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

by Kathryn Le Veque

Constance was afraid he would pick up on the extent of the rebuilding going on; it was truthfully difficult to miss it. But she was thankful that the fortress appeared far better than it had mere days ago. “Erith has seen better days,” she agreed “But, if you will notice, we are rebuilding most of the walls with better stone. Some of the materials used to originally build the fortress were not holding up to the test of time. We thought it best to rebuild what was not holding fast. Moreover, we want the young man who inherits this place to have a fine, solid fortress. Would you not agree?”

  It sounded like a good explanation, even to her. Roger bought it. “I do,” he said as they entered the dark keep. “What of your granddaughter’s dowry? Your invitation failed to mention coinage and property.”

  Constance had to think quickly. She knew this question would come, though she had not expected it so soon. “All in good time, my lord,” was the best she could come up with at the moment. “Let us sit and discuss the days of our childhood first. I am eager to learn of your wife; I had heard you had married Anne of Hereford. Is your lady wife well these days?”

  “She is dead.” Roger evidently did not wish to discuss her. “As I had heard tale that your only girl child was quite a beauty. Is her daughter also?”

  An idea suddenly occurred to Constance. A seedling, growing by the second, took root in her fertile and vicious mind. Her amber eyes glittered at the baron as they took a seat opposite one another at the long table in the hall.

  “Both women are quite beautiful, I assure you,” she tried to appear casual. “Your wife is dead, did you say? Have you considered remarrying?”

  Roger had. Constance was delighted to hear that.

  *

  The de Nerra knights discovered that there were indeed a couple of noteworthy knights at the small Milnthorpe tournament. When they drew matches, Geoff had drawn Sir Niclas de Aughton, a powerful knight from Northumbria, while Graehm drew Sir Rickard Burton of Somerhill. Burton was a big man with a mean temperament and was known for his violent competitiveness. De Aughton was only slightly less violent, but had the reputation of being extraordinarily cunning and enormously strong. Truth be told, Braxton was mildly disappointed that he hadn’t drawn either man in the first round. As good as his knights were, he suspected that if he won his first round, he might be facing one or both opposing knights eventually. It was just a hunch he had.

  Braxton had the first match in the new rounds after the afternoon break. He had drawn a knight from Navarre, one Sir Fulk, who looked as if he had eaten far too many pastries in his time. The man was so round that he was barely able to mount his equally fat charger. Braxton took one run against the man, hit him squarely in the chest, and knocked him right off his horse. In less than a few seconds he had won his match and a new roan charger, and the crowd in the lists went mad for his victory.

  Gray’s relief was palpable. If every match was as easy as this one, perhaps it would not be such a bad day after all. Once Braxton had unseated the knight, he made a sweeping turn along the lists and thundered past the cheering throng, listening to them scream madly for him. Even Brooke was screaming at the top of her lungs as he cantered in front of their group astride his big black charger. Gray could only sit there and smile, watching him casually acknowledge the crowd as if it meant absolutely nothing at all. When he reached the gate that led from the field, however, he flipped up his visor and his gaze sought out Gray. He lifted a big-gloved hand to her.

  She waved back, her heart swelling with a feeling she’d never before known. It made her limbs weak and a strange quivering filled her. She couldn’t stop smiling. She watched as Norman led Braxton off the field, still astride his beast, and then there was another knight to take his place at the post start. Sir Geoff, astride his big bay stallion, looked every inch as imposing as Braxton had.

  The field marshals officiating the event took their places as both competitors signaled their readiness. The crowd hushed to an expectant buzz. As she watched Geoff make a thundering run against the big black knight from Northumbria, she felt Brooke poke her in the arm.

  “Mama?” she poked her again. “May Edgar and I have some custard?”

  Gray turned to the two faces sitting next to her; lovely Brooke and handsome Edgar. Edgar’s ankle was up on the bench in front of them to keep it elevated. Gray was about to reply in the affirmative when she realized that she had no money on her. Braxton had paid for everything. Somewhat embarrassed as to what to say to the children, she was about to give them the generic ‘later’ answer when she caught sight of a man in armor at the base of the lists. Her amber eyes immediately focused in on Braxton as he made his way towards them from the dusty staging grounds with Norman trailing after him.

