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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Lady Brooke,” he said steadily. “Perhaps you can straighten this out. Did you not, in fact, tell me that your grandmother was plotting behind your mother’s back to marry you off?”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. She looked at her mother, her grandmother, and visibly shrank. Her head began to wag back and forth.

  “I… I did not say,” she said.

  “The day I met you near the falls of Erith, you did not tell me this?”

  “I… I do not remember.”

  Braxton was not surprised by her denial. He put a hand to his forehead, wiping away the trickle of blood from the crack Gray had given him. He knew he would never be able to convince Gray that both her mother and daughter were lying to her. He did not blame her; they were her family and she had known them a lifetime. She had only known him a few short days. A few short, miraculous days. He could not believe it was all coming to so tragic an end.

  The only person who could validate his statement was too afraid to do so. Brooke was only a child, caught up in an adult game. He didn’t blame her either. In fact, it was no one’s fault but his. He should have told Gray about the situation the moment he had returned to Erith. He should have been the first one to come out with the truth about what had transpired with Wenvoe. But he hadn’t; as he’d told Constance, Gray was just learning to trust him. He did not want to ruin that. But his silence, and his conversation with a shrewd old woman, had cost him dearly. He should have been smarter about it.

  “Then I would suspect there is nothing more I can say to my defense,” he said after a moment. His gaze lingered on Gray; she looked positively miserable. “I will clear out my men before nightfall.”

  He went to move past the women, giving them a wide birth. Gray called out to him.

  “Your gifts and food stores will be brought to the bailey,” she said.

  He paused, meeting her gaze. “No need, my lady. They were gifts. I do not expect them returned, nor would I want them. They were meant only for you.”

  With that, he turned and walked away. Gray stood there, pitchfork still in hand, feeling heavy sobs bubbling within her chest. The pitchfork came down and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  “Mama…” Brook began softly.

  “Go,” Gray threw the wooden implement down and turned away from her daughter and mother. “Just… go. Leave me alone.”

  Constance took Brooke by the hand and led her off. She had come out on top of the situation and did not feel the need to linger over her victory. The knight had challenged her authority and had lost both the battle and the war as a result. She would never let a low-born knight to get the better of her, no matter how wealthy or powerful. It was over now; she would leave her daughter to deal with it.

  Gray listened to their footfalls fade, finally allowing the sobs to come forth. It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced, and she’d experienced many crippling things during her life. This was as bad as she could imagine, mostly because her unprotected emotions were involved. To find Braxton with Brooke in his arms… she closed her eyes to the sight of it, her tears falling on the straw of the stables. Eventually, she sank to her buttocks and wept.

  She must have been there quite a while because the sound of footsteps in the straw next to her nearly startled her to death. Looking up, she found herself staring into Braxton’s pale face.

  “I have something for you,” he said before she could open her mouth. He held up a yellowed parchment, rolled and tied with dried gut. “It is the agreement from Wenvoe relinquishing his rights to Brooke and Erith. It is yours now. Keep it safe.”

  Leaving the parchment in the straw next to her, he turned to walk away. She called after him.

  “Sir Braxton,” she said. “I would have you read this to me, if it would not be too much trouble.”

  He paused, turned to look at her, and slowly retraced his steps. There was labored hesitation to his movements, as if it was taking all of his strength to complete them. Crouching down next to her, he sighed before picking up the parchment and unrolling it. His blue-green eyes focused on the scribed lines, written by Wenvoe himself.

  “‘On this third day of August, in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and five, let it be known that I, Neil Wenvoe, Baron Killington, Lord of Creekmere Castle, do hereby relinquish my claim to Sir Braxton de Nerra for the Lady Brooke Serroux and her dowry of Erith Castle and the hereditary title of Baron Kentmere for the sum of thirty thousand gold marks in repayment for a debt owed to me by Sir Garber Serroux.’” He lowered the parchment. “That is all it says. Then he gave his seal.”

  He began to roll it up again but she reached out and took it from him, their hands brushing in the process. It was the most painfully exquisite touch; Braxton had to close his eyes and turn away. He was having a good deal of trouble dealing with all of this at the moment and her proximity was distressing.

  Gray’s gaze lingered on him a moment before looking at the parchment, looking over the careful words. He didn’t know she could read, as taught to her by her father. She had asked him to read the parchment for good reason: to see if he would lie to her. But he had read every word as written.

  “Thirty thousand gold marks,” she whispered. “You paid thirty thousand gold marks for the rights to my daughter and Erith?”

  He simply nodded his head. “Why?” she asked, astonished. “Nothing about this place is worth that kind of money. What would possess you to do such a thing?”

  He met her gaze, then. There was hardness in his eyes, a necessary self-protection. “Because I was trying to save you from having your castle razed and your daughter confiscated. If I did not accept this task from Wenvoe, he would find someone that would. This I could not allow. I was trying to do something noble, my lady,” the last words were bitter and ironic. “A lot of good it did me.”

  He stood up abruptly but did not leave. Gray watched him pace around like a caged animal. He wanted to go, she could tell, but he wanted much more to stay. She realized she wanted him to stay, too, in spite of everything.

