Gray nodded. “Braxton and I were married last month,” she said. “I am now Lady de Nerra and my daughter, Brooke, is now Lady Aston. She married one of Braxton’s knights.”
Shocked, Wenvoe looked between Gray and her lovely daughter. His jowls quivered as he attempted to straighten out his line of thought.
“I see,” was all he could manage to say. “You said you are seeking refuge? What has happened to Erith?”
Gray’s pleasant expression faded. “Erith is under threat of attack from Gloucester at the moment,” she said evenly. “My husband wishes for Brooke and I to be away from the compromised fortress until the matter is settled. I hope you will be able to accommodate us.”
“Accommodate you?” he scratched his head, looking back at his tiny keep before nodding. “Of course I will show you hospitality. An attack, did you say?”
“Aye.”
“But… but Erith is already a crumbling wreck. Surely Gloucester and all of its might will have no problem breaching the castle.”
Gray smiled thinly. “You have not seen Erith recently,” she replied. “The fortress has been rebuilt. She is back to her former glory, make no mistake. She will hold.”
“Is that so?” Wenvoe was genuinely surprised. “Erith has been derelict for years.”
Gray thought of Braxton and his massive rebuilding project, trying not to let the depression of their separation swamp her. “My husband has virtually rebuilt the castle,” she said. “It is truly remarkable. Hopefully you will have the opportunity to see what he has accomplished when this difficulty with Gloucester is over.”
Wenvoe couldn’t decide how he felt about that. Once, the fortress had been promised to him. Then de Nerra came along and basically threatened him into selling his rights. Now de Nerra had it and had stirred up problems with, of all people, the mighty force of Gloucester. Wenvoe didn’t understand any of it, but he was coming to think some evil thoughts about the situation. It was simply his nature.
Lazy and slovenly, Wenvoe was no fool. Money and greed were his livelihood. As he looked at the two women, he could suddenly see how he would be able to capitalize on the situation. Damn de Nerra for forcing him to sell his rights to the young Serroux girl and the castle along with her; Wenvoe wanted it back. He couldn’t do anything about the girl, but perhaps he could do something about the fortress. And with that, his mind began to work.
As he called his servants to collect Lady de Nerra’s belongings, he began to think very wicked and calculating thoughts. He was a gambler, after all; with his very precious guests, he began to see monetary possibilities in all of this. Gloucester was mad enough at de Nerra to attack Erith; de Nerra was trusting enough to send his wife and daughter to Wenvoe, who had had claimed as an ally those weeks ago when he had purchased Wenvoe’s rights to Erith.
Wenvoe wondered how much Gloucester would pay him for Lady de Nerra and her daughter. It would make them extremely valuable hostages and de Nerra, for whatever he had done to Gloucester, would be at their mercy. But best of all, Wenvoe would make an ally of Gloucester, giving de Nerra pause should he consider vengeance for the betrayal. The man would be foolish to tangle with Gloucester, and Wenvoe. Retribution was a sweet and awful thing.
As Wenvoe watched the women mount the stairs into the keep, he grabbed one of his trusted male servants and whispered words of treachery into the man’s ear. The servant, stupid and strong, slithered off to accomplish his lord’s bidding with the promise of a great reward when all was said and done.
As Gray and Brooke settled in to the tiny keep at Creekmere, they had no idea that the man who had humiliated Garber Serroux was about to do the same thing to them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nine days later
The night was cold, clear and crisp. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the brilliant white moon bathed the landscape in an eerie silver glow. Upon the rebuilt battlements of Erith, Dallas and Norman made their rounds, checking on the sentries, looking out for any activity to the east where Gloucester’s army had once been encamped.
Oddly enough, they hadn’t seen any sign of the army for a couple of days. Scouts had been sent out but they had returned with the news that Gloucester’s army was nowhere to be seen. Braxton had assumed they had moved simply to throw them off their guard but the past two days of searching failed to show up any Gloucester encampment in the immediate area. Braxton was coming to think they had simply gone home, but Thomas and Robert were convinced that it was a ruse. Based on their opinion, Erith remained on high alert until the oddity could be sorted out.
