“He is the man who murdered my husband.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“He was a gracious guest,” Constance told her daughter. “ ’Tis a fine man who would be so generous to a host. Our stairs are repaired, a new portcullis hung, and the man left food enough for weeks. ’Twas a marvelous bit of luck for us when you crossed his path at the falls of Erith.”
Though it was only mid-afternoon, the day had been long already. Gray was positive she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. After sitting with Braxton by the fire for hours, she had finally retired in the wee hours of the morn and only then because she was absolutely exhausted. Had she not known any better, she would have suspected that Braxton did not want her to leave at all. Every time she tried to leave, he’d start on another subject and they would become caught up in conversation. They ended up draining two pitchers of wine before the evening was out. But it was the most pleasant evening she could ever remember.
“He was very generous to us,” she agreed with her mother’s statement. “He seemed like a kind enough man.”
“Kind?” Constance snorted. “He was wildly benevolent. No doubt the man respected our station and showed appropriate homage.”
Gray didn’t reply immediately. She went back to the mending in her lap, an apron of Brooke’s that the girl had torn.
“He was simply being pleasant,” she said after a moment. “In truth, I do not know if his men even slept with all of the building going on. They were in the forest before dawn selecting trees for the new portcullis, and those rotted stairs were fully rebuilt before mid-morn. They worked like fiends and still had a long march to Kendal when they were finished.”
Braxton’s army had been gone about an hour. Gray allowed herself to go back to that moment when he bid her farewell, a strange gleam of warmth in his blue-green eyes as he thanked her profusely for her hospitality. It was she, in fact, who should have thrown herself at his feet for what he had done for her and for Erith. He had left the place in far better standing than when he had found it. Frankly, it still puzzled her, no matter how much he had explained his reasoning to her.
“I do hope they visit us again,” Constance pulled her familiar tattered shawl about her shoulders. “Perhaps the next time they come, they will gift us with something more useful, like fabric or notions. Would that not be lovely?”
Gray looked up at her mother, a scowl on her face. “What he did for us is quite enough,” she said sternly. “I’ll not expect another thing from him.”
“Do not take that tone with me.”
“Someone needs to. Your selfishness is overwhelming.”
Constance’s thin face tightened. “One of us should be selfish since all you can manage to do is be supplicant and acquiescent of our situation. Someone has to look out for us because you do not have the courage to do so.”
Gray stood up. “I do the best I can to keep our family together, which is more than I can say for you. All you do is complain.”
“I complain about your lack of courage.”
Something very nasty teetered on Gray’s lips, but she refrained. Fighting with her mother would not solve their problems. Fact was that Constance believed everything she was saying. Gray would take her mending elsewhere, away from her mother’s attitude. Any more time spent with the woman might see them come to blows.
Brooke passed her mother just as Gray was leaving the solar. The young girl paused, watching her mother mount the steps for the upper floors.
“What is wrong with Mother?” she asked.
Constance went over to her granddaughter. “Nothing, my love,” she put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulled her into the room. “So? Did you speak to him as I told you to?”
Distracted from her mother, Brooke nodded. “Aye.”
“And your mother did not see you speak to him?”
“Nay. I spoke to him before Mother came to say her farewells.”
“And what did he say?”
“That he would return as soon as he could.”
“And did you tell him that we very much appreciated his continued generosity?”
“I did. I told him we’d not had new garments in some time and we would appreciate any fabric or clothing he could see fit to gift us the next time he came.”
Constance kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. “That is my good girl,” she murmured. “He must know that we are very interested in his continued presence here at Erith and if we plan correctly, we should have an offer for your hand very soon.” She suddenly paused, looking seriously at Brooke. “You made it clear that you were the object of interest, didn’t you?”
Brooke nodded. “I did.”
Constance’s features took on a shrewd cast. “The knight seems to be very interested in your mother, so we must be clear that you are the one we intend for him.”
A shadow of a doubt crossed Brooke’s fine features. “But…but if he is fond of mother, perhaps she should marry him.”
“Rubbish,” Constance snapped softly. “Your mother is not an eligible young maiden.”
“But if he likes her…”
“I will hear no more of that. ’Tis you we will match with him.”
Though Brooke tried to understand her grandmother, truth was, the woman could be very overbearing at times. Rebelling against her mother was one thing; rebelling against her grandmother was another. Brooke believed her grandmother had her best interests at heart. She believed that Constance wanted her to be rich and happy and well taken care of. It would have never crossed her young mind that it was anything other than pure devotional family love, not some sick, twisted vision of reclaiming something for herself.
“But he does not have a House, grandmother,” Brooke said after a moment. “And he is not from a fine family. Did you not say that I must marry someone from a fine family?”
“He is a de Nerra of Anjou, child. Their family is older than the crown of England. And when he marries you, he can make Erith his house and repair the fortress so that there is no finer castle in all of England.”
“But he is an old man.”
Constance laughed softly. “He is not terribly old. But young or old, he is very wealthy. Just look at all he has done for Erith in the short time he was here. You want a wealthy husband, do you not?”
