“And how is my father?” Braxton asked, almost wearily.
“Well enough, my lord,” Niclas replied. “As is your brother, Sir Robert, although he has a disease of the joints that has shortened his days as a knight. He is in pain a good deal of the time and can no longer ride his charger because his fingers are so gnarled that he cannot handle the reins.”
Braxton thought on the oldest brother he’d not seen in ten years. “I miss my brother,” he finally muttered. His gaze fixed intently on Niclas. “What are you doing so far away from Black Fell? And why did you not compete in the name of Gilderdale?”
Niclas’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Your father sent me on a mission to Manchester. Once delivering the missive and goods to the earl, my time was my own for a short while. Gilderdale is a land of peace these days and I was taking the long route home. It has been a long time since I have done any traveling. So I passed through Milnthorpe, saw there was a tournament, and added my name. It was safer not to compete as Gilderdale; when I do that, everyone immediately has double the reason to try and unseat me.”
Braxton nodded in understanding, but Gray did not understand at all. She entered the conversation as much as she dared. “I do not understand,” she said timidly. “Who is Gilderdale? Why does that increase your chances of an opponent attempting to unseat you?”
Braxton reached over and took her hand, toying gently with her fingers. “Have you never heard of Gilderdale?”
“Nay. Should I?”
Braxton smiled wryly. “If you are a knight, aye. But since you are not, I will enlighten you. Gilderdale is in Northumberland, near the borders. You could say that we are Northumberland’s war machine. The Earl of Northumberland calls upon my father to quell uprisings, settle disputes, curb unruly Scots. Anything that involves quick, violent action, Gilderdale answers the call. Gilderdale is Northumberland’s avenging angel.”
Gray mulled over that bit of information. She was not surprised that Braxton came from a warring family; it would explain why he had chosen the life he had. He knew of no other way. “I see,” she said. “Gilderdale is great, then?”
“The greatest, Lady de Nerra,” Niclas replied before Braxton could. Even in defeat for the lady’s affections, he was still competing for her attention, unconscious as it may be. “Sir Thomas de Nerra is the fourth earl in a long line of great warring noblemen. Each of his four sons has also chosen the warring way and, as rumor would have it, the power and skill has increased with each successive son.”
Gray’s amber eyes were fixed on the big black knight. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your husband, as the youngest son, is the greatest of the line.”
She looked at Braxton, a glimmer in her eyes. “I would agree with that.”
Braxton smiled modestly. “You must agree, as my wife. But know that my other brothers are quite formidable. I am not sure that Niclas’s assessment is fair.”
“You are too humble, my lord,” Niclas broke into their conversation. “I saw you in the joust yesterday. Your talent is astounding.”
Braxton didn’t reply; he was not about to thank a lesser knight for a compliment, especially in light of the evening’s events. Better the man realize that he was indeed superior so he would not try anything so foolish again.
To their left, Geoff suddenly let out a groan when he shifted on his pallet and inadvertently caused himself some agony. Conversation and fright forgotten, Gray immediately went to the knight, remembering his rough handling during the course of the earlier crisis. She knelt beside him, full of concern, to check the bandages on his neck.
“Geoff,” she murmured. “I am so sorry I forgot about you. How brave you were to try and protect me.”
Geoff was deathly pale; it was evident he was struggling, a miracle he had stayed silent this long. “As any man would have done, my lady,” he said faintly. “But I fear I may have re-injured something. My left arm is numb.”
Gray knew that could not be a good sign. She felt horribly guilty that her first thoughts had not been of him when Niclas had released her, for she had clearly seen Geoff’s valiant attempt to aid her. She checked wound; the stitches had held, but there was some additional bleeding with his movement. Nothing looked terribly out of order. As Braxton, and even Niclas, stood in various positions behind her, she re-secured the bandages and looked up at her husband.
“He cannot be moved for quite some time,” she said firmly. “Tonight’s events may have caused more damage to him. I will not risk him in a wagon, on an open road, even to take him to safety. He must stay still and rest.”
