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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  August 1306

  Erith Castle

  It was just after the nooning meal and Geoff was watching Brooke as she furiously swept the floor, pushing every crumb and every piece of dust into the hearth to be burned. He also knew that, once her husband arrived, she was going to be in a good deal of trouble. Dallas didn’t like her sweeping, especially now.

  But Brooke had ignored her husband’s wishes for months. Any time he told her not to do something or to rest, she soundly resisted. Geoff watched her as she stood up from having been bent over the hearth, stretching out her back and exposing her enormous belly. Broom in one hand, she alternately rubbed at her back and her belly as if she couldn’t decide which one to massage first. Spying more crumbs in the corner, she hustled over to the spot and began to sweep furiously.

  “Dallas will be here any moment,” he told her. “You had better turn that broom over to me.”

  Brooke scowled at him. “I will not,” she said firmly. “You do not sweep as well as I do.”

  Fighting off a grin, Geoff shook his head and looked away just as Edgar and Norman entered the keep. Both young men had grown by leaps and bounds over the past year; Norman had grown up and outward, now taller and wider than Dallas was. As a new knight, he was performing admirably. Edgar, too, had shot up and was now nearly as tall as his brother, although he hadn’t filled out quite as much. He, too, was in the midst of his knightly training and doing exceptionally well.

  The one thing that hadn’t changed, however, was his relationship with Brooke. They were still like a brother and sister, antagonizing each other, although it was much more discreet now that Dallas was around. As he entered the hall and she realized who it was, she stuck her tongue out at him. He balled a fist and shook it at her.

  “Edgar,” she snapped. “Come here and sweep the floor. I should not be doing this.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I am not a house servant,” he sniffed, making his way to the table. “Find someone else to do it.”

  “What was that, Edgar?” Dallas was coming in through the hall entry. “Did I hear you refuse my wife?”

  Edgar bolted over to Brooke and snatched the broom from her. “Not at all, my lord,” he began to sweep furiously. “I am happy to help Lady Aston.”

  Geoff lowered his head lest Edgar and Dallas see him laughing. Dallas reached the table, leaning over to kiss his wife as he removed his heavy gloves.

  “If I catch you sweeping again, I am going to blister your backside after this babe is born,” he told her. “You are not to exert yourself like that. Last night, it was cleaning out our chamber and the day before, it was washing linens.”

  Brooke gave him the big pouty face. “But I cannot sit still.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I cannot. I feel nervous, as if I have to be doing something.”

  He lifted a warning eyebrow at her. “Nothing strenuous,” he ordered softly, giving her a swift kiss. “Now, I must meet with my men. Will you please give us some privacy, sweetheart?”

  Her pout grew. “Why can I not stay? I will behave. I will not say a word.”

  He shook his head. “It would not interest you.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Please?” she begged. “I have not seen you all day. May I please sit here with you, quiet, quiet, quiet like a little mouse?”

  He didn’t want to get in a big battle with her; she was incredibly sensitive these days, raging one minute and weeping the next. Her pregnancy had been extremely easy but for the mood swings, something Dallas lived in fear of. So he nodded with resignation and sat her down on the bench beside him. Just as they were settling in, another figure came in from the bailey.

  Niclas brushed the dust off his breeches as he moved towards the banqueting hall. Lady Aston had a great revulsion to dust and dirt and would yell at any man who entered the hall and got her swept floors dirty. Niclas wasn’t used to a clean keep; having served for many years at Black Fell, which was a filthy pit of man stink, he had to retrain himself to behave around a clean and tidy woman.

  He made his way to the table, hoping that Lady Aston would screech at him for bringing dust into the hall. He’d come to know her over the past year, since being gifted from Thomas de Nerra to Dallas to help fill the void of Braxton’s absence, and she was a very young woman with a keen sense of humor. Truth was, Niclas was much more content being a mercenary. He had taken to it easily. Now, he served Aston as a member of the mercenary army.

  Fortunately for Niclas, Brooke did nothing more than glance at him as he took a seat next to young Edgar. With all of his knights seated at the well-scrubbed table, Dallas settled down to business.

