“Brooke?” she cried.
“Mama!” Came the call. “Help me!”
The Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux could hear the cry again, like a nightmare, but she still didn’t see anything.
“Where are you?” she began to move towards the falls, a towering thunder of water that emptied into a crisp pool some fifty feet below its zenith. “I cannot see you!”
“Here!” came the cry. “I slipped! I am here!”
Gray raced to the edge of the falls, as close as she dared, seeing her slip of a daughter dangling from a ledge about ten feet below her. She couldn’t help the terrified yelp that escaped her lips as she fell to her belly, struggling to reach out a hand down to her daughter.
“Take my hand!” she stretched as far as she could go, reaching, begging. “Grab my hand, Brooke. Take it!”
Brooke was terrified, clinging to slippery rocks as the falls roared behind her. She was weeping hysterically, lifting a hand but too terrified to reach too high. After a half-hearted effort, she stopped trying altogether and clutched at the rocks again.
“I cannot,” she wept. “I will fall.”
Gray was biting back tears, having no idea how she was going to reach her child. Her heart sank as she realized that the girl was just too far out of her reach. All she could think to do was to untie her apron and yank it over her head, trying to use it as a rope as she awkwardly tossed it in her daughter’s direction.
“Sweetheart,” she tried to keep the terror from her voice, knowing calm heads would better prevail. “Try to grab hold of my apron. I will pull you up.”
Brooke was sobbing, terrified, clinging to the wet rocks. “I cannot!”
“Aye, you can,” Gray struggled to calm herself for her daughter’s sake. “Please, Brooke; grab hold of my apron.”
Brooke shook her head, crying, but eventually lifted a wet hand in the direction of the lowered apron. Gray tried to feed it down to her, lying on her belly and reaching over as far as she could go without slipping herself. The seconds were ticking. As Brooke reached up and took the tail-end of the apron ties, she lost her grip on the wet rock and she screamed, sliding another foot or so away from her mother down the slippery, grassy rocks.
“I am falling!” she screamed. “Help me!”
Gray’s tears returned, filling her eyes as she hurried to gain a better position now that her daughter had slipped further. She lay on the wet grass, trying to lower the apron to her, struggling against panic to coax her daughter into making another try for the apron.
But Brooke was paralyzed with fear, clutching the wet rocks and weeping hysterically. Gray couldn’t get her to look up at her or even make another attempt at the apron rope. As the great falls of Erith thundered only a few feet away, dousing them with spray, Gray sat up and yanked off one of her woolen hose.
It was full of holes but sturdy. With shaking, panicked hands, Gray tied the hose to the end of the apron and tossed it over the side of the cliff. It hit Brooke in the head and the girl shrieked; any little movement had her terrified she was going to fall the remaining forty feet into the churning water below.
Gray lay on her belly again, trying to coerce her daughter into taking hold of the hose, when the wet ground beneath her suddenly gave way. Gray let out a piercing scream, positive she was going to go crashing down on her daughter and, in turn, sending both of them to their death. The ground was sliding and dirt was falling, and Gray struggled to pull back, away from the sliding earth. But she was caught in the avalanche and there was nothing she could do. Just as she neared the edge to the point of no return, someone grabbed her ankle.
Whoever it was yanked hard, sliding her back along the wet grass that was now more like mud. Stunned, and slightly numb that she wasn’t already in a watery grave, Gray looked up to see a fairly big knight bolting past her, dropping to the edge of the cliff to peer down the side of the rushing falls. As she watched him, bewildered, a soft, deep voice from behind caught her attention.
“My lady?” he asked. “Are you injured?”
Gray turned in the direction of the voice; a knight was kneeling beside her, his handsome face glazed with concern. He was fair, his blond hair cropped close and graying at the temples, and his square-jawed face held an intelligent, angled edge. He was perhaps ten or more years older than her twenty-nine, but he wore his age well upon his striking features. He was average in height but he was very broad; she could see the thickness of his arms and legs, heavily muscled from years of warring. All in all, he was a big, handsome man, something she hadn’t expected to see out here in the wilds of Cumbria, and she struggled to find her tongue.