Braxton’s face was grim. “How long?”
“A few days, at least.”
He didn’t hesitate. “As you say. What more do you need in order to help him?”
She sighed, looking back at the ashen young knight. After a moment, she rose to her feet and faced Braxton so that Geoff could not overhear her.
“I fear his condition is beyond my skills,” she said softly. “I would feel more comfortable if a reputable surgeon examined him. He very well may have re-injured himself attempting to defend me.”
Niclas heard her. “I will ride to Grange-over-Sands,” he said, already moving for the door. “It is a large town. Surely there will be a surgeon of reputation to examine him. I will bring him back as soon as I am able.”
Both Braxton and Gray looked at him, varied degrees of surprise in their expressions.
“This is not your trouble,” Braxton told him. “I believe you were going to leave, anyway.”
Gray put her hand on Braxton in preparation for defending Niclas’s actions, but the knight beat her to it.
“This entire folly with d’Uberville is my fault,” he said. “As an honorable man, I would right my wrong. I know that you do not believe me to be the honorable type, my lord, but I would consider it a privilege to prove you wrong.”
Under normal circumstances, Braxton would have rejected the request. But Niclas was trying to make amends and Gray’s hand on his arm told him that he should allow such an attempt. If the man left and never returned, it was of little consequence other than Geoff would have to wait longer to be examined by a surgeon. But if the man did as he said he would, then it was a statement of his word. It would aid in restitution for his earlier behavior. As Braxton was preparing to reply, the tent flap moved and Dallas entered the tent.
The knight was in full battle armor, broadsword in hand and smaller weapons slung and secured about his body. His visor was up, his pale blue eyes scrutinizing the tent and its occupants. At the sight of de Aughton, he was inclined to raise his sword and go on the offensive, but he could see that no one in the tent seemed particularly upset. Puzzled, he nonetheless remained in a defensive posture.
“Is everything well, my lord?” he asked in an authoritative voice that Gray had never heard from him before. “I was told there were sounds of trouble here.”
Braxton’s eyes were on Niclas. “No trouble,” he said. “De Aughton was just leaving.”
Dallas moved away from the tent flap, his armored body between Geoff, Gray and Braxton. He watched de Aughton with the expression of one sighting prey. “Then leave, de Aughton,” he said to the big black knight.
Niclas put up his hands to show he was no threat. “I shall, as soon as my horse and possessions are returned to me,” he said, glancing at Braxton. “I can hardly walk to Grange-on-Sands, my lord.”
Braxton nodded at Dallas, who had focused on him for an affirmation. “Give him back his property,” he said. “He is riding for a surgeon for Geoff.”
Dallas instantly dropped his sword and quit the tent. They could hear him shouting orders outside, rousing the men and having Niclas’s property brought forth. Listening to the shouts outside, Niclas’s gaze lingered on Braxton a moment. It seemed that he wanted to say something more but ultimately held his tongue.
“I shall take my leave, my lord,” he dipped his head. Then his gaze moved to Gray. “My lady, I shall
return as soon as I can.”
With that, the big black knight left the tent. Braxton and Gray stood there a moment as if still trying to absorb the events of the morning. After a small eternity of digesting their shock, they finally turned to each other. Blue-green fixed on amber and Braxton stroked his wife’s cheek. She smiled weakly in return.
“Are you really all right?” he asked softly.
She nodded, winding her arms around him just to draw strength from his embrace. “I am fine, truly,” she sighed as his arms tightened around her. “But it was rather frightening.”
“No doubt,” he murmured. “Will you be all right if I leave you a moment?”
“Of course. I am not a weakling.”
He laughed softly. “God’s Bones, you are most certainly not. I must speak with Dallas a moment.”
