He leaned down and kissed her, tasting the salty tears on her lips. His tongue gently pushed into her mouth, delicately tasting her, acquainting her with the true essence of a delicious kiss. The hand on her head moved to her cheek, her neck, holding her fast as his mouth left her lips and moved across her face. With every suckle, every touch, his want for her was growing. He could not believe how close he had come to losing her.
Gray unwound her arms from around his midsection, raking her fingers through his graying blond hair. His lips were on her throat, savoring the sweet taste of her. But he eventually returned to her mouth, kissing her so deeply that she went limp in his arms. When he finally pulled away and looked at her, it took Gray a moment to come around. Her amber eyes opened slowly.
“You needn’t worry,” he said huskily. “I will do what must be done. She belongs to me, after all. I have the right to send every one of those hounds away.”
Gray smiled faintly. “But not too harshly. We may actually want one of them to return in a few years.”
He grinned, kissing her again with lingering sweetness. “Go now,” he had to get away from her or risk a complete loss of self-control. “Change into one of your new garments. I will entertain your guests until you are ready to speak to them.”
“As you say. And, Braxton?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you.”
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently from the stables.
CHAPTER SIX
She was hiding. Or, at least, she thought she was. Whenever Brooke was upset or wanted to be alone, she hid in the storeroom on the bottom floor of the keep. She had a nice little corner tucked away where no one would find her. Until today. Two pairs of eyes were gazing back at her from behind the new barrels of salted pork.
She didn’t recognize the eyes, both pairs soft blue and similarly shaped. Startled, and a little miffed at being watched, she stood up and put her hands on her hips. Sir Braxton’s squires popped up from the other side of the barrels.
“What are you doing?” Brooke demanded. “Spying on me?”
The older boy spoke in his newly-deep man voice. “Nay, my lady,” he assured her quickly. “We were bringing in sacks of pears. We heard a noise and thought it was a mouse.”
She scowled. “I do not sound like a mouse.”
The boys looked at each other. They had no answer to that. Brooke’s angry stance began to fade; living a somewhat isolated life at Erith, she had never had much opportunity to be around children her own age. Now, here were two in her midst and her curiosity overcame her indignation. She’d noticed the boys before, of course, but never this close. And they had never spoken to her.
“What is your name?” she asked the older boy.
“Norman, my lady,” he replied. “This is my brother, Edgar.”
“You travel with Sir Braxton, do you not?” she asked.
Norman nodded. “We squire for him, my lady.”
“How old are you, Norman?”
“I have seen seventeen summers, my lady. I think.”
“What do you mean ‘you think’?”
He shrugged. “Sir Braxton found me and my brother orphaned on the streets of Oxford. He could only guess that I was five years and Edgar here was three. I suppose I do not know how old I really am.”
Brooke forgot all about her rage. She was very curious about the boys. “You were orphans? What happened to your parents?”
Norman shrugged. “I do not know. My earliest recollection is living in a doorway holding my baby brother. Sir Braxton took us in.”
“He has been your father?”
“I suppose,” Norman replied. “He has taken care of us since we were very young.”
Brooke inspected them both closely; they were both brunette, with pale blue eyes, and handsome. At least, she thought so. Except the younger one; he looked rather scrappy. She focused intently on Edgar.
“Does he talk?” she asked.
Edgar’s response was to stick his tongue out at her. Then he snarled, making horrible faces at her. Brooke frowned.
“You are a nasty little boy.”
Edgar mocked her frown. “I am not a little boy. I am as old as you are, you skinny, ugly girl.”
Brooke’s mouth popped open with outrage. She went to poke him but he stuck his tongue out at her again and fled. Brooke tore after him in hot pursuit, leaving Norman to follow their trail.
Edgar raced into the kitchen yard, taunting her and dodging when she took a whack at him and missed. He raced on into the stable yard, ignoring his brother’s calls to cease. Brooke ran after him, shouting threats. Edgar, much faster and wilier, ran a circle around her as she tried to smack him again. Laughing wickedly, he ran on into the main portion of the bailey where the party of Haistethorpe had just arrived.