“I… I am well,” she suddenly scrambled to her knees. “But my daughter has fallen. I was trying to pull her up when the ground gave way.”
The knight rushed to the edge of the cliff, beside the other knight, and as Gray joined them, the three of them peered down at the very frightened young lady about twelve feet down. Gray’s amber eyes filled with tears as she gazed down at her frightened daughter.
“Please,” she turned to the men. “Please help her. I fear I have done all I can.”
The words hadn’t even left her mouth before the knights were swinging into action. She didn’t even have to ask, truly; they had already decided they were going to assist. They had heard the screams, too, and had followed the cries until they came across the source. Even now, the older knight was directing the younger.
“Take your mail off,” he instructed quickly as the man hurried to do his bidding. “This ledge cannot take the additional weight.”
The mail coat came off and the younger knight, a lean and attractive man with shoulder-length blond hair, fell on to his belly and slithered to the edge. The other knight got in behind him and grabbed his ankles.
“I will lower you down,” he said. “Tell me as soon as you have hold of her and I will pull you up.”
The younger knight nodded, waiting until his liege had him by the ankles before plunging forward. Muddied, wet and terrified, Gray leaned over the edge of the cliff, as far as she dared to go.
“Brooke!” she called over the roar of the falls. “Take hold of his hand!”
Brooke was clutching the rocks, her eyes closed and face pressed into the wet granite. But when her mother called to her, she dared to open her eyes, looking up to see that someone was descending towards her. She started to scream.
“Nay!” she wept loudly. “He will make me fall!”
Gray tried to soothe the terrified girl. “Nay, sweetheart,” she assured her. “He is here to help. Take hold of him.”
Brooke sobbed loudly as the knight was lowered. Gray glanced over at the older knight; he had a good grip on the younger man’s ankles but it was taking all of his strength to lower him. Just as it looked as if he was having a rough time of it, more men burst through the foliage and the older knight snapped orders to them; a tall, red-haired knight went to his aid, grabbing hold of the legs of the other and helping to lower him while two men –at-arms stood by the man who was now lowered over the edge of the cliff by about three—quarters of his body length. The knight dangling over the side called back to the others.
“She is too far out of my reach,” he called. “I need another seven or eight feet to get to her.”
Gray suddenly remembered the apron and hose rope in her hand and she thrust it at one of the men-at-arms.
“Here,” she gave it to him. “He can use this. She can grab hold of it.”
The soldier took it, handing it down to the knight as the others struggled to hold him. The knight wrapped one end around his forearm securely as he dangled the end to the girl.
“My lady?” he called to her, oddly formal under such peculiar circumstances. “Take the rope. Grab hold!”
Brooke peeped an eye open; the rope had fallen against her arm and she instinctively grabbed it. But in doing so, she suddenly lost her balance and, with a mighty scream, slipped right off the rocks. She had a strong hold on the hose ro
pe, but she screamed like a banshee as she dangled forty feet above the foaming waters of the falls.
The knight had the other end of the rope wrapped several times around his forearm. He wasn’t concerned that he would let go, but he was very concerned that the young girl would let go. She was thrashing about, screaming, and he called down to her steadily.
“Stop kicking, my lady,” he commanded. “Hold fast and we will pull you up.”
Gray, standing at the edge of the cliff, watched the scene unfold with her heart in her throat. “Brooke, stop thrashing!” she begged, looking to the men who were struggling to pull her up. “Please; pull her up quickly!”
The older knight knew that; God help him, he did. But the grass beneath his feet was giving way as he and the tall, red-headed knight pulled back steadily. The tall knight lost his footing in the slick grass and ended up on his knees, but together, they managed to pull the knight and the lady back from the boiling brink of madness. Once the younger, blond haired knight was able to get his footing, he pulled the young lady to the edge of the cliff where the two men at arms grabbed her by both arms.