  His forehead was creased where the helm had rested upon his head and his face was tinged red from having been contained in the sweaty confines of the three-point helmet, but his expression was pleasant. He smiled at Gray when their eyes met, even at a distance.

  “Look,” Gray distracted Brooke and Edgar by pointing. “Here comes Sir Braxton. Perhaps he would like some custard, too?”

  Brooke shot to her feet and began waving madly. “Sir Braxton!” she shouted. “Here we are!”

  He lifted his hand in response. As he reached the lists, he stood next to the platform, his eyes only for Gray.

  “I thought I’d better come and feed this famished crowd,” he said. “Watching a tournament can give one a ravenous appetite.”

  Gray lifted an eyebrow. “How did you guess?”

  He winked at her. “I was a child once myself, believe it or not.” He waved a big hand at Brooke. “Come along, young woman. Let us go and find you some custard.”

  Brooke almost tripped in her haste to leave her seat. “What about Mother? Can she come, too?”

  Braxton held out a hand to steady Brooke as she fumbled for the stairs, but his eyes returned to Gray. “I was rather hoping she would.”

  Gray smiled, a faint pink flush to her cheeks. “I would love to come, but we simply cannot leave Edgar here alone.”

  The lad looked surprised at the mention of his name. “I can wait by myself, my lady,” he stammered.

  While Gray looked doubtful, Braxton spoke. “Edgar is indeed quite capable of taking care of himself until we return. Come along, sweet.”

  Gray stood up and left her seat, descending the steps from the lists right into Braxton’s waiting hands. He took her on one elbow and Brooke on the other, feeling prouder than he ever had in his life. It was one thing to be prideful of one’s skills and reputation; it was entirely another to be proud of the company one kept. He knew, without a doubt, that he was in the presence of the most beautiful woman in Cumbria and her equally lovely daughter.

  “Now that I am the envy of every man here,” he said, his blue-green eyes scanning the street and crowds beyond, “let us locate this vendor with custards and fattening tarts.”

  Brooke giggled girlishly, pulling Braxton along more than she was actually following him. Her pretty new surcoat of soft blue linen looked sweet and elegant. She swished the skirt around with her free hand as they walked, never happier or more carefree in her young life.

  “There is a vendor over there with something on his cart,” she jabbed her finger over to the left. “There are several people around him. Whatever he has must be good.”

  Braxton turned in that direction, allowing Brooke to half-pull, half-drag him along. “Then it is as good a place to start as any,” he glanced at Gray, looking so lovely with her hair off her slender neck. “And you, my lady? Do you have any preference on sweets and other gluttonous items?”

  She met his gaze, feeling the warmth that now sprouted so easily between them. She did so enjoy looking at him. “Whatever my daughter wishes is fine with me,” she said, tightening her grip on his arm. “You are most generous to allow her such treats, my lord.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her and mouthed Braxton. She grinned and nodded her head. “Lady Brooke has behaved herself adm
irably today in the wake of Edgar’s injury,” he said. “She deserves a reward.”

  Brooke’s guilt at Edgar’s injury returned. She didn’t want to incriminate herself and risk not getting custard, so she ignored the comment and continued to pull Braxton and her mother along. Norman was following behind them, a silent reminder to Brooke’s bad behavior. She hoped that he would not tell on her, but she could feel his stare against her back. Norman was a big lad; she suspected he could be intimidating if he wanted to be. But she would not let him frighten her. Had Edgar not been so awful, she would not have chased him. It was Edgar’s own fault… wasn’t it?