Brooke was completely ignorant of the strangers in the ward. In fact, there had been so many strange people about lately that she didn’t give it a second thought. But Edgar realized too late that Sir Braxton was standing near the keep, right in his line of sight, and he came to an abrupt halt. Brooke immediately closed the gap and pounced on him.
Edgar howled as Brooke punched him mercilessly. Norman raced up behind the pair, trying to remove the young lady but not being too successful at it. She was intent on pummeling his brother to death. Edgar rolled over, toppling Brooke onto the ground, which only made her more furious. She punched and kicked him until he screamed.
Braxton hadn’t even said a word to Lord Haistethope before this spectacle erupted. Now he found himself breaking up a fight. Norman saw him approaching and desperately tried to pull Edgar away from Brooke. But Edgar was now angry more than he was afraid of Braxton and took hold of Brooke’s hair, pulling sharply. Brooke screamed and took a swing at him, socking him in the jaw. Edgar tumbled off of her, hit the ground, and she jumped on him again.
By the time Braxton reached the brawl, Brooke was on top once again. He shoved Norman out of the way, grabbed Brooke under the arms, and pulled her off of Edgar. But she was a fighter; she continued to kick at him until Braxton growled at her.
“Cease this instant, Lady Brooke,” he snapped quietly. “This is behavior most unbecoming a young lady. You shame your mother and the House of Serroux with this wild display.”
She yanked herself out of Braxton’s grip, turning to him with a scowl much like her mother had when displeased. Braxton had seen the expression before.
“He started it,” she said. “He called me ugly and stuck his tongue out at me.”
Braxton cast Edgar, now picking himself up off the ground, a long look. “Edgar,” he admonished quietly. “I have taught you better than that. Apologize to this young lady.”
Only because Braxton told him to did Edgar even consider it. But it was a struggle. “I… I apologize,” he mumbled.
“I cannot hear you,” Braxton said.
“I apologize,” the boy said, louder. He looked between Braxton and the girl. “May I go now, my lord?”
Braxton lifted an eyebrow at him. “You and your brother will go to Sir Dallas, tell him what has happened, and ask for punishment. I will say no more.”
With that, Braxton turned away, a tight grip on Brooke’s shoulder as he went. Brooke’s last look at Edgar showed him making another face at her.
She was going to get even with him.
*
“How dare you believe a stranger over your own mother,” Constance hissed. “You have made me ashamed of you.”
Gray stood in her mother’s chamber in the midst of a tense confrontation. Constance, as usual, denied everything. She was a master of exploitation and deflecting blame. But not this time; Gray would make sure her mother understood just how serious this situation was. And she would tolerate no more of it.
“As you make me ashamed of you,” she replied steadily. “My own mother lied to me, manipulated me, and has gone behind my back to involve herself in affairs that clearly do not concern her. Whatever made you think you
could assume responsibility for Brooke’s betrothal when you knew very well that Wenvoe held her contract?”
“Psh,” Constance was fuming. “I will not stand for your questions.”
“You will not only stand for my questions, you will answer them. Mother, I demand it or I swear I will banish you from Erith and this family forever.”
Constance glared at her. “You will not threaten me.”
“It is not a threat, I assure you. You have not only undermined my authority as Brooke’s mother, but you took it upon yourself to violate a pact that Garber made. But most of all, you lied about it. You wanted me to think that Braxton had done all of this.”
“He still continues to convince you that he is innocent.”
“He is.” Gray shouted at her mother, and she wasn’t the shouting type. But she was sick of her mother’s denials. “The House of Haistethorpe is in the bailey. They told Braxton’s knights that they were her on your invitation, Mother. Not Braxton’s, but yours. How can you explain that?”
Constance would not back down. She knew that Haistethorpe’s confirmation would blow holes in her denial. So she did the only thing she could do; she tried to turn it around on her daughter.
