Chapter Three #2
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 serve 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 somewhere 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.”