  “Now,” he began. “As you know, I received a missive some time ago from Baron Portington in Humberside soliciting our services for a land dispute he is having with his neighbor. I received another missive from him this morning pleading for negotiations. He is offering a great deal of money and I fear I would be remiss to refuse him.”

  “How much money?” Niclas wanted to know.

  Dallas looked at him. “He is offering us five thousand gold marks simply to come and speak with him,” he replied. “It is a tidy sum. Even if we do not take the job, we will still make money.”

  The knights nodded in agreement. “We made a great deal of money off of the dispute between North Cliffe and South Cliffe in the spring,” Norman said. “Who ever heard of two villages going to battle against one another? I believe that is the first time an entire village hired our services.”

  Dallas had to agree. “We received enough goods and coin from that venture to start our own country,” he glanced over at his wife, noticing that she was staring at her hands folded over her belly. She seemed distracted and he put his big hand over hers. “And you received more clothing and jewelry than you know what to do with.”

  Brooke nodded and he squeezed her hands gently. “What is wrong? You do not seem pleased by it.”

  She lifted her head, looking around the table at her husband’s knights. Then, she shrugged and lowered her gaze again.

  “You have fought four battles since Braxton and my mother went away,” she couldn’t even bring herself to tell the truth; all she ever said about them is that the ‘went away’. “You do not tell any of these people that Braxton is no longer head of his army. Everyone still thinks he is in charge.”

  Dallas’ jovial mood was fading as he squeezed her hand again. “It is better this way,” he said quietly. “I told you that people know Braxton’s name. It commands respect. No one would know Dallas Aston’s name as a terrifying mercenary. It makes better business sense to keep all as it has been, including keeping Braxton’s name, because he may very well return someday. The army is bigger and stronger now than it has ever been, and we continue to fight under Braxton’s banner because it is his army.”

  She looked at him. “If the army is bigger and stronger, then why not go back to Elswick and demand to know what became of my mother and Braxton?” she asked; it wasn’t the first time she has asked such a thing. “It has almost been a year and we still do not know.”

  It was an extremely delicate subject with Brooke and Dallas put his arm around her, kissing her temple.

  “Sweetheart, you know that we have done all we can,” he said softly. “We did as Braxton wanted; we returned to Erith. I have sent a missive to Elswick every week since then asking to know the condition of Braxton and your mother, and every week I get no response. If Braxton is still alive, I do not want to jeopardize anything by riding back to Elswick and demanding answers. They would perceive it as a threat and Braxton, and your mother, could be put in grave danger. All we can do is wait to be contacted by Braxton. You know this.”

  She was staring at her belly; as he watched, she frowned terribly and burst into tears.

  “I do not want to wait,” she struggled to stand up from the table with her big belly; she was weary and off-balance. “I want you to take the army back to Elswick
and beat down the walls if they do not tell you what became of my mother and Braxton.”

  Dallas tried to steady her as the knights thought this was their opportunity to retreat. Lady Aston went through this same fit about every other day, and every other day Dallas would gently soothe her. He was trying to do what he thought Braxton would want and his wife disagreed. It made for a touchy situation at times.

  “Sweetheart,” Dallas stood up next to her as she tried to pull away. “Do not upset yourself so. I know you do not understand, but you must trust me that I know what is best.”

  Brooke moved away from the table, sobbing unhappily. Dallas needed to finished his business with his knights but he needed to soothe her more. With a glance to his men, giving them a brief shake of the head to let them know they would have to discuss the Portington issue at another time, he followed Brooke to the spiral stairs that led to the upstairs chambers. He caught up to her about the time she took the first step, reaching out to pull her into his arms to comfort her. But his efforts were thwarted by a soldier as the man abruptly burst into the keep.

  It was a young soldier, one of those gifted to Dallas by Thomas when he had also gifted Niclas. In fact, Thomas had gifted Braxton’s army with another one hundred men, bringing his total army to nearly three hundred. Dallas paused as the soldier entered, spied his commander, and made his way to him.

  “My lord,” the soldier tried not to notice when Brooke slapped Dallas’ hands away as she made her way up the stairs. “We have sighted an incoming party about a half a mile away.”