  By the time they reached the vendor, some of the crowd had cleared away and they could get a good look at the vendor’s table; dried meats, warm wine, and globs of almond milk pudding nestled in hollow gourds. Brooke immediately went for the pudding and Braxton found himself paying for five of them. Norman inhaled his pudding in three bites. Brooke devoured hers shortly thereafter and Braxton bought her another one. Gray held on to her pudding, and on to Edgar’s, fearful that it would vanish if her daughter got a hold of it. Braxton, grinning at the ravenous youngsters, handed his pudding over to Norman. The lad grinned and shoveled it down, although a bit more slowly than the first. Braxton slapped him affectionately on the back of the head.

  They were half way across the avenue when Graehm suddenly appeared. In full armor, he made his way straight to Braxton. His expression was wrought with seriousness.

  “My lord,” he said shortly. “Geoff took a bad hit in his round with de Aughton. The physic is with him now.”

  Braxton didn’t react outwardly, but Gray gasped softly. “What happened?” Braxton asked calmly.

  “The pole broke and the jagged edge went right into his neck,” Graehm explained. “We carried him off the field and back to the staging area.”

  Braxton’s pace picked up as they continued their way back to the tournament field. “Is it a mortal wound?”

  “’Tis possible, my lord. He bleeds a great deal.”

  Braxton didn’t say anymore. He escorted Gray and Brooke back to the lists before continuing on with Norman and Graehm.

  As Brooke took Edgar’s pudding from her mother and made haste back to her seat, Gray paused as she mounted the steps, watching Braxton and his men stride away. If Geoff was as bad as Graehm said he was, then perhaps she could help. Lord knows, Braxton had already done enough for her and for Erith. Perhaps this was one time she could attempt to return the favor. Gathering her skirt, she bade Brooke and Edgar to wait in the lists as she followed Braxton’s trail off across the tournament grounds.

  Since she already knew where Braxton’s camp was interred, it took her little time to reach it. Several men were milling about, mostly de Nerra men-at-arms. They hovered outside of the smaller of the two tents, speaking in muted tones. Gray acknowledged them as she walked between them, her focus on the tent opening and the dimness beyond. No one stopped her when she peeled back the flap.

  She could see someone lying on their back just inside the door; there were at least three bodies hovering over the supine form so she could see little more than booted feet. Braxton, who had been peering over the shoulder of a round, hairy-faced man, looked up when she walked into the tent. His eyes widened at the sight of her and he straightened up.

  “Lady Gray,” he greeted. “Is something…?”

  She cut him off politely. “I came to see if I could help, my lord.”

  He went to her, his hand on her elbow. “The physic is tending him. Though I thank you for your kindness, I doubt there is anything you can do.”

  Her amber eyes met his blue-green orbs. There was a spark, a jolt of warmth that passed between them as he touched her. “May I at least see him?” she asked softly.

  Braxton could see she only wished to help. He smiled faintly and led her back over to where he had been standing. At their feet lay Geoff, pale and unconscious, with an ugly cluster of splinters sticking out of his neck. The physic and the man’s assistant were attempting to pull the splinters free, one at a time, holding a soiled rag up against the gushing wound in an attempt to prevent the man from bleeding to death. They weren’t doing a very good job; blood was everywhere.

  Gray could see that the knight was going to bleed to death unless they changed their method. She instinctively opened her mouth to speak but quickly thought better of it. She did not want to seem overbearing, yet she could not stand by and watch this man die. Braxton heard her soft gasp.

  “What is it?” he asked quietly.

  A man’s life was at stake. She could not keep silent about it. “They are going about this all wrong,” she whispered. “The wound must be stitched closed as they remove the wood. All they are managing to do now is pulling out whatever material is holding back the tide of blood. Soon they will remove it all and everything will drain out, like pulling a cork from a bottle.”

  Braxton looked over at Dallas, at Graehm. “Remove the physic,” he snapped softly. “Lady Gray will tend him.”

  As the knights not-so-gently pulled the men up, to much protest, Braxton firmly guided Gray to the seat vacated by the physic. She objected for a split second before realizing he was not about to listen to her. He believed what she had told him, having made perfect sense, and was now trusting her with the life of Geoff. She was terrified, uncertain, and pleased all at the same time. The knights had passed the physic and his helper off to the men at arms, who were now practically throwing them from the tent. As she took the seat, she forced away her hesitation and struggled to collect her thoughts.