The night around them was still; too still. Not a dog or night hawk filled the sky. Dallas couldn’t decide how he felt about it, if it was simply peaceful or a prelude to something ominous. He remained away from the parapet, out of the range of any archers that might be lingering in the trees, going about his rounds but thinking on his wife. She filled his every moment, awake or asleep. He never knew it was possible to miss anyone as much as he missed her, but he did. He missed her so badly that it hurt.
While Dallas was in physical pain from his longing, Braxton was worse. Although he didn’t show it, his pining for his wife had manifested itself into a dull ache that throbbed more painfully with each passing day. He would sleep a few hours when he had the chance, clutching her pillow and smelling her upon it. It was both comforting and painful, awaking in the morning only to realize she was not by his side.
He knew she had arrived at Creekmere safely because a soldier had returned the same day they had departed for the castle to tell him that Lady de Nerra was safely inside the fortress. That should have brought it comfort but it only made him miss her more. He took to carrying around a fragment from one of her old surcoats, one she had worn the day he had met her, because it was the one thing that kept his sanity intact. Without the faded scrap of yellow linen, he would surely wither away and die.
Braxton joined Dallas this evening upon the battlements in the stark moonlight, his blue-green gaze moving over the muted countryside. Dallas heard him approach, turning to see Braxton’s weak smile. Dallas returned the gesture as the two settled in next to one another, their trained eyes on the moonlit land beyond.
“I thought Geoff had the night watch,” Braxton said casually.
Dallas grunted. “He does,” he replied. “He and de Aughton are supervising the walls.”
Braxton grunted. “Geoff does not seem troubled to be serving with the man who nearly killed him.”
“Geoff is a better man than I am,” Dallas sniffed. “I am not sure I would be so forgiving.”
Braxton smirked to that statement. “Aye, you would. You underestimate yourself,” he said, turning to look at him. “So why are you here if Geoff and Niclas have everything in hand?”
“I could not sleep.”
“Do you miss her that much?”
Dallas looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
Dallas pursed his lips and shook his head, turning away. Beside him, Braxton snorted softly.
“I miss her so badly that I can hardly breathe,” Dallas finally said. “Whose foolish idea was it to send the women away?”
Braxton continued laughing, softly. “It was yours. I hold you personally responsible for my misery.”
Dallas rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”
Braxton’s laughter faded and he folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Nonetheless, it was the right thing to do,” he said quietly. “But it is my sense that if we still do not find any sign of Gloucester’s army by tomorrow, we will ride to Creekmere and retrieve the women. If Gloucester is gone, there is no reason for us not to return to some semblance of normalcy.”
Dallas looked at him. “Do you truly believe they are gone?”
Braxton inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. “There is no sign of them,” he said. “But if they are truly gone, I would like to know why. What chased them off?”
Dallas shrugged. “Perhaps it w
as the reinforcements from your father,” he said. “Perhaps it was because they attacked us for days on end and were unable to make headway. Perhaps they were discouraged.”
Braxton shook his head. “I would not believe that, not from Gloucester,” he said firmly. “It must have been something else, something….”
He suddenly trailed off, his gaze finding something of interest in the land beyond the walls. Moving swiftly to the parapet, he studied movement in the trees about one hundred yards from Erith’s eastern wall. There was a small river that ran in that direction and he could see movement in the trees. As he and Dallas struggled to make sense of what it was, a lone body suddenly burst through the brush and began stumbling towards the castle.
“What in the hell is that?” Dallas wanted to know.
Braxton watched the figure stagger and struggle, falling on the grass and then picking itself up again. He shook his head, feeling an odd sense of concern. As the seconds ticked away and more soldiers joined them on the wall, watching, Norman was suddenly beside them, having come from the south wall to see what all of the fuss was about. Dallas pointed at the approaching figure.
“Can you make that out?” he asked the young man.
