Braxton was the first face she recognized. His blue-green eyes focused on her immediately and, as a good hostess, she went to greet him and his men. Dipping in a graceful curtsy, she smiled timidly.
“Welcome, my lords,” she said to Braxton, to the group. “You may take a seat anywhere. The meal will be served shortly.”
The men thanked her silently. Gray’s gaze moved across the line of men; tall, blond and handsome Sir Dallas, shorter and stocker Sir Graehm, and very tall and sinewy Sir Geoffrey. Slightly behind the knights stood two brown-haired boys, perhaps a year or two older than Brooke. Their eyes were roving about the room, wide-eyed and curious of their surroundings.
The knights excused themselves and the young squires with them, drifting towards the long table and selecting their best spots. Braxton, however, continued to stand in front of Gray. She felt somewhat self-conscious, feeling his heady gaze upon her.
“Where do you sit, my lady?” he asked.
She gestured towards the worn table. “Usually at the end. There is oft much to do and I must be able to move from the table freely.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Then he extended his arm, indicating for her to take his elbow. “Tonight you shall sit and enjoy the meal,” he said as she hesitantly took his arm. “And I shall sit with you.”
His softly uttered words caused her cheeks to flame brilliantly. She had no idea why. He was without his mail and plate armor this night, dressed in a soft linen tunic and leather breeches as he led her over to the table and helped her sit before taking a seat beside her. She stole a glance at him as he poured her a measure of wine into a wooden cup and then took a helping for himself. His face was washed and it looked to her as if he had shaved, for his skin was smooth. It was curious that he had taken time to clean for this meal. As if it meant something.
He lifted the cup in her direction, distracting her from her thoughts. “To our lovely hostess,” he said loud enough for his men to hear. “To you, my lady, our thanks for your kindness in offering us food and shelter.”
The other three knights around the table took up their cups and drank heartily. The wine was cheap, bitter, but none of them flinched as they sucked it down. In fact, two of them poured themselves more. One of them was Braxton. Gray was suddenly embarrassed at the cheap quality of the wine, but it was all they had to offer.
A few more soldiers filtered into the hall, seasoned-looking men that took up seat in various places around the room. Gray was unused to having soldiers in her keep and she was somewhat nervous watching them mill about. They were wearing weapons. Deep down, she wondered if they weren’t going to rob her or seize the castle from under her, but when she gazed back at Braxton, she couldn’t honestly believe that. He had been extraordinarily kind to her. But, then again, perhaps that had been his scheme. He was a mercenary, after all. Perhaps he was going to lull her into a false sense of security before snatching the fortress for his own. They were, after all, easy prey.
Her natural suspicion began to grow. More soldiers wandered into the hall and her anxiety took flight. Mayhap she had been stupid about this entire situation, letting her confusion destroy her common sense. Setting her cup down, she excused herself from the table and fled the room.
Braxton sat there a moment, staring at the empty doorway from where Gray had just disappeared. He’d barely said a few words to her and she was running from him. The moment he had met her at the falls of Erith, in spite of the fact that he had saved her daughter, she had been mistrustful of his company. He had reviewed their conversation a few times; he doubted it was something he had said. And since his arrival at Erith, he’d gone out of his way to show her kindness and generosity. In truth, he had no idea what it was about him that frightened her so.
He took a long drink of the unpleasant wine, listening to Dallas and Graehm debate the quality of Hereford leather against Douglas leather. It was a foolish conversation, but Dallas and Graehm seemed to have many foolish conversations. They debated each other on the smallest things to see who had the most knowledge about a particular subject. Geoff usually stayed out of it, content to laugh at the two for their arrogance. Squires Edgar and older brother Norman sat against the wall behind the arguing knights, shoving bread into their mouths.
Braxton usually enjoyed these ridiculous exchanges, but not tonight. Tonight he was in no mood for his men’s entertainment. He had been looking forward to Lady Gray’s company and was, in truth, disappointed. The servants began to bring out heaping plates of venison, filling the room with its heady smell. He sat back, drank, and watched his men dig into the fare. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement by the door.
Hoping it was the lady returned, he was disappointed to see young Brooke entering the hall in the company of an older woman. Braxton noted the girl, washed and dressed in her worn clothing, but found more curiosity with the older woman. She was fine featured, frail, and he could see the resemblance between Lady Gray and this woman. When the two ladies approached, he stood up politely.
Brooke smiled broadly at him. “My lord,” she dipped in a practiced curtsy. “Please meet my grandmother, the Lady Constance Gray de Montfort.”
De Montfort. It was the first time Braxton had heard that name within these walls. It confirmed his suspicion that the de Montforts did indeed retain the holding once awarded to their ancestor Simon. Now it belonged to a derelict branch of the family. He bowed his head in greeting.
“My lady,” he addressed her. “I am Braxton de Nerra. These are my men.…”
The older woman cut him off before he could introduce her to what she undoubtedly, by her expression, considered rabble.
“De Nerra,” she repeated. “Correct me if I am wrong, Sir Knight, but are you of the Anjou de Nerra’s?”