  “Explain to me, my lord, how I could possibly misunderstand all of this,” she was begging for an explanation, without her mother hanging over her and her daughter clutching at her. It was just the two of them. “What is the truth of all of this? You have nothing to lose by telling me the verity of the situation now that the damage has been done. Tell me the truth and I shall believe you.”

  He looked at her and she was struck by the naked emotion in his eyes. “Will you?”

  “I said I would.”

  He took a deep breath, hardly daring to hope. “Then I will swear on my oath as a knight that I will tell you the complete, honest truth. You may believe me if you wish. If you do not, I hold no resentment against you. It would be difficult for you to know the truth living with a viper as you do.”

  She knew he meant her mother and she was not offended. She knew what the woman was capable of, or at least she thought she did.

  “Go on.”

  He stood in front of her. “Wenvoe had a verbal contract with your late husband. The deal was your daughter and Erith in exchange for the forgiveness of his debt to Wenvoe.”

  “I know.”

  “He also said your husband had died before the terms could be put to paper. You said your husband was murdered by Wenvoe. This information is conflicting.”

  It was her turn to look somewhat less confident. She lowered her gaze. “Since we are telling complete truths, I will tell mine. My husband committed suicide in shame over the bargain he had struck with Wenvoe, the shame of his gambling debts finally catching up to him. The old baron might as well have killed him for all of the humiliation he put Garber through. Somehow it sounds less shameful to say my husband was murdered. There is enough at Erith to be ashamed over without that added trouble hanging over our heads.”

  He watched the top of her blond head, feeling pity for yet another thing in her life that she had no control over. But it did not deter him from what he must say to her.<
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  “Upon my arrival at Creekmere, I discovered Wenvoe’s true plans for me. He had been informed that your mother had sent out offers for Brooke’s hand. Given the fact that Brooke was his property, he wanted me to confiscate both Brooke and Erith. He asked me to enforce the terms of his verbal contract with your husband. But I could not do it, Gray. I could not take both your daughter and your castle. So I told Wenvoe that I would buy the contract from him, thereby repaying your husband’s debt. When he refused, I threatened to raze Creekmere. So he sold me your daughter, and Erith, for thirty thousand gold marks.”

  She was gazing up at him quite earnestly. “Was that his asking price?”

  “It was my offer. But I would have doubled it without hesitation.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her as if she was daft. He lifted a big hand, letting it slap helplessly back against his thigh. “Because your happiness is worth all of that and more. How much plainer can I be?”

  Gray stood up, unsteadily, tears reforming in her eyes. “You said something earlier. You said that Brooke had told you about my mother’s subversive solicitations on her behalf. Is that God’s truth, Braxton? Did she really say that to you?”

  He nodded. “It is. She told me that your mother said that she was a young woman now and was due a wealthy husband.”

  Gray blinked and the tears spilled down her cheeks. Braxton’s hands ached for want to wipe the tears away but he was afraid to touch her, afraid she would pull away from him.

  “I have heard my mother say that before,” she sniffed. “But never did I think she would go behind my back. She sent out offers for Brooke’s hand, didn’t she?”

  “That is what Brooke told me and what your mother confessed to when I confronted her.”

  She blinked again and more tears spilled down her face. Then she dissolved into soft sobs. “Then they both lied to me,” she wept. “My mother, most of all, and Brooke because she was afraid. I know how my mother is. She lied to take the blame off herself.”

  “Your mother does what she must in order to survive.”

  She wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “It is not a good enough reason to lie to me and to deliberately discredit you,” she said. Then she looked at him. “But tell me one more thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Why did I see Brooke in your arms?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Because she was throwing herself at me. I was attempting to pry her off when you appeared.” The blue-green eyes glimmered faintly. “My only interest is in you, Gray. Do you really think I would show anything other than friendly attention to your daughter?”

  She looked at him, seeing the naked honesty in his face. She’d been around enough cheats and fabricators to know when she saw the raw elements of truth. “Nay,” she murmured. “I do not.”

  Braxton didn’t know if he felt more relief than anger: relief that she apparently believed him, anger at Constance’s tactics. The old bitch did not care who she hurt, not even her own daughter. Poor Gray was on the receiving end of a very unscrupulous woman. He moved towards her to offer some words of comfort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dallas.

  The blond knight stood in the stable entry, his eyes fixed on Braxton. “My lord,” he said. “The visitors have arrived. They are from the House of Haistethorpe.”

  “That’s in Windermere,” Gray muttered as she wiped her nose.

  Braxton looked at her a moment before turning back to Dallas. “Did they say why they had come?”

  Dallas’ gaze moved between the lady and his lord. “At the invitation of the Lady Constance.”

  Gray’s head snapped up. Her face was wet, her eyes furious. “Is that what they said, exactly?” she demanded.

  Dallas nodded his head. “Aye, my lady. They asked for the Lady Constance by name.”

  Braxton dismissed Dallas before Gray could say anymore. She was dangerously close to exploding; he could tell. He stood there a moment, watching her face, waiting.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked softly. “Do you still want me to leave?”

