“What do you mean?” Graehm asked.
Braxton crooked a finger and his men gathered close.
*
Constance Gray de Montfort had been a beauty in her time. A slight woman with graying blond hair piled high on her head, the family resemblance to her daughter and granddaughter was apparent. She was a cool woman, bluntly so, bred from the high nobility of England. Though her circumstances had been reduced to poverty over the years, she still retained a haughty manner and a piercing gaze that could drill holes through walls.
As Constance gazed out of the lancet window facing the section of the bailey where the mercenary army was settling in, her mind was working in a thousand different directions. If nothing else, Constance had learned over the years to be very resourceful to ensure her family’s survival. And she had learned not to discount any opportunity.
“What do we know of this knight?” she asked her daughter.
Gray was seated on the only chair in the room, mending in her hands. Once her father’s solar, it was now a sad reflection of its glorious past. Anything of value had been stripped and sold, even things of sentimental value. But Gray had long gotten over the sorrow that selling her father’s items had provoked.
“His name is Braxton de Nerra,” Gray said as she struggled with an uncooperative piece of thread. “He told Brooke that he is a knight bannerette. Beyond that, I do not know.”
Constance’s cool gaze lingered on the men in the distance. “A knight bannerette,” she snorted softly. “Hardly a man of noble breeding. Why on earth did you not refute your daughter when she offered him shelter and sup?”
Gray was used to her mother’s disapproval at her actions. That was normal. “I told you; it would have been rude to do so. The man had just saved Brooke’s life and I felt as if we had to do something to thank him. Moreover, they have brought their own food. It is not as if we shall be feeding them from our stores. We shall even eat meat. Do you know how long it has been since we have eaten meat?”
Constance turned away from the window, pulling her tattered shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders. “I shall not join you for sup,” she said imperiously. “I will take my meal in my room.”
Gray did not look up from her mending. “Though we rarely have visitors, Mother, you have always taught me that the true mark of nobility is impeccable manners. It would be unmannerly of you not to at least greet our guest.”
“You’ll not lecture me,” Constance snapped softly. “I know more of nobility and manners than you could ever hope to.”
“Then you will attend us.”
“I shall do as I please.”
The last exchange was spoken sharply, the words overlapping. Gray would not acknowledge her mother’s disdainful words. She had long learned to deal with her supercilious mother who still fancied herself a fine lady of wealth and power. In tense silence, Gray finished mending the girdle, one that had belonged to her and she now modified for Brooke. Her daughter was growing by leaps and bounds, developing the figure of a woman that must be property outfitted. Though it was an old girdle, it was still serviceable. They certainly could not afford to buy another one. Biting off the thread, she collected her things and stood up.
“Then I shall excuse myself to see to the preparation of the meal,” she knew her mother would not fight her for the task. “I would hope you change your mind about attending us.”
Constance didn’t reply. Her silence was her dismissal. She listened to her daughter walk from the room, her well-worn shoes making scuffing noises along the boards. She continued to gaze out over the ward, watching the men in the corner of the bailey, noting that they did not appear ragged or impoverish as traveling armies sometimes did. In fact, she had counted four big chargers adorned with expensive saddlery. Poor knights could hardly afford a horse much less lavish tack. And the knights themselves, that she had been able to see, were clad in well-made armor. These mercenaries were well-supplied and apparently with some means of wealth.
Men such as these did not usually take wives, but with the promise of a fortress as the dowry, even a traveling soldier might consider. In fact, being that these men fought for money, the lure of monetary or material gain was their primary motivation. Constance began to see a positive side to their presence.
She reconsidered her decision not to join them for sup.
*
The great hall of Erith had once been a fine place back in the days when men of power inhabited its stone walls. It was still the nicest room in the keep, but that wasn’t an overwhelming statement. The hearth had been built as in the olden days, a massive fire pit in the center of the room that emptied smoke into the ceiling. The hall itself was two stories tall; consequently, the second and third floors of the keep butted up along the south side of the hall and were a single room a piece. Both rooms were reached by a narrow spiral stair case, one stacked upon the other.
Gray had spent a good deal of time preparing the great hall for their visitors. The grand old dame would once again come alive with guests, as it had in ages past. Though still wary of the mercenary army’s presence, she found herself increasingly excited as she prepared the room. It wasn’t often they had visitors, and she was looking forward to having someone new to talk to. Perhaps there would be news of the happenings through the realm. Isolated as Erith was, information was few and far between.
As far as they knew, Longshanks still ruled, though he had been in poor health for some time. The Scots were creating issues as far south as York, but had thankfully missed Erith, to the west of York although still considered a part of the disputed north. The landscape of their region of Cumbria was thickly wooded and off the beaten path. In spite of their regional location, they were protected by the barrier of the Pennine Mountains from the turmoil that gripped the rest of country.
The buck that Braxton’s men had brought had been roasting over an enormous pit in the kitchen yard for several hours, creating a heavenly smell of roasting venison. Gray had been in the kitchen when two of the knights who had helped rescue Brooke brought in other supplies – dried fruits, jerky, barley meal, and a large sack of flour. And not just any flour; it was finely sifted white flour. Gray had been momentarily speechless, but quickly found her tongue and graciously thanked the knights. Dallas and Geoff bowed graciously and left the kitchen yard just as swiftly as they had entered it.