Brooke agreed, simply because her grandmother had drilled that objective into her head for the past two years.
“But… grandmother,” Brooke said as she sauntered into the room, picking at the only chair. She seemed distracted. “What… what do you think mother would say to all of this? I know you said it was a secret, but she will know some time. She will find out. And then what?”
Constance’s smile faded. “She must accept it. Your duty is to marry well, Brooke. Your mother knows that. You are of marriageable age and the time to find a husband for you is now.”
Brooke faced her grandmother. “Do you think I shall have any more suitors other than Sir Braxton?”
Constance shrugged. “It is possible. I have sent word to a few. But if you do not, we must take advantage of our opportunities.”
“You mean the arrival of Sir Braxton?”
“Precisely.”
Brooke continued to stare out of the lancet window. She was able to observe the newly hung portcullis on the inner wall. Constance watched her granddaughter’s profile, a thousand calculating thoughts running through her mind. She was positive that she knew what was best for the girl, fighting off the knowledge that Gray would undoubtedly become irate when she found out what her mother was doing. It was a miracle she’d not found out yet, considering the planning that Constance had been doing. But no matter. Gray obviously did not have her daughter’s best interests at heart.
“Do not worry, darling,” she went to her granddaughter, stroking the silky blond hair. “You shall have a wealthy husband, I promise. But the next time Sir Braxton comes to Erith, we must ensure our position with him. We must make sure that he does the honorable thing.”
>
Brooke looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Constance played with the girl’s hair. “There are… ways.”
“What ways?”
Constance leaned in close, her lips almost against the girl’s ear. “Listen and learn, darling. Your grandmother knows best.”
*
Creekmere Castle was a small fortress built in the shape of a triangle. It was partially buried against a heavily forested hill and nicely arranged, as Braxton noticed as his army approached. Baron Wenvoe carried around one hundred fifty men, not a sizable force. In fact, Creekmere seemed like a miniature version of a normal sized castle. Everything about it was small, including its lord.
Neil Wenvoe met Braxton in the bailey of his small, red-stoned fortress. He was short and round, with small eyes and a smelly aura. Braxton left Dallas settling the men and went inside the small keep to conduct business.
He was on edge as he followed the baron into the dark, fragrant structure. He had been on edge ever since leaving Erith, feeling more apprehension with every step of his destrier. It was unusual that he felt such apprehension; he had been a mercenary for twenty-one years and in that time, had learned to keep his apprehension at bay. He knew his anxiety was not because of the job itself. He did not fear battle. His trepidation lay in the unknown details that would soon be made clear to him. Something told him to expect the worst, and for good reason; Cumbria was relatively sparsely populated. How many troublesome neighbors could Wenvoe have? With an unsettled debt with Garber Serroux, a neighbor less than a day’s ride to the south, there was good reason to be suspicious.
The keep was three stories, with one room per floor. The baron took Braxton into the great hall, well furnished with fresh rushes, fat tapers, and even a tapestry hung high on the wall. Fine wine, cheese and brown bread were brought out to refresh them. The baron took a seat on the long scrubbed table, motioning for Braxton to sit opposite him.
“I take it your travels were uneventful,” Wenvoe said.
“We had no trouble, my lord,” Braxton replied.
“Good. Then we may get to business.”
So much for the pleasantries, though in Braxton’s business, he was used to the lack of social graces. Men did not hire him for his oratory skills.
“Your initial missive stated that you had need for my military services, my lord,” Braxton said. “You mentioned trouble with a neighbor. I would hear the entire story and what, exactly, you want of me.”
Wenvoe nodded. “Trouble indeed,” he snorted. “I will tell you my situation and exactly what I need from you. You shall be well paid for your efforts.”
“I always am, my lord.”
Wenvoe lifted a bushy gray eyebrow at the comment but continued along his line of thought. “I have many friends and allies in Cumbria and elsewhere. Not too long ago, my ally, Edward de Romille of Skipton Castle, sent a missive to me that was of particular concern.”
“And what is that?”
“ ’Twould seem that someone is trying to cheat me out of what is rightfully mine.”
“If you would be plain, my lord.”
Wenvoe’s round face flushed. “Years ago, a former ally borrowed a great deal of money from me. When he could not pay it back, he promised me the hand of his daughter when she became of age in repayment for this debt. Now I am to discover that the family is soliciting marriage offers for this same daughter when the girl, and the fortress, rightfully belong to me. And I would now take what is mine.”
Braxton suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He simply could not believe what he was hearing, though in truth, he was not surprised. The coincidence was nauseating and he knew, before names were even spoken, who the family was. It was all to close, too coincidental. It was like a bad dream.
“And this family, my lord?” he asked steadily.
“Serroux,” Wenvoe’s expression took on a furious cast. “They are in possession of Erith Castle, to the south about a half day’s ride. Garber Serroux was a close ally until he took my money and failed to pay it back. When I discovered his deceit, he promised me his daughter’s hand when she came of age, the fortress and his hereditary title of Baron Kentmere in repayment. The fool got himself killed before we could strike the written contract, but of no matter; it was a verbal contact and binding. My majordomo is my witness with that.”