  She looked at him, then, and the anger fled from her face. Her lower lip trembled delicately. “Oh, Braxton,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I hit you… I accused you of awful things.”

  He went to her, pulling her into his warm, powerful embrace. Gray collapsed against him, her soft sobs returning. They clutched at each other, in relief, in sorrow. His hand held her head against his chest, gently stroking her soft blond hair.

  “No apologies, sweetheart,” he murmured into the top of her head. “All is well again with us.”

  Her arms were around his torso, holding him tightly. “Please do not leave,” she begged softly. “I do not want you to go.”

  “Then I will not.”

  “I… I am afraid.”

  He scowled gently. “I don’t believe it. Of what?”

  She tilted her head back to look at him. “Of what my mother has done. I have no idea how to deal with these people who believe they are honestly vying for Brooke’s hand. She’s only fifteen years old, for God’s sake. What am I going to do?”

  He leaned down and kissed her, tasting the salty tears on her lips. His tongue gently pushed into her mouth, delicately tasting her, acquainting her with the true essence of a delicious kiss. The hand on her head moved to her cheek, her neck, holding her fast as his mouth left her lips and moved across her face. With every suckle, every touch, his want for her was growing. He could not believe how close he had come to losing her.

  Gray unwound her arms from around his midsection, raking her fingers through his graying blond hair. His lips were on her throat, savoring the sweet taste of her. But he eventually returned to her mouth, kissing her so deeply that she went limp in his arms. When he finally pulled away and looked at her, it took Gray a moment to come around. Her amber eyes opened slowly.

  “You needn’t worry,” he said huskily. “I will do what must be done. She belongs to me, after all. I have the right to send every one of those hounds away.”

  Gray smiled faintly. “But not too harshly. We may actually want one of them to return in a few years.”

  He grinned, kissing her again with lingering sweetness. “Go now,” he had to get away from her or risk a complete loss of self-control. “Change into one of your new garments. I will entertain your guests until you are ready to speak to them.”

  “As you say. And, Braxton?”

  “Aye?”

  “Thank you.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently from the stables.

  CHAPTER SIX

  She was hiding. Or, at least, she thought she was. Whenever Brooke was upset or wanted to be alone, she hid in the storeroom on the bottom floor of the keep. She had a nice little corner tucked away where no one would find her. Until today. Two pairs of eyes were gazing back at her from behind the new barrels of salted pork.

  She didn’t recognize the eyes, both pairs soft blue and similarly shaped. Startled, and a little miffed at being watched, she stood up and put her hands on her hips. Sir Braxton’s squires popped up from the other side of the barrels.

  “What are you doing?” Brooke demanded. “Spying on me?”

  The older boy spoke in his newly-deep man voice. “Nay, my lady,” he assured her quickly. “We were bringing in sacks of pears. We heard a noise and thought it was a mouse.”

  She scowled. “I do not sound like a mouse.”

  The boys looked at each other. They had no answer to that. Brooke’s angry stance began to fade; living a somewhat isolated life at Erith, she had never had much opportunity to be around children her own age. Now, here were two in her midst and her curiosity overcame her indignation. She’d noticed the boys before, of course, but never this close. And they had never spoken to her.

  “What is your name?” she asked the older boy.

  “Norman, my lady,” he replied. “This is my brother, Edgar.”

  “You travel with Sir
Braxton, do you not?” she asked.

  Norman nodded. “We squire for him, my lady.”

  “How old are you, Norman?”

  “I have seen seventeen summers, my lady. I think.”

  “What do you mean ‘you think’?”

  He shrugged. “Sir Braxton found me and my brother orphaned on the streets of Oxford. He could only guess that I was five years and Edgar here was three. I suppose I do not know how old I really am.”

  Brooke forgot all about her rage. She was very curious about the boys. “You were orphans? What happened to your parents?”

  Norman shrugged. “I do not know. My earliest recollection is living in a doorway holding my baby brother. Sir Braxton took us in.”

  “He has been your father?”

  “I suppose,” Norman replied. “He has taken care of us since we were very young.”

  Brooke inspected them both closely; they were both brunette, with pale blue eyes, and handsome. At least, she thought so. Except the younger one; he looked rather scrappy. She focused intently on Edgar.

  “Does he talk?” she asked.

  Edgar’s response was to stick his tongue out at her. Then he snarled, making horrible faces at her. Brooke frowned.

  “You are a nasty little boy.”

  Edgar mocked her frown. “I am not a little boy. I am as old as you are, you skinny, ugly girl.”

  Brooke’s mouth popped open with outrage. She went to poke him but he stuck his tongue out at her again and fled. Brooke tore after him in hot pursuit, leaving Norman to follow their trail.

  Edgar raced into the kitchen yard, taunting her and dodging when she took a whack at him and missed. He raced on into the stable yard, ignoring his brother’s calls to cease. Brooke ran after him, shouting threats. Edgar, much faster and wilier, ran a circle around her as she tried to smack him again. Laughing wickedly, he ran on into the main portion of the bailey where the party of Haistethorpe had just arrived.