The cook, a fat woman with a strange habit of howling like an animal, was delighted with the supplies. She hooted for her daughter and immediate began preparing the flour to bake fine white bread for their sup. The woman’s equally bizarre daughter joined her and Gray left the two hooting and barking as she continued her duties.
The sunset was creating ribbons of orange and pink across the sky, signaling the onset of a lovely night. Normally, Gray was so busy with never-ending chores that she scarcely had time to notice such things. But she gazed up at the sky, enjoying the colors, her mind eased that they would actually be enjoying a satisfying meal this night. In spite of her caution regarding the mercenary army, they had thus far provided Erith with much appreciated supplies and her resistance to them was beginning to wane. Perhaps she was being too harsh. Perhaps she should be more thankful and less suspicious.
Deep in thought, she wandered from the kitchen yard and into the main bailey. The keep was to her left, a big stone tower that was too cold in both summer and winter. Passing the stables, she kicked a few scrawny chickens out of her way and nearly tripped over a broken piece of some kind of farming tool. Reaching down to pick it up, she propped the piece of wood on a small fence near the stables.
Continuing on, she rounded the keep and ran headlong into several of de Nerra’s men. She recognized two of the knights but there was another knight standing with them that she had not met yet. They were a young group, perhaps her age or younger, yet they radiated the aura of seasoned men. All three men bowed graciously to her as she passed, but their interest was apparent. She was uncomfortable with the way they stared
at her. Suddenly nervous, she bobbed her head politely and turned for the keep, running headlong into Braxton.
She plowed right into him. He reached out to steady her as she stumbled back. “My apologies, my lady,” he said with genuine remorse. “Did I injure you?”
Gray rubbed her nose where she had bashed it against his chest. “Nay, my lord,” she said, feeling her nerves and anxious to return to the safety of the keep. “I… I was hoping to find you and thank you for the flour and other provisions that your men brought. It was quite unnecessary, but very generous nonetheless.”
Braxton’s blue-green eyes fixed on her. “We carry more rations than we can use. If you do not use them, they will rot, so in a sense you are doing us a favor.”
She smoothed the hair from her forehead in an edgy gesture. “It was a kind deed, my lord. We should have quite a feast in about an hour.”
“We are looking forward to it.”
Though his expression was unreadable, the blue-green eyes were intense. Strangely unsettled, not to mention strangely intrigued, Gray dipped in a curtsey and respectfully moved around him.
It wasn’t that he frightened her, but he certainly had a disquieting effect on her. There was something in his eyes that was warm and alarming at the same time. Not knowing the man, she did not trust his motives. She’d spent her entire adult life protecting her emotions, first from her domineering mother and then from an abusive husband. She knew of no other way but to continue that inclination. No mere knight, no matter how kind, was going to change that.
As she moved towards the rotted steps leading into the keep, Gray could not help but notice that there were several of Braxton’s soldiers taking tools to her steps. She slowed her pace, watching them curiously. Several rotted boards had been pulled off and a two of the men were using a plane on them, shaving off the rotted portion. The others were ripping up the rusted iron nails and replacing them with fresh ones. Curiosity turned to bewilderment. She went to one of the men and peered over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
The soldier looked up at her; he was older, with a sun-kissed face and calloused fingers. “Repairing your stairs, m’lady,” he said. “You have several rotted boards. Sooner or later, someone will fall through and hurt themselves. Sir Braxton does not wish it to be you or your daughter.”
Gray’s mouth fell open in surprise, but she quickly shut it. “So you are fixing my steps?”
“We are repairing what we can for tonight, my lady,” the man replied. “Tomorrow we shall go into the woods to seek out strong new wood in which to rebuild the stair case. This entire flight needs to be replaced before someone breaks their neck.”
Did they think she could pay them for this work? Clearly, the steps were in bad repair, but it was not for lack of notice. It was for lack of funds to fix them. Panicked, Gray turned on her heel and rushed back to the last place she had seen Braxton. Frantically, she her eyes scanned the area, spying his blond head several feet away. He was standing with his knights. One of the men saw her as she approached and he nudged Braxton. He turned to her just as she came upon them.
“My lady,” he greeted her, the warmth still lingering in the blue-green eyes. “How may I be…?”
She cut him off, not intentionally, but it was a rushed gesture. “My lord,” she didn’t seem to quite know what to say; all she knew was that she had to say it quickly so he could stop his men on the stairs. “Your men are… that is, may I speak you in private, my lord?”
The three knights standing with Braxton immediately excused themselves. Braxton crossed his thick arms, allowing his gaze to move over her luscious blond hair, the sweet shape of her face. She had deliciously delicate features. But he quickly focused on her eyes, a magnificent brownish-gold color, and waited patiently for her to speak. She stood there and fidgeted uncomfortably for several long moments before commencing.