“What if I did invite them?” she asked haughtily. “What if they are here at my request? You have failed in your duty to provide a wealthy husband for your daughter. Did you think Wenvoe would truly make his claim to her? He’s an old man, Gray. He’ll be dead in a year or two and the contract will be void. You must think of Brooke, and clearly, you are not. What I did, I did for my granddaughter’s sake. She is the last hope this family has of regaining its wealth and honor. You are failing.”
Gray just stared at her mother. She would have loved to have called it nonsense, but she knew that Constance believed every word. Some of the fight went out of Gray at that moment. She was so very tired of her mother’s interference, her deceptions. It had to end.
“Then you did send out solicitations for her hand.”
“What if I did? I had to do something, as you clearly were not.”
Gray remained silent for a moment, contemplating her mother’s position. She thought long and hard and deep about the women who birthed her, knowing her character, struggling to see some good in her mother. She simply could not. The older the woman became, the worse she became. She began to realize there were choices before her; choices for her, and for Brooke.
“Then I will do my duty now, as Brooke’s mother,” she said quietly. She looked at Constance. “You have always been vain, petty and deceitful. But your traits have only affected me. Now they are affecting Brooke. I do not want my daughter to grow up thinking that it is acceptable to lie and manipulate. She is growing into a young woman now and I know that you have been filling her head with questionable ideas. I will not let you do it, Mother. I will not let you ruin my daughter. I must protect her.”
Constance wasn’t following her line of thinking, but she knew it wasn’t flattering. “If you consider imparting the ideas of wealth and status into her head, then I would gladly ruin her. Somehow, I could not ruin you. You did not do as I would have taught you.”
Gray smiled thinly. “Nay, I did as father taught. He was a kind, forgiving man and you drove him to his grave with your evil ways. Shame on you.”
Constance marched up on Gray and slapped her across the cheek. Stung, Gray reacted by slapping her back. Constance toppled backwards, almost falling to her knees. Gray would never forget the look on her face.
“You ungrateful, insolent bitch,” Constance half-wept, half-hissed. “How dare you strike your own mother. May God curse you for your actions.”
Gray was at the end of her patience. “And may God curse you for staining this family with your warped ideas and twisted sense of morals. I’ll not have you poison my daughter as you tried to poison me. I will not tolerate any more of your interference, Mother. Do you understand me?”
Constance struggled to reclaim her dignity, turning her back on her daughter. “Get out.”
“Gladly,” Gray said. “But before I go, I will say this. You will stay to your chamber. You will not try to seek my daughter, or me, or anyone else at Erith. I will not see you out of this room, for if I do, I will ask Sir Braxton to send you back to Thirlwall Castle. You were born there. You can die there, too, for all I care.”
With a lingering glance at her mother’s stiff back, she turned and quit the room. When she reached her chamber on the floor below, she shut the door softly and wept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lord Alan Haistethorpe was a tolerant man with a son who was not so tolerant. One look at Brooke Serroux and the Elliott Haistethorpe begged his father to leave for home immediately. But Alan had come this far to examine the prospective bride and would not turn away so easily. Erith Castle was a well-known de Montfort stronghold that Alan remembered from his youth and the idealized memory of it still lingered for him. He did not want his son to pass so easily on a legend.
What he could not figure out yet was where Braxton de Nerra fit in to all of this. He had heard of the mercenary; most people in the north had, for de Nerra had done a lot of fighting for the border barons. He wondered why Erith required the man’s services, which put him on his guard.
Braxton was cordial without being overly friendly. He took Alan and Elliott into the great hall and offered them wine out of his own supplies. It was a fine Madera, rich and red and tart. Beyond that, he went so far to explain that the lady of Erith would be joining them shortly, but little else. He was not much of a conversationalist. Alan and Elliott ended up feeling quite unnerved by his presence, made worse by the three knights that wandered in shortly after their arrival. Braxton’s men were young, strong and intimidating. They stood in various positions around the room as if waiting for a fight to start.