Dallas was standing outside, several feet away, with Brooke standing beside him. They were both watching something in the distance. As Braxton marched up on them, he noticed that they were watching Graehm issue de Aughton his possessions and horse. Brooke, her fair young face anxious, fixed on Braxton.
“Is my mother all right?” she demanded. “What happened?”
Braxton held up a hand. “She is well enough.”
“But what happened?”
“Sir Niclas paid us a visit, Lady Aston. Now he is riding for a surgeon for Sir Geoff”
Brooke’s pretty face darkened with confusion, with concern. “But… but a soldier told us he heard suspicious sounds coming from your tent and then Dallas dressed in his armor and ran over there with his sword and… are you sure my mother is all right?”
“Go and see for yourself.”
She did, without hesitation. As she bolted into the distant tent that contained her mother, Braxton turned to Dallas.
“What took you so long to come?” he asked quietly. “Gray was in peril for several moments until I diffused the situation. Where were you?”
Dallas shook his head. “In my tent, with Brooke. We are far enough away that I did not hear anything until a soldier came to me and said he had heard strange sounds coming from your tent. I wasn’t sure the strange sounds he heard were indicative of trouble, if you understand my meaning, so I took my time to investigate. But when I approached your tent and heard a strange voice, I suspected the worst and made haste to retrieve my armor and weapon.”
Braxton nodded, satisfied. “As I would have more than likely followed the same path of logic.”
“Your wife is uninjured?”
“Just frightened. And speaking of wives, have you carried out your obligation yet?”
Dallas wriggled his eyebrows. “I was preparing to broach the subject when I was interrupted by the soldier.”
“Then resume your plans. I will keep her mother away from your tent for the time being.”
Dallas sighed heavily. “Nothing like the screams of a child to incite the mother.”
“Exactly.”
They broke from their stance and walked back to the larger tent. As they were preparing to enter, Norman and Edgar exited, moving quickly out of the way. Braxton grabbed Norman by the arm, forcing the lad to stop so he could take a good look at his face. Dallas peered at the swollen nose over Braxton’s shoulder.
“You took a good hit,” Braxton said to the young man. “Is it broken?”
Norman’s eyes were already becoming dark-ringed as his nose swelled. “Lady de Nerra already looked at it and says she does not believe so.”
Dallas lifted his eyebrows, looking at Braxton. “Young Norman went on the offensive against de Aughton?”
“Indeed.”
“Most impressive.”
Dallas slapped the boy lightly on the head and continued past him, into the tent. Braxton lingered with the boy a moment longer, inspecting his face as if suddenly seeing something more mature in the youth. The lad was sixteen or seventeen years, after all. He was becoming a man. He let go of his arm with a satisfied nod.
“Most impressive indeed,” he said. “Norman, you and I will speak later on your training. Perhaps it is time you moved past the duties of a squire. Perhaps it is time for you to learn to serve as a warrior.”
Norman watched Braxton disappear into the tent. There was a somewhat dazed expression on his face. A few feet away, Edgar was struggling to light a cooking fire, scowling at his brother. He thought he had been rather brave, too, although he hadn’t gotten bloodied for his efforts.
“Maybe next time I’ll get an arm cut off,” Edgar sniffed. “Then Sir Braxton will appreciate my valor, too.”
Norman pursed his lips at his brother; leave it to Edgar to ruin a proud moment. “Don’t be such an idiot,” he said.
Edgar just made a face at him as he continued to try and light the stubborn fire. Norman watched for a minute or so before shoving his brother aside, adjusting the kindling, and lighting the blaze on the first try. Edgar’s spirits sank lower.
“Show off!” he yelled.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Both Gray and Brooke were bent over Geoff when their husbands arrived. Geoff was starting to cough up blood, never a good sign, and Gray was struggling to figure out where the bleeding was coming from. Braxton and Dallas watched with mounting concern as Geoff continued to spit up bright red blood. Braxton finally knelt beside his wife, his gaze fixed on his knight.
