Chapter Eight #2
She looked so dubious that he grinned, kissing her lips once, then twice.
She tasted so good that he held her face in his hands and kissed her so deeply that his head swam.
She was so warm and soft and delicious and with every kiss, he seemed to crave her more and more.
She ignited a tingle in his hands and a flame in his heart that only seemed to grow with every touch, every look.
He’d never known anything like it. He could only pray she felt the same but he was far too fearful to ask, fearful of the answer.
He almost laughed at himself at the thought that he would actually experience fear.
Since the moment he met her, he’d never wanted anything more in his life.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “you never have given me an answer to my question.”
She was still attempting to catch her breath from his ardent kiss. “What question is that?”
“I asked you if I may have your permission to court you. You never have answered me.”
A gradual smile spread across her lips. “Isn’t that what you have been doing?”
“Aye; but only because I have boldly moved forward in the hope that you would not stop me.”
She shook her head slowly. “I will not stop you.”
His blue-green eyes glimmered. “Is that an affirmative answer?”
“It is.”
He smiled broadly, taking her hand and leading her towards the tent flap. “Then come along, lady,” he took her hand, leading towards the tent flap. “Your Intended promises to give you an exciting gift as celebration of your gracious consent.”
Gray’s smile faded. She doubted it would be exciting. Terrifying was more like it.
*
“Unfortunately, you have arrived at an inopportune time,” Constance told the two men standing before her. “My daughter, and Lady Brooke, have gone into Milnthorpe. They shan’t return until this evening.”
It was a warm day and the dust from the rebuilding of Erith swirled about the bailey.
Constance was fearful it would damage the new wine-colored surcoat she wore and she certainly did not want to make a bad impression on the visitors.
She had been both surprised and pleased by their arrival not a half hour before.
With Gray and Brooke gone, there had been no one to greet the guests.
Constance naturally took the duty, not only because she was the only family member left, but because the visitors most recently arrived at Erith were of such substantial significance that she dare not leave this task to anyone other than herself.
She was frankly surprised they had heeded the invitation.
Sir Roger de Clare, cousin to Gilbert of Clare, sixth Earl of Gloucester, stood in the center of Erith’s bailey with an expression of dubious curiosity.
The depth of the man’s significance and relationship to Erith could not be escaped; as the cousin of the man who betrayed Simon de Montfort at Evesham, Roger was an old man who had married late in life.
He was propertied but not titled as his cousin had been; he was a glorified, and very wealthy, baron whose seat was Elswick Castle near Blackpool.
He had three sons, the eldest of which was almost sixteen years of age.
It was this son who had interest in Brooke Serroux and the legacy that was Erith Castle.
Being that the lad’s cousin had once been Simon de Montfort’s best friend and then greatest enemy, the implication of a betrothal to Simon’s great-granddaughter could not be overlooked.
Constance knew this. She, more than anyone, understood the importance of lineage and marital ties.
When she had sent the original marriage solicitation to Roger, she had not expected an answer.
There was too much bitter blood between the de Montforts and the de Clares.
But Roger’s appearance told her that perhaps it was not so bitter as she had thought.
She was tremendously glad that her daughter and the mercenary were away this day.
Now, she would be free to do as she must for the survival of the family.
To the Devil with this mercenary that was trying to usurp everything she had worked for.
“I know you, Lady Constance,” Roger said, his voice quiet and deep. “You and I were acquainted as children, though you were older than I. We would play together at Thirlwall Castle. Do you not recall this?”
Constance nodded. “I do, my lord. It has been many years since we last met.”
“Too many,” Roger looked her over. Next to him stood a tall, red-haired youth with very bad skin. Roger glanced at his gangly son. “My lady, meet my son, William. He has come today to meet the Lady Brooke.”
Constance eyed the young man, awkward and unattractive at sixteen. She nodded to him graciously. “I assure you that Brooke will be most pleasing. Will you not come inside and enjoy some refreshment?”
She led the pair up the newly repaired steps. Roger’s keen gaze roved the fortress. “What happened to this place?” he asked. “I can remember when it was a powerful fortress. It looks as if it has seen a great deal of damage.”
Constance was afraid he would pick up on the extent of the rebuilding going on; it was truthfully difficult to miss it.
But she was thankful that the fortress appeared far better than it had mere days ago.
“Erith has seen better days,” she agreed “But, if you will notice, we are rebuilding most of the walls with better stone. Some of the materials used to originally build the fortress were not holding up to the test of time. We thought it best to rebuild what was not holding fast. Moreover, we want the young man who inherits this place to have a fine, solid fortress. Would you not agree?”
It sounded like a good explanation, even to her. Roger bought it. “I do,” he said as they entered the dark keep. “What of your granddaughter’s dowry? Your invitation failed to mention coinage and property.”
Constance had to think quickly. She knew this question would come, though she had not expected it so soon.
“All in good time, my lord,” was the best she could come up with at the moment.
“Let us sit and discuss the days of our childhood first. I am eager to learn of your wife; I had heard you had married Anne of Hereford. Is your lady wife well these days?”
“She is dead.” Roger evidently did not wish to discuss her. “As I had heard tale that your only girl child was quite a beauty. Is her daughter also?”
An idea suddenly occurred to Constance. A seedling, growing by the second, took root in her fertile and vicious mind. Her amber eyes glittered at the baron as they took a seat opposite one another at the long table in the hall.
“Both women are quite beautiful, I assure you,” she tried to appear casual. “Your wife is dead, did you say? Have you considered remarrying?”
Roger had. Constance was delighted to hear that.
*
The de Nerra knights discovered that there were indeed a couple of noteworthy knights at the small Milnthorpe tournament.
When they drew matches, Geoff had drawn Sir Niclas de Aughton, a powerful knight from Northumbria, while Graehm drew Sir Rickard Burton of Somerhill.
Burton was a big man with a mean temperament and was known for his violent competitiveness.
De Aughton was only slightly less violent, but had the reputation of being extraordinarily cunning and enormously strong.
Truth be told, Braxton was mildly disappointed that he hadn’t drawn either man in the first round.
As good as his knights were, he suspected that if he won his first round, he might be facing one or both opposing knights eventually. It was just a hunch he had.
Braxton had the first match in the new rounds after the afternoon break.
He had drawn a knight from Navarre, one Sir Fulk, who looked as if he had eaten far too many pastries in his time.
The man was so round that he was barely able to mount his equally fat charger.
Braxton took one run against the man, hit him squarely in the chest, and knocked him right off his horse.
In less than a few seconds he had won his match and a new roan charger, and the crowd in the lists went mad for his victory.
Gray’s relief was palpable. If every match was as easy as this one, perhaps it would not be such a bad day after all.
Once Braxton had unseated the knight, he made a sweeping turn along the lists and thundered past the cheering throng, listening to them scream madly for him.
Even Brooke was screaming at the top of her lungs as he cantered in front of their group astride his big black charger.
Gray could only sit there and smile, watching him casually acknowledge the crowd as if it meant absolutely nothing at all.
When he reached the gate that led from the field, however, he flipped up his visor and his gaze sought out Gray. He lifted a big-gloved hand to her.
She waved back, her heart swelling with a feeling she