“Your men are… are fixing my steps, my lord,” she lowered her voice. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, I am afraid… that is to say, those repairs were something we intended to do when we… well, perhaps before winter sometime we were.…”
She was stammering and her cheeks were flushed. Braxton’s lips curled into a smile. “You are welcome.”
She stopped stammering and stared at him. “What?”
“I said that you are welcome.”
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. “Of course, it is a most generous gesture, but we cannot… what I mean is that I do not have the means to compensate you for this work.”
His smile broadened. “Your generous hospitality this night more than compensates me for the work.”
She gazed up at him with eyes that were mesmerizing. “But you have provided the entire meal, my lord,” her nervousness was lessening, making way for a tone of wonderment. “All we are doing is providing the means by which to cook it.”
“And you are providing your home and your company, of which I am most appreciative.” It occurred to him what had her so rattled; she thought he would expect payment for the repair and he hastened to assure her that was not the case. “My lady, you took pity on a host of weary men. Your generosity outweighs any meager chores we could do for you. In fact, before we leave, I intend that we should do much more to thank you for your graciousness.”
She was astonished. “But… we would have done the same for any weary traveler. There is no need to rebuild Erith in order to thank me.”
He laughed softly, his teeth straight and white. “By the time my men and I are finished, you will not recognize this place.”
“But why?”
“I told you why. Because you are kind and hospitable.”
Gray wasn’t sure what more she could say, but one thing was for certain; he was doing far more than he should. A glance over her shoulder showed that several of Braxton’s men were taking a look at the rotten portcullis on the inner wall, gesturing to the working mechanisms and obviously discussing how to remediate it. She took another look around the bailey and realized that his men were spread out everywhere, surveying the decay and already making attempts to repair it. She turned to Braxton, shaking her head slowly.
“You do too much, my lord.”
His smile faded, the blue-green orbs gaining in intensity. “I am just getting started.”
She gazed into his eyes, wondering why this man should be so kind to her. A great part of her was deeply touched, yet another part of her, the protective part, was still very wary.
“I do not mean to seem ungrateful, my lord,” she said quietly. “ ’Tis simply that guests do not normally work for their hosts to pay for their meal and board. Some people might take it as an insult.”
“Do you?”
She lifted her slender shoulders. “Nay. But I am not sure how I can possibly repay you.”
His smile returned. “As I said, a good meal and good company is payment enough. It is rare in my line of work that we experience pleasantries and such an event is priceless. We are very glad to do what we can for you to repay such graciousness.”
Gray did not know what more to say. She should probably stop him, but she couldn’t seem to muster the will. He seemed thoughtful and sincere; it was hard to refute him. He made it sound as if she was the one doing him the favor. Braxton’s men were distributed in small groups out all over the fortress, working on various things – the stable roof, the portcullis on the inner wall, and there were several up on the outer wall inspecting the crumbling stone. She stood there a moment, drinking in the activity, allowing herself to feel just the slightest bit touched by his actions. It was an odd, warm feeling that she’d never before experienced.
When she looked back at him, her cheeks were flushed with gratitude. She was not accustomed to someone showing her such kindness and, although she should have still been rightfully suspicious, there was something in his manner that put her at ease.
She hoped that she would not regret it.
CHAPTER THREE
&nbs
p; As Gray had planned, the grand hall of Erith was resplendent with light and fresh rushes as it had once been when times were more plentiful. More than the appearance of the hall, it was the mood of it. Standing in the main entrance to the hall and clad in the finest surcoat she owned, a faded yellow silk, Gray stood a moment and absorbed the ghost of the once-great hall; the days when Simon de Montfort and his beloved Eleanor sat at the dais, or when great nobles of the north gathered to feast over a victory greatly won. She could hear their laughter and feel their spirit. It was something she’d not felt in a very long time.
The servants had brought all of the precious fat candles in the keep into the hall so that they would not have to dip into the stores for them. Consequently, the rest of the keep was in blackness. Gray had dressed by firelight from the hearth in the old but clean surcoat that had once belonged to her grandmother. It was sorely out of date but it was the best she had. With her blond hair pulled away from her face and secured with another heirloom comb that had once belonged to the wealthy Grays, she had cleaned up rather well. And old bronze mirror in her room told her so. For a woman who had seen twenty-nine sometimes difficult years, she was as beautiful and youthful as she had ever been.
Brooke was still finishing her dress. It took the girl hours sometimes to dress, a strange occurrence considering they had nowhere to go. It wasn’t as if she was fancying herself for a great gala. But Brooke took great pains to brush her hair just so, or put a precious ribbon on a bodice that had seen better days. There wasn’t a day that passed that Gray wished she could give her daughter all of the pretty things she longed for. Even though there was no use in wishing for what they did not have, still, it did not prevent her from feeling guilt or sadness for her daughter’s plight.
A few of the servants were beginning to bring out the loaves of bread. The rich smell of the baked goods filled the hall and Gray inhaled deeply. As she moved into the room to speak to one of the women about the shortage of wooden cups that would undoubtedly be facing them, Braxton and his men entered the keep. She heard their voices before she saw their faces, and a cluster of powerful men soon came from the entry and spilled into the great hall.