew close, she noticed that there was a myriad of items strewn over the table: bolts of fine fabric, pins, belts, silks, and a box containing spools and spools of thread. Her mouth popped open with astonishment at the sight while Brooke, having rushed in behind her, began to squeal with delight. Brooke was all over the table, exclaiming about the beauty of the items, as Gray stood there with her mouth hanging open. Braxton stood beside her, watching her astonished face.

  “I hope these are to your liking,” he said quietly. “I was not sure what women of fine fashion would like, so I asked a merchant in Kendal. He told me that these items were most popular right now.”

  Before Gray could reply, Braxton turned to Dallas and muttered something. The young knight went over to a pile of fabric at the far end of the table and drew forth a heavy blue brocade cloak lined with luxurious gray fur. He returned with the garment held high as Braxton pointed to it.

  “The merchant assured me that this cloak is the warmest one he had,” he fingered the gray lining when it came near. “I know it seems foolish purchasing a cloak when the weather has been so warm, but winters this far north can be exceedingly bitter. I was not sure if you had something suitable for the approaching season.”

  Gray stared at it. It seemed that she was having difficulty speaking. “For… me?” she whispered.

  Braxton smiled. “Of course. Unless you do not like it, whereupon I will take it back to the merchant and bring you back something you will like. Or you can keep it and I shall go buy you another one you will like better.”