  Dallas nodded, not particularly concerned. “Banners?”

  “None, my lord.”

  “How big?”

  “We can make out a wagon and four riders.” As Dallas nodded again and prepared to give an order, the young soldier interrupted him. “I have heard… my lord, that is to say, I have heard some of the more seasoned men say that one of the riders looks like de Nerra.”

  Brooke froze on her ascent up the stairs, staring at the soldier, as Dallas’ brow furrowed.

  “Which de Nerra?” he asked.

  “Sir Braxton, my lord.”

  Brooke gave a hoot and quickly came off the stairs. The other knights, who were in the process of vacating the hall when the messenger entered, heard the man’s words also and they began barreling out of the keep. Dallas moved to follow, trying to keep a rein on his excited wife so she wouldn’t overly strain herself or, worse, fall down the stairs in her excitement. He held on to her all the way down the stairs that led from the keep into the bailey, pleading for calm from her even as he bellowed orders to open the gates on the outerwall.

  Long since repaired to her former glory, Erith’s great gates yawned open as soldiers cranked the wheel that reeled in the chains. As Dallas had good hold of Brooke, chargers suddenly bolted past them and he looked up to see Norman, Edgar, and Geoff thundering out onto the road. Niclas was on foot, standing at the outer gate house as the gates cranked all the way open. He bellowed to the men to take up the slack and secure the chains.

  Brooke stood between the inner and outer wall with Dallas, whimpering softly as the wagon finally came into view down the long expanse of road. She could clearly see when the three chargers met the wagon and she could see the ensuing commotion, but she couldn’t see who was actually approaching. They were just too far away. Dallas had his arm around her shoulders, holding her fast, his blue eyes riveted to the incoming party. He didn’t want to hold out hope that what the men said was true. But as time passed and as the party grew nearer, he began to recognize one of the mounted men. A slow smile spread across his face, joy and excitement filling his veins. He kissed his wife on the temple as the party drew closer.

  “It is him,” he whispered to her. “It is Braxton.”

  Brooke burst out into loud sobs. “Where is my mother?”

  Dallas’ joy and excitement tempered dramatically; he didn’t have an answer for her and the only one he could come up with was not a pleasing one. He squeezed her gently.

  “I do not know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to comfort her. “Perhaps she is in the wagon and we cannot see her.”

  Brooke was weeping loudly. Suddenly, she broke away from him and began running down the road towards the wagon. Dallas easily caught her and stopped her from running any further, terrified she was going to injure herself and the child. But Brooke struggled against him, crying and smacking at his hands, as he prevented her from running any further. The wagon drew closer and Braxton, in all his glory, came into focus. It was an amazing and awesome sight.

  Without armor, he rode the cream-colored charger with ease, clad in simple breeches, tunic and boots, the same clothing they had last seen him in. He could hear Brooke crying loudly from several dozen yards away and even as Geoff and Norman milled around him, he spurred his charger forward at the sight and sounds of Brooke’s fit. He was on her in an instant, noticing her advanced pregnancy. His eyes widened.

  “Brooke?” he drew the charger to a halt, vaulting off the animal as he moved quickly to his daughter. “Sweetheart, what is the matter?”

  Brooke pulled free of Dallas and threw herself against Braxton. Her arms went around his neck.

  “Braxton,” she wept dramatically. “I thought you were dead!”

  He hugged her, trying not to quash her big belly. “Nay, sweetheart,” he kissed her on the side of her head. “I am not dead. I am very much alive. And you are pregnant.”

  He said it with such surprise that her sobs turned into weepy giggles as she pulled back to look at him; he looked healthy and whole, just as she remembered him. Like a vision from a dream, she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

  “I am,” she said, seeing his amazement. But it didn’t deter her terror and grief and the tears returned with a vengeance. “Where is my mother?”

  Braxton realized what had her so upset; he took her by the arm, passing a glance at Dallas and smiling at his son-in-law.

  “I can see you are taking great care of her, Dallas,” he grinned. “And you are looking well yourself.”