“De Aughton should be back before noon, Geoff,” he said quietly. “Lady de Nerra will do all she can until then. You must hold on.”
Geoff was conscious and miserable. He nodded his head, his eyes closed. “I would not want to despoil her efforts, my lord.”
Gray passed a sidelong glance at Braxton, letting him know that she was very concerned for the young knight. Brooke was mostly hovering aimlessly, not knowing what to do but wanting to help her mother just the same. When Geoff coughed up more blood and splattered it on her arm, she nearly had heart failure. Having never been exposed to battle or blood on a serious level, she was unused to the reality of gore.
But she made a brave attempt to wipe it off of Geoff’s mouth, mostly smearing red streaks down his chin. Then she wiped furiously at the blood on her arm, feeling nauseous at the sight. Above her concern for the knight, Gray noticed her daughter’s pale pallor.
“Dallas,” she said softly. “Would you mind taking Brooke to finish packing? Braxton would like to be on the road to Erith before noon and I am sure my daughter has yet to make preparation.”
It was just an excuse to remove Brooke from the tent but Dallas took it. He was deeply concerned for his friend’s health but reckoned there was nothing he could do about it. Moreover, he still had a directive from Braxton that he had yet to fulfill. If ever there was a time to complete his objective and make Brooke his wife in every sense of the word, the time was now while everyone was distracted. He grasped his young wife by the arm and gently escorted her from the tent.
The day was beginning to warm outside. The grass was cool, the trees green, and nary a cloud in the sky now that the morning mist had burned away. Dallas silently led Brooke over to their tent, holding back the flap as she went inside. He followed her and secured the ties that held closed the flap.
Reluctantly, he eyed her as she went straight for the pile of clothes on the ground that she had created when she had to dig through her satchel for something on the bottom. She began to wad up her meager possessions and shove them back inside. He moved up behind her.
“We shall make a shopping trip into town in the next few days to acquire more material for you,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him. “What for?”
“For clothing. I would like my wife to be well dressed.”
She looked down at what she was wearing; it was a surcoat made from a wool tartan fabric that Braxton had brought them. She had three new surcoats; she’d never had three new of anything in her entire life.
“But I already have this,” she told Dallas. “Do I need more clothing?”
The corners of his mouth twit
ched with a smile as he crouched beside her. “Wouldn’t you like some?”
She was gazing at him quite openly, her innocence obvious. “I do not know. I already have some new dresses that my mother made me. I am not sure I need more. She told me I was being selfish and petty, after all. If I have more new clothing, she will think I badgered you into it.”
He did laugh, then. “She will know the truth when I tell her I insisted.” His smile faded as he gazed into her big blue eyes. “As I said, I should like my lovely wife to be well dressed. It is a direct reflection on my ability to provide for you as a husband.”
She flushed around the ears at his compliment. Then she shrugged weakly. “If you think it is the right thing to do.”
“I do.”
She didn’t have anything more to say to that. Cheeks still warm, she returned to her packing as Dallas stood up and began removing pieces of armor. She could hear him setting the pieces down carefully. But she was focused on shoving the last of her possessions into her satchel and he startled her when he suddenly sat heavily on the bedroll next to her.
“Brooke?”
She looked at him, her fingers pausing as she tied up her bag. “Aye?”
For the first time since she had known him, Dallas looked uncomfortable. He sighed heavily, reaching out to take one of the hands that were lingering on the bag. He stared at her hand a moment and Brooke’s heart thumped loudly against her ribs at the warmth of his touch. Since last night, the sight or sound of him made her heart do strange things. His touch only increased the effect.
“I have debated how to deal with this situation and I have considered keeping it from you and simply doing as I see best,” he began. “But I feel strongly that if this marriage is to have any chance of surviving, we must be honest with one another. Do you agree?”
Brooke gazed at him. “I… I suppose so.”
“Good,” he said, wondering if he should, indeed, be open with her. She was so very young. “You are aware that you and I were married for a reason, correct?”