  “I need hot water, needles and gut, and lots of it,” she rattled off the list to anyone who would listen. “I also need whiskey and witch hazel. Braxton, do you remember the apothecary we saw this afternoon? He would have these things. More than likely, he would have other things to help heal Sir Geoff. But I need them now. There is no time to waste.”

  Braxton listened carefully to her demands and nodded shortly, snapping his fingers at Dallas and Graehm. “Dallas, go to the next avenue and find the small apothecary stall near the edge of the street. Get what we need from him.” He looked at Graehm. “Hot water, all you can find. And keep it coming.” As his men bolted off, he continued to stand over Gray as she gingerly inspected the injury. After several long moments, she shook her head.

  “This is bad,” she murmured. “I shall have to remove a splinter and stitch the area closed before I remove the next so that the wound will have some chance of healing.”

  He put his big hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I would be grateful for whatever you could do for him.”

  She tilted her head back to look at him, his face a few inches from hers. Their eyes met and he could not resist depositing a tender kiss on her sweet lips. He wanted to do so much more but a spasm from Geoff caught his attention. He and Gray looked back at the knight, who was now awake and staring up at them. Braxton wondered if he had caught the kiss, but upon reflection, did not care much if he had.

  “D’uberville,” he greeted. “You have had a bit of an accident.”

  Geoff blinked is big blue eyes. “I… I do not remember much,” his voice was faint and hoarse. “What happened?”

  He was beginning to put his hands up, to feel the area of injury, and Gray quickly grasped both of his hands and held them tight. “Not to worry, Sir Geoff,” she said in a gentle, soothing voice. “I will do all that I can to make you as good as new.”

  Geoff looked at her, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Is it bad?”

  She forced a smile. “I have seen worse. You must rest now and allow me to do this task.”

  He didn’t ask any more questions; he simply closed his eyes. When she was sure that he was dozing and would not try to feel his injury again, Gray let go of his hands and looked at Braxton. There was a mixture of hope and sorrow in her eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder again, giving her another squeeze as his lips found her temple. He kissed her tenderly, twice, before releasing her.


  “Do you require anything else?” he asked. “Is there something more I can do?”

  She gazed down at the wounded knight, feeling distress at his plight. “Linen to bind the wound. Boiled linen if you can get it.”

  He left the tent without another word. Gray bent over Geoff, again inspecting the wound but not wanting to start yet without the things she asked for. She waited only a small amount of time before Graehm reappeared with a large iron pot of steaming water. Gray bade him to set it down beside her. The first thing she did was have him pour some of it on her hands to wash them. Then he stood there and hovered, watching Geoff with concerned eyes as Gray wrung out her wet hands.

  Braxton returned less than a minute after Graehm’s arrival. “My men are setting about to boiling some linen right now,” he said. “Is there anything more?”

  She shook her head. “I must wait for the other items I asked for before I can begin.”

  Braxton was about to leave the tent again in search of Dallas when the knight suddenly burst into the tent bearing a wooden box of mysterious items. His face was flushed as if he had been running, and there was little doubt with the speed in which he had returned that he had run.

  “I believe that I was able to secure what the lady requested,” he said as handed the box over to Braxton.

  Braxton peered at the items. “Did you have any trouble finding the apothecary?”

  Dallas shook his head, watching as Braxton handed the box to Gray. “Nay,” he said. “Although I am not quite sure why I purchased a pungent ointment guaranteed to attract women by the dozens. I did not have time to argue with him so I just paid for it.”

  Gray laughed softly, looking up at Braxton. He, too, was grinning. Then he shook his head helplessly. “Never mind,” he told his knight. “But you are sure you got everything else?”

  “I am.”

  Gray inspected the contents of the box and eventually nodded her head. The first thing she pulled out was an earthenware jug with a heavy plug of cloth shoved into the top of it. She pulled out the plug and smelled it, wrinkling her nose.