Brooke piped up before Braxton could reply. “Anjou? In France?”
Constance nodded coolly, her gaze never leaving Braxton’s face. Her entire manner reeked of breeding, of arrogance. “The House of de Nerra is the hereditary family to the Earldom of Anjou.”
Brooke’s face lit up, looking at Braxton through new eyes. “An earldom?”
Braxton’s eyes were steady on the older woman. He never did look at Brooke. “My family is another branch. We do not hold the Earldom of Anjou.”
“I see,” Constance’s amber eyes appraised him. “So you have no connection with Anjou at all?” Before he could answer, she waved her hand as if to wash away the probing tone of her words. “You will forgive me, Sir Knight, but I was raised in a fine house. I am quite familiar with peerage and it is always a pleasure to meet an equal.”
Braxton had known the woman all of thirty seconds and already he didn’t particularly care for her. “The current earl is my father’s second cousin,” he replied. “I have never met him, nor have any of my three older brothers.”
It was an implication to the old woman not to expect what he thought she might be driving at. An Anjou de Nerra would be a wealthy catch for her granddaughter if, in fact, she was seriously trying to marry the girl off. He could just see by her manner that she was ambitious, vain and haughty. No, he didn’t like her in the least.
“You have three older brothers?” Brooke was back in the conversation, oblivious to the odd tension between her grandmother and the knight. “Are they all knights, too?”
Braxton looked at the girl. “Aye, my lady, they are.”
Her eyes glistened. “Where? Do they serve great Houses or do they wander around like you do?”
He broke into a grin; she certainly didn’t mince words. “My eldest brother remains at my father’s house, as he will inherit his rights upon the passing of my father. My other two brothers my father as well, as the sons of Baron Gilderdale.”
A servant brought a trencher for both Constance and Brooke. Brooke delved into the venison as if she was starving, while Constance merely picked at it. Braxton was much more interested in watching Brooke, who wasn’t particularly mannered. She gobbled and wiped her hands on her surcoat, and some
where during the conversation had spied Edgar and Norman. Now her attention was torn between Braxton and boys her own age. While Brooke had a sweet innocence about her that was refreshing, the old woman had the countenance of a hawk sighting prey.
“Do you see your father much, my lord?” Brooke asked with a full mouth.
Braxton accepted his own trencher from a nearby servant. “Not too often.”
“What of your wife, Sir Knight?” Constance came at him from his other side. “Surely you must see her now and again.”
Like a good warrior, the old woman went straight for the jugular. Braxton turned his attention to her as one would attend to an adversary. “I am not married, my lady,” he said evenly. “I will never marry.”
“Why not?”
“Because I cannot provide my wife with a steady home. I move with my army, constantly. I have no intention of settling in one place.”
A light twinkled in Constance’s eye. She’s enjoying this, he thought.
“But surely given the proper circumstance, you would consider it.” It was more a statement than a question.
Braxton merely lifted his shoulders. He would not let the old woman get the better of him, no matter what she was driving at.
“It would have to be a tremendously wealthy offer with much to my advantage.” He made it clear that Erith did not qualify, nor did a fifteen-year-old bride. “Moreover, I intend to travel to the Continent next year. I have a few contracts that require fulfilling. A wife and a House of my own do not suit my purpose at this time.”
Brooke was listening intently to him, chewing loudly. Braxton thought she might have put the grandmother up to this interrogation, but he could see from her expression that she was completely oblivious to what was going on. But Constance was more than aware; she was shrewd. Though Braxton had effectively cut her down, she considered the match over, but not the war. She sipped at her wine, making a face as the liquid slid down her throat.
“Horrid,” she hissed. “I do apologize for the quality of the wine, Sir Knight. It is not up to our usual standards.”
Braxton didn’t say anything. He suspected this wine was the usual standard. He looked at Brooke. “Where is your mother? She was here a moment ago but left the hall.”
Brooke shrugged, licking her fingers. “I do not know.”
“Perhaps you should find her and have her join us.”
The young girl dug back into her meal. “She does not usually eat the evening meal.”
“Why not?”
“Because there usually is not enough…”
Brooke ended her sentence with a yelp as Constance dug fingernails into the girls’ leg. The older woman smiled thinly. “She chooses to supervise the household so that the rest of us may enjoy our meal.”
Braxton wasn’t an idiot. He thought he knew what Brooke had been prevented from saying and he was equally sure that Constance was either in denial of how bad things were at Erith or simply wanted to cover up the truth. He couldn’t tell which. However, neither woman seemed concerned at Gray’s absence. It was perfectly normal to them. Irritation bloomed in his chest and he stood up.
“Then I shall find her and bade her join us,” his voice was low. “As she is the hostess, it is only right she enjoy this bountiful feast.”
Constance and Brooke watched him march from the room, curiosity on their faces, but Braxton didn’t look at either of them. He was more intent on finding Gray and discovering why she had left so abruptly. He had no idea why her flight should bother him so, but it did.