They hauled the hysterical girl onto the grass where her mother collapsed beside her, pulling her into her arms. The young girl wept loudly as her mother comforted her with compassion, with gratefulness. Everyone could breathe again now that the girl was safe and if one listened closely, a collective sigh of relief could be heard.
“You are safe now, sweetheart,” Gray whispered, holding her daughter tightly. “Stop crying. You are safe.”
The knights were winded, wiping sweat and mud from their faces, watching the exchange. They were spent but relieved they could contribute to a happy ending; when they had first heard the screaming from their encampment to the south, they had no idea what they would find. Truth be told, screaming women were never a good thing. Not one of them would deny that there had been a bit of apprehension as they had followed the sounds.
“Is she all right?” the older knight asked.
Gray allowed her daughter to weep for a few moments longer before pulling back, holding her child’s face between her hands and looking hard at her. “Are you well?”
The girl sniffled, sobbed, wiped at her cheeks. “I… I am not hurt.”
“What happened?”
Brooke shrugged. “I am not sure,” she gasped. “I was looking at the water and suddenly I slipped. I guess I drew too close to the edge.”
Gray smiled gently, feeling quite weak with relief. She honestly hadn’t been sure she would ever share a moment like this again with her child, the tender embrace between a mother and her offspring. It was heavenly, something that renewed her spirit.
“I would say that is a fair assessment,” she murmured, kissing her daughter’s wet cheek. “Now, stop weeping and thank these brave men who have come to your aid, for without them, you and I would have surely been in a predicament.”
Brooke was struggling to calm. As the minutes passed and she realized she wasn’t dead at the bottom of the falls, she simply felt ill and somewhat shocked. She allowed her mother to pull her to shaky legs, all the while turning her focus to the three knights standing a few feet away. Her gaze found the big knight with the long blond hair, the one who had risked himself to save her. Shaken, she tried to curtsy but it came out quite unsteady. She almost tipped over in the attempt.
“Th-thank you,” she sniffed. “You saved my life.”
The young knight smiled at her. “It was my pleasure, my lady.”
“What is your name?”
“Sir Dallas Aston,” he indicated the men standing next to him. “This towering man with the red hair is Sir Geoff de Mandeville and the third knight is our liege, Sir Braxton de Nerra.”
Brooke regarded the three of them carefully; her savior, with his striking good looks, the tall knight with the dark red hair, and the muscular knight with the graying blond hair. They gazed back at her with varying degrees of kindness and curiosity, which began to stir Brooke’s spirits. It was rare when she was exposed to men, and certainly rarer still with men of this caliber. She knew just by looking at them that they were chivalrous, powerful knights that all ladies dream of. Her heart stirred a little more at the thought of these strong men saving her. It almost made the memory of the event pleasant; it would certainly make a good story in years to come.
“I am the Lady Brooke Serroux,” she seemed to be perking up a little. “Perhaps you will share sup with us tonight so we can properly thank you. Can we invite them, Mama? Please?”
With the focus suddenly on her, Gray was uncomfortable. She hesitated in her reply. “Of course we should, but perhaps Sir Braxton and his men have other plans. I am sure they are very busy and we have taken enough of their time.”
Brooke turned her sweet face to Braxton, the leader of the knights. Her eyes lit up.
“Do you have other plans?” she asked hopefully. “Could you come and stay with us tonight? Perhaps you could tell us about your dangerous adventures.”
“Brooke,” Gray chided softly, quieting her. She looked at the knight. “I am sorry, my lord. She is an eager young girl and has not learned the art of tact yet. I am sure you are far too busy to sup with us.”
Braxton met her gaze. “My men and I are on our way to Kendal. But we would be honored to sup with you tonight if you would be kind enough to have us.”
Brooke looked thrilled. Gray looked pale. “We… we do not set a fine table, my lord,” Gray insisted weakly; she knew it was a losing battle. “I am sure you must be accustomed to much finer accommodations.”