They had caught a glimpse of Brooke after the scuffle in the yard. She was a pretty little thing. Braxton had sent her to change her clothes and when she reappeared, it was with an older woman with exquisite features. Though the daughter was quite lovely, Lady Gray Serroux was magnificent. Alan, and Elliott’s, attention shifted from daughter to mother in a hurry.
Braxton saw their expressions almost as soon as the mood changed. But he was distracted from his thoughts of murdering the pair by Gray’s appearance; she was clad in one of her new surcoats, an exquisite emerald garment with delicate lines that emphasized her slender torso and full breasts. In fact, she looked amazing. For a moment, Braxton was actually speechless. He’d never seen anything so lovely, and he’d never seen her in anything other than rags. But he quickly found his tongue as she came upon them. He stood up and held out a hand to her, gently guiding her to a seat.
“My lords, may I present the Lady Gray Serroux, Lady Brooke’s mother,” he said. “Lady Gray, this is Lord Alan Haistethorpe and his son, Elliott.”
Gray smiled at the pair, taking her seat. The men followed suit. “Welcome to Erith, my lords,” she greeted. “We are honored by your visit.”
“As you honor us with your invitation,” Alan said, looking somewhat confused. “Is the Lady Constance indisposed?”
“My mother is unwell this day and unable to greet you,” Gray’s tone hardened. “With your permission, Sir Braxton has graciously agreed to mediate the negotiations.”
Alan and Elliott looked straight at Braxton, who met their gaze emotionlessly. “We were unaware that Sir Braxton had been engaged for his negotiating skills,” Alan said. “We thought… well, it is well known that he is a soldier of fortune.”
“I am a man of many talents,” Braxton said steadily. “Contract negotiation happens to be one of my strengths, as I have brokered many a successful contract for myself. Surely you have no quarrel bartering a betrothal with me.”
Alan and Elliott looked at each other. It was clear that neither man knew quite how to react. Alan finally asked the question they were both thinking. “Do you receive a percentage of the dowry for your fee, my lord?”
Braxto
n’s eyes were steely. He let loose a great secret, simply because he wanted to ward off any future complications. And he could see, by the way Elliott had looked at Gray, that there could very well be some.
“I am Lady Gray’s betrothed and, as such, will retain wardship of her daughter upon our marriage,” he said steadily. “Negotiating with me is as good as negotiating with the girl’s father. Now, shall we get down to business?”
Terms were unable to be reached. One too many glances at Gray Serroux from Elliott Haistethorpe caused Alan to excuse himself with his son while the man still had his head. Within the hour, Alan and Elliott were making haste back to Windermere with harrowing tales of the mercenary Braxton de Nerra and his murderous negotiating skills.
*
Gray had only been to Milnthorpe once in her life. It was a larger berg with an entire long avenue dedicated to merchants. There was also a big stone cathedral and a tournament field at the edge of town by the river that flowed down through the Lyth Valley and dumped into Morecambe Bay.
The party from Erith had left the fortress at dawn. Gray and Brooke were astride two warmblood mares that belonged to Braxton, gentle animals he used to breed with the war horses to produce a sturdy, long-legged offspring which he then sold to the nobility that appreciated fine crossbreds. The morning was soft and bright, and the jaunt along the wide road was at a leisurely pace. For the first time since she could remember, Gray actually felt at ease and without care. She’d never experienced such a feeling, or at least if she had, she could not remember when last. A glance at Brooke showed the young girl to be equally relaxed. Happy for almost the first time in her young life. It was already starting off a good day.
But the morning had not been without its momentary drama. Before the party left for Milnthorpe, Brooke had apologized to Braxton for lying. The evening prior, Gray and Brooke had had a serious discussion about the rights and wrongs of life. Lying was wrong, even if one was fearful or attempting not to discredit an elder. Gray had also told her daughter that she was to stay away from Constance. Through Brooke had not completely understood why, she nonetheless agreed. Gray secretly wondered how long that would last; Brooke and her grandmother were close. She suspected it would be a bit of a battle.