  Dallas smiled broadly. “As are you, for a dead man,” he said, moving up behind Brooke and putting an affectionate hand on Braxton’s shoulder. “You have no idea how glad we are to see you.”

  Braxton wriggled his eyebrows as he began to lead Brooke and Dallas toward the approaching wagon. “As I am very glad to see you,” he said. “There is much to tell.”

  Before Dallas could respond, Brooke looked up at him with her big, watery eyes. “What happened after we left Elswick?” she wanted to know. “Dallas sent a missive every week asking for information on you and Mama. We never received an answer. We did not know what happened to you.”

  Braxton held her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know,” he said. “There was much going on at Elswick. I was much occupied taking care of your mother.”

  Brooke started to well up again as they approached the wagon. “Where is my mother?” she wept, pleading. “What happened to her? Why was she so sick?”

  “Because your brother was making himself known.”

  The soft, female voice came from the wagon as it came to a stop. Startled, Brooke’s tears vanished as she gazed into the wagon bed and immediately spied her mother. But Gray wasn’t alone; she was propped up against the side of the wagon, holding a downy-haired infant in her arms. Gray smiled at her daughter as Brooke nearly came apart.

  “Mama!” she gasped. “Wha… what…?”

  Gray laughed softly. “Slow down, sweetheart,” she looked at Braxton. “Help her into the wagon so she can see her new brother.”

  Both Braxton and Dallas lifted Brooke up into the wagon bed and it was Gray’s first glimpse of her daughter’s advanced state of pregnancy. She reached out as Brooke scooted over to her, putting her hand on Brooke’s belly and biting off tears of her own. She felt the warm firmness of her daughter’s belly with the greatest of reverence, startled in her own right at the sight of her daughter.

  “Look a
t you,” she gasped, gazing up into her daughter’s rosy face. “Are you well, sweetheart? How do you feel?”

  “She is fine,” Dallas was standing at the edge of the wagon, beaming from ear to ear. “She eats more than I do, runs around like a madwoman, and refuses to slow down. I have my hands full with her. She is as healthy as a horse.”

  Gray laughed softly, tears finding their way onto her cheeks as she returned her gaze to her daughter. “You really should ease up,” she said softly. “You must take care of yourself and my grandchild.”

  Brooke waved her off, peering at the tow-headed baby in Gray’s arms. “I am fine, truly,” she smiled at the round-cheeked, blue-eyed infant. “Oh, Mama, he is wonderful. He looks just like Braxton. What is his name?”

  Gray looked down at the baby, cuddled and content in her arms. “Meet your brother,” she murmured, stroking the velvety cheek. “This is Deston de Nerra, a big and healthy boy who very nearly drained the life from me.”

  Brooke was cooing and touching the infant, who smiled back at her. She crowed in delight. “He is beautiful! Can I hold him?”

  By this time, Braxton and Dallas had moved to the side of the wagon where the women were sitting. Dallas helped his wife to sit on her bottom while Gray handed the baby over to her. Brooke happily cuddled the boy with the white-blond hair.

  “He is so sweet,” she crooned, then looked to her mother. “Is this why you were so sick?”

  Gray nodded, peeling back the swaddling from the baby’s head and exposing him to the warm sunlight. “He made me ill day and night,” she replied. “I could not eat and could barely keep water down. He was just starting to announce himself when the Gloucester soldiers took us from Creekmere and when I fought with them, I very nearly killed myself from the strain.”

  Brooke nodded in understanding, turning back to look at the baby. “It makes sense now,” she said. “But why did you not send word to us before now? We did not know if you or Braxton were dead or alive.”

  Braxton’s big hand came to rest on Gray’s shoulder. “Your mother was quite ill for the duration of the pregnancy,” he said. “I spent my time at Elswick keeping both myself and your mother alive. I could not attempt escape because she could not be moved, so my only choice was to stay with her. Moreover, I did not have the type of relationship with de Milne where the man would allow me to send missives; we were, essentially, prisoners. But that all changed when Deston was born. De Milne’s wife, who helped me tend your mother for the duration of her pregnancy, convinced her husband to let us leave. As soon as your mother was strong enough and the baby old enough, we did.”