Braxton did not pick up on her reluctant tone. “My lady, the woods are our usual accommodations. Supping beneath a roof would be as grand as we could imagine.”
She just looked at him. Then she forced a smile. “We would be honored, my lord.”
Her disinclination suddenly came clear to him. Not wanting to be a burdensome guest, he sought to make his presence more attractive. “We have all manner of bounty that we have hunted from these woods. Just this morning, we downed a three-point buck. It should be enough food for an army. We shall bring all that we have and share it with our gracious hosts.”
Brooke clapped her hands. “Meat!” she said gleefully. “It has been a long time since we’ve had such a treat. Oh! I must retrieve my berries. I dropped them when I slipped.”
She was off. Gray tried to stop her, to at least admonish her from getting too close to the edge again, but Brooke wasn’t listening. The falls roared, drowning out the mother’s pleas. Brooke collected her basket, near the edge of the cliff, and quickly backed off. But off to her right she caught sight of a bush with fat black berries and she darted in that direction. Gray watched her daughter, looking to the knights after a moment with some uncertainty.
“My thanks to you again, gentle knights,” she said in her soft, sultry voice. “I… I suppose I should collect my own basket. I dropped it somewhere in the trees.” She looked back over at her daughter, now busy several feet away yanking berries off the bush. “Come along, young woman; ’tis time to leave. Do you hear me?”
Braxton put up a hand. “I will collect your daughter, madam. You go and find your basket.”
Gray was a little unsure about leaving the minding of her daughter to a stranger, but she reckoned that the mere fact he had just saved Brooke’s life warranted some amount of trust. Still, she couldn’t help her natural suspicion; she wasn’t trusting by nature, especially with men.
She hesitated and Braxton saw it; in spite of their altruistic intentions, he was well aware that they were all strangers. Now that the terror of her daughter’s predicament had passed, an odd suspicion was settling. He was positive the woman would turn and run from them given half a chance and it occurred to him that he had not particularly eased the situation. Now that the chaos had settled, he realized that he didn’t even know her name.
Braxton’s gaze lingered on her. “To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, madam?”
She look
ed puzzled. “My lord?”
“Your name, lady. I do not know your name.”
Embarrassment crossed her lovely face. “My apologies, my lord,” she said. “I am the Lady Gray Serroux.”
“Gray? Of the Northumberland Grays?”
She nodded her head. “My mother is of the family. She named me Gray in honor of the House.”
He understood more clearly. “Gray is your Christian name?”
“I was christened Gray Isabella.”
It was as unusual and beautiful as she was. Somehow, she didn’t look like an Elizabeth or Elinor or Anne. He studied the woman for a moment; he simply couldn’t help himself. Her features were angelic with her lusciously smooth skin, round cheeks and pert nose. She had long blond hair, lush and pillowy lips, and eyes of the most amazing amber color. He could have gazed into those eyes forever; in fact, the only word that came to mind when he looked at her was exquisite. Like a goddess descended, she had him in her spell whether or not she knew it. Like a baited fish, Braxton was hooked.
“Lady Gray,” he smiled at her, not realizing his men were looking between him and the lady, realizing their liege was quite smitten with her. “It is a pleasure making your acquaintance even under these harsh circumstances. If you will permit me, I will collect your daughter for you and escort you both back to Erith.”
He sounded so sincere; Gray would have had a difficult time refusing him in any case. Although her natural suspicion and reserve screamed for her to resist the man and his attempts, somehow, she wasn’t able to. Perhaps it was because he had saved her only child or perhaps it was simply because she was growing stupid in her old age. Whatever the case, she went in search of the basket she had dropped on her wild run to Brooke’s aid, all the while thinking on the broad knight with the blue-green eyes.
Braxton watched Gray wander back into the trees, whistling softly at one of his men to go with her for protection. Geoff took the order and followed the lady as Dallas and the men at arms moved back in the direction of their encampment. With everyone on the move, Braxton went after Lady Brooke.