Braxton took a long, steadying breath. “How did de Romille come to know that the family was soliciting marriage offers?”
“Because they were sent a missive from Erith. De Romille has two marriageable sons.”
“Yet he knew of Serroux’s contract with you. How?”
“De Romille is married to my cousin. We have oft spoke of the time when Erith would belong to me. It would strike an unbreakable line of allies between Kendal and Skipton. So when he received the solicitation of marriage, naturally, he knew that I would want to know.”
It was a struggle for Braxton not to react. “What do you want me to do?”
Wenvoe’s eyebrows rose. “Lay siege to Erith, of course. I am told that they have no army and no defenses, so it should not be a difficult task for you to take the castle.”
Braxton stared at him. He fought off the urge to laugh at the irony of the situation. “You have over one hundred men here. Why do you not lay siege yourself? Why send for me?”
“I will send some of my men with you, but your vicious tactics are well known. I heard tale from Carlisle that you led a charge against Grassgarth Castle last year that had your men infiltrating a nearly impenetrable fortress within a few hours after the siege began. You lay siege towers on their sides, bridged the moat, burnt the portcullis and entered. Lord Carlisle said it was the most brilliant strike he had ever seen, hence my reason for contacting you. I would pay handsomely for that brilliance, de Nerra.”
Though Braxton had not signed anything, by his sheer presence he was implying that he would take on the task. That is how his sort usually worked. He wasn’t sure how he could back out of this. Moreover, Wenvoe had a claim that would hold up. If Serroux had indeed given him a verbal promise, with a witness no less, his claim was quite legitimate. He had every right to seize Erith, and Brooke Serroux, in payment for the debt.
Braxton’s mind began to work quickly.
“My lord,” he began. “I passed Erith on my way here. It is a broken down castle and nothing more. Certainly not worth all of the expense you are going to pay me to claim it.”
“Perhaps not. But the land is worth something. What will be your fee for such a task?”
Braxton regarded him a moment. “How much did Serroux owe you?”
“Why is that of concern?”
“Curiosity, my lord.”
Wenvoe shrugged. “He had borrowed twenty thousand gold marks, a handsome some.”
“That is a good deal of money.”
“Indeed. So you can understand why I would claim my right to Erith.”
“I will give you thirty thousand gold marks if you will relinquish your right.”
Wenvoe’s puny eyes widened. He abruptly straightened, the bench beneath him groaning under his weight. “What’s this you say?”
“You heard me. Thirty thousand gold marks and you sell me your rights to Erith.”
The baron was clearly astonished. He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly. He gave Braxton a most queer expression.
“What is your interest in Erith, de Nerra? You are a soldier of fortune. You are paid to fight other men’s wars. And now you would give me money to forget about mine?”
“My reasons are my own. I will pay back Serroux’s debt and then some. Enough so that you should be satisfied.”
Wenvoe’s wide eyes suddenly narrowed. “But you make no sense. What is Erith to you?”
“Absolutely nothing. But as I said, I passed it on my way to Creekmere. It is a place unworthy of my talents. A child could raze the place. No amount of money could coerce me to shame myself by kicking over a castle made of s
and and call it a victory. My skills are worth far more than that.”
“Your talents are for sale and if I pay the right price, you will do as I wish.”
“Sell me your rights or I’ll raze Creekmere.”
What had been a fairly pleasant atmosphere of professional bargaining suddenly turned ugly. The mood that swirled between them was dark, moody and ominous. The baron looked at Braxton as if the man had lost his mind.
“You come into my home and threaten me?” he hissed.
“Not a threat, my lord. Consider it a promise of things to come. I will buy Serroux’s debt for thirty thousand gold marks, assume your rights to the Serroux heiress, and hear no more about it from you. Are we clear?”
The baron was red in the face. His mouth worked into a thin, angry line. “What about an alliance? You will be my neighbor. Can I expect hostility from you as my neighbor?”
“If you are worried about allegiance, consider me a loyal neighbor.” He leaned forward on the table, his blue-green eyes as hard as stone. “And I assure you, baron, that you would much rather have me as a friendly neighbor than a bitter enemy.”
“You are giving me little choice.”
“I am giving you none at all.”
Wenvoe weighed his options. This day had not gone as planned, but with the acquisition of thirty thousand marks of gold, it had not been entirely unpleasant. He held his furious gaze a moment longer, just to know how displeased he was with de Nerra’s threats.
“Pay me my money before daybreak and be gone with you.”
“Put your agreement in writing and you shall have your money by within the hour.”
Exactly an hour and half later, Braxton and his men were back on the road to Erith. But not before they made a slight detour to Kendal.
*
“Mama!”
In the kitchen yard, Gray heard her daughter calling her. But she was busy churning butter, as the elderly cook had injured her back, and had not the time to stop what she was doing to respond to her child. She called out instead.
“Here, Brooke. In the kitchen!”
Clad in brown broadcloth and the mended apron, Brooke raced around the side of the keep and straight into the kitchen yard. Her blond hair was everywhere, her cheeks flushed with excitement.