Norman squinted, trying to make out the detail in the silver glare of the moon. Ever since that day in Milnthorpe when he had protected Lady Gray from de Aughton, Braxton had elevated Norman from his squire duties to those of a knight. He wasn’t sworn yet but that would come. At the moment, he was learning the intricacies of such a position and taking to it admirably. Braxton knew he would have a fine knight on his hands when all was said and done.
“It looks like someone beaten half to death,” Norman strained to catch a better glimpse as the figure staggered to its feet once more and limped towards the castle. “In fact, it looks like….”
His eyes widened and he trailed off. Suddenly, he was bolting for the ladder that led down to the bailey, taking it so fast that he practically fell the last six feet to the ward below. Braxton and Dallas bolted after him, calling his name, wondering what had the young man so startled. Norman was screaming for them to open the outer portcullis, waiting until it was lifted by only a few feet before dashing underneath it and tearing out into the landscape beyond.
Dallas was fast and on his heels, racing after him at top speed as they tore in the direction of the staggering figure. Dallas stopped yelling at Norman as they drew close, for he could finally see what Norman saw.
It was Edgar.
The lad saw them coming and finally fell face first into the grass, as if his strength had finally left him now that he had been spotted. Normal fell to his knees beside his brother, rolling the young man over onto his back and being greeted by a terrible sight; Edgar had been horribly beaten. His right eye was swollen shut, his nose broken, and he had welts and bloody cuts over every inch of skin that was exposed. He was a mess.
“Edgar!” Norman breathed. “What has happened?”
Edgar was miserable but he was struggling to stay strong. He reached up and grabbed his brother’s hand. “They… they took them,” he gasped.
Dallas felt so much horror that he nearly vomited from the stress of it. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his calm. “Who?” he almost barked. “Who did they take? Edgar, what happened?”
By this time, Braxton had joined them, bending over Edgar to get a good look at the lad. He hissed when he saw all of the damage.
“Edgar,” he said quietly, urgently. “What happened to you?”
Edgar looked up at Braxton with his one good eye, the only father he had ever known. His eyes began to well with tears.
“I am sorry,” he whispered through his swollen lips. “I tried to stop them but I could not.”
Braxton knelt down beside the distressed lad, putting his big hand on his dark head. “Stop who?”
Edgar swallowed, feeling like such a failure. He had been put in charge, after all. It was all his fault.
“Gloucester’s men,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “They came for Lady Gray and Lady Brooke. They took them away.”
Dallas bolted to his feet unsteadily, hands over his mouth as if to hold back the shout of horror. Braxton had more control over himself, but only slightly. His heart was beating so hard that he was sure it was going to slam right out of his chest.
“How do you know they were Gloucester?” he asked, his voice quaking. “Where is Baron Wenvoe? What happened to him?”
Edgar opened his eye and look at him. “Baron Wenvoe let them in,” he said. “I recognized the Gloucester tunics of yellow and blue. He let them take the women. I heard the baron say they could have anything for the right price.”
A look of complete horror crossed Braxton’s face. “He said that?”
“Aye, my lord. But Lady Gray and Lady Brooke did not go without a fight. It was an awful battle.”
Braxton’s chest seized up as he thought of his wife doing battle against faceless, ruthless knights. “And you?”
“I tried to protect them, my lord. So did the other soldiers you sent to escort them. But Gloucester’s men were too many; they overwhelmed us.”
“Where are my soldiers?”
“I was the only one that survived.”
Braxton gazed at the young man for a few painfully lingering moments before hanging his head in total, utter desolation. He could hardly believe what he was hearing but suddenly, it all made a great deal of sense. Gloucester’s army pulled out because they didn’t need to be there any longer; all of the sieges in all of the world wouldn’t accomplish against de Nerra what the captivity of two small women could. Wenvoe, the man he had bullied into surrendering Erith and Brooke for a price, had betrayed him.