It was cloyingly dark in the entry hall that led from the keep. To his left was a small room, a solar of some kind he assumed. He peered inside; it was empty but for a chair and a table. He couldn’t see much else in the dark. Exiting the keep, he took the repaired stairs down to the bailey, his gaze scanning the yard. It was still for the most part, the ghostly moon creating weak light over the landscape.
Wandering toward the three small fires that his men had started near the southern wall, his eyes continued to scrutinize the area. It didn’t take him long to determine that the lady was not out in the yard, so he turned once again for the keep. As he did so, movement on a portion of the wall that was not crumbling caught his attention; a flash of a figure had disappeared into the shadows. Knowing that Erith had no sentries, he switched from feast guest to trained warrior. Until he knew who it was, he would take no chances. He hadn’t stayed alive this long by being foolish.
There was an open flight of stairs that led up to a functional part of the wall walk where he had seen the figure. The problem was that he would be exposed the entire time he mounted the steps. He was without his armor, a disadvantage, but his warrior instincts were in action and he mounted the steps anyway, staying close against the wall and keeping himself a low profile target.
At the top of the steps where the landing joined the wall walk, there was an intact tower. Braxton had noted the tower earlier in the day, thinking it strange that it had two floors but no connecting stairs. There was a hole in the second floor, however, indicative that a ladder had once joined the two levels. Silently, with great stealth, he made his way to the tower. He was almost at the doorway when a sword suddenly came flying out at him.
It was a clumsy strike and he easily sidestepped it. In the same motion, he reached out and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held it. He was a split second away from snapping the bones when he heard a decidedly female yelp. Giving a good pull, he heaved his adversary out into the moonlight.
The heavy broadsword clattered to the stone as he found himself gazing at Gray. In the eerie silver light, she had the look of a cornered deer, full of mistrust and panic. His defensive posture immediately turned to curiosity.
“Lady Gray?” his brow furrowed as if he couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. “What on earth are you doing?”
She opened her mouth to speak but was only able to discharge something that sounded like a whimper. Braxton still had hold of her wrist and she was frightened. But not so frightened that she could not summon her courage.
“I am defending myself,” she hissed.
“From whom?”
“You.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Me? Why would you feel the need to defend yourself? What have I done?”
She was trying to pull away from him but he would not let her go. “You will not insult my intelligence,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “Your men have weapons in my hall, in my bailey. I know what you are planning. I am not as stupid as you would think. You intend to take Erith from me and I will not allow it.”
It all came out as a jumble of words. Braxton cocked his head at her. “Take Erith?” he repeated. But he could see by her expression that she was serious and it suddenly explained a good deal about her manners towards him. “Nay, my lady, you are seriously mistaken. My men bear arms because they are soldiers. They would as soon bear daggers as they would wear boots, as both are second nature to them. I assure you that we have no intention of betraying those who would be kind to us.”
Gray was still trying to pull her arm free, but his grip was like iron. She began to shake with fear. “Let me go.”
He shook his head. “So you can run away again? Nay, my lady, we will clarify this here and now. If that is what you have been thinking since the moment we met, then you are sorely misguided. Though I am a mercenary and not a reputable knight, I am nonetheless an honorable man. I do not command a band of pirates that would steal your fortress.”
His voice was soft, soothing. Gray’s quivering grew worse and her knees suddenly buckled. Braxton caught her before she could fall, lowering her gently to the stones of the wall walk. He kept a good grip on her, partially to support her, partially because he really did not want her to run away again.
“But… but you have brought weapons into my home,” she was struggling to keep her train of thought as a strange buzzing filled her ears. “Your men have swarmed my fortress…”
“Making repairs to repay
you for your hospitality.” He cut her off without force; it was evident that she had never believed him about that. “I swear it upon my oath as a knight, my lady. I have no intention of seizing your fortress.”
“I do not believe you. It is not the truth.”
He just stared at her. Then he sighed heavily. “You are correct,” he muttered. “It is not the truth. Do you really want to know why we are here?”
She gazed up at him, the pale moonlight emphasizing her ashen pallor. “Tell me.”
He met her gaze, his blue-green eyes luminescent in the gray light. “Because earlier today I saw the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said quietly. “I came to Erith because I wanted to bask in her presence. I came because of you, my lady, and for no other reason than that. I wanted more than just a fleeting glimpse of you.”
Gray stared at him. The swimming in her head was easing, but now her heart was coming to thump strangely.
“Me?”
“You.”
She was momentarily stumped. Could it be another untruth? Was he simply trying to divert her from the reality? Looking into his handsome face, she couldn’t imagine that he was insincere. But the internal struggle was tremendous.
“How do I know this is not a lie?” she hated sounding so fearful. “How do I know that you are not plotting to gain my fortress even as we speak?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I gave you my vow as a knight, my lady. I suppose only time will tell if I was honest or not. When my men and I leave your fortress tomorrow in far better repair than we found it, then perhaps you will trust me, just a little.”
She was gradually aware that his grip on her hand had eased and his fingers caressed her flesh gently. The touch was sending jolts of excitement up her arm. “I… I do not know,” she spluttered.