He stood up, uneasily, struggling not to explode in all directions at the news. It was the most difficult struggle of his life, made worse when he looked at Dallas to see the man glaring daggers at him.
“You sent them there,” Dallas snarled. “You said Wenvoe was an ally. He sold them; he sold them to Gloucester!”
Braxton had never heard that tone from Dallas, ever. His jaw flexed dangerously as he faced off against his furious son-in-law.
“It was not my fault that Wenvoe turned them over to Gloucester,” he replied steadily. “But it will be the baron’s last mistake. He will rue the day he was born, I assure you.”
That seemed to calm Dallas somewhat and he took a few deep breaths, struggling to calm himself further. He ran his big hands through his long blond hair, nervously, as if suddenly realizing how he had verbally attacked Braxton. He looked at the man.
“I am sorry,” he muttered, deeply contrite and upset. “I should not have… I did not mean to accuse you. I let Brooke go also. It was my decision as much as yours.”
Braxton went to the man, putting his hands on his shoulders in a fortifying, comforting gesture, before turning back to Edgar. Norman had his brother propped up now, inspecting the bruises on his face.
“How long ago did this happen, Edgar?” Braxton asked, trying to be somewhat gentle with the battered lad.
Edgar gazed up at him. “Four or five days ago, I think,” he shook his head. “I do not know, exactly. They beat me and threw me into a room. I do not know how long I was there.”
“But you escaped,” Braxton continued. “Did someone help you?”
Edgar shook his head. “I just left. I walked out in the middle of the night. Creekmere Castle isn’t watched very well.”
Braxton’s jaw ticked as he thought on that. He looked at Dallas.
“If they realize that Edgar is gone, then I have a feeling they will heavily fortify it, knowing he returned to me to tell me what had happened.” His calculating mind began to plan the next step, keeping a rein on his sanity which would have undoubtedly left him had he allowed himself to think on Gray’s fate. “Go back and find my father and brothers. Meet me in the great hall. We have a battle to plan.”
Dallas hesitated. “Edgar said yellow and blue tunics,” he said. “
That is Roger de Clare’s colors.”
“I know.”
“Then he must have taken them back to Elswick Castle.”
“That is my sense as well,” his gaze turned deadly. “They have called forth the Devil and now, he shall appear. I shall appear.”
Dallas had heard that tone before. He knew that, indeed, Hell was on the approach.
Hell hath no fury like a husband betrayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Creekmere Castle never stood a chance.
Braxton’s army, mingled with the Gilderdale force, razed Creekmere in less than two days. Braxton brought his mangonels, the same war engines he had built for his battle against Gloucester, and destroyed Creekmere with barrages of flaming-tar projectiles that burned the outbuildings and killed most of Wenvoe’s men. After burning the wood and iron portcullis into ashes and twisted remains, Braxton entered the bailey and ordered his men to kill everything that moved.
The rich keep was looted of all of its finery; furs, tapestries, plate and gold pieces were all confiscated by Braxton and his men. He took back every pence of the thirty thousand gold marks he had paid for Brooke and Erith and then some. The true heart of the mercenary came to pass and Braxton was ruthless in his conquest. Those who did not flee were put to the blade; those who resisted were also put to the blade. Wenvoe himself was dragged from a closet by Dallas, who gutted the man from his throat to his groin and took great pleasure in it. In the heat of his fury, his sense of vengeance knew no limits. Every stroke had Brooke’s name on it.
As de Aughton and the soldiers from Gilderdale began systematically destroying the walls with projectiles from the mangonels, Braxton, his brothers and father were brutal in their conquest of the keep. When the entire thing was stripped bare, a fire of dead bodies was lit on the bottom floor and the heavy, greasy smoke of human corpses began billowing in great black tides from the windows. Wenvoe himself was cut into several different pieces and put into a wagon with his head stuck on a pike jutting from the front of the wagon. Braxton ordered four of his men to take the wagon to Elswick and leave it at their doorstep as a promise of things to come if Lady de Nerra and Lady Aston were not immediately released. It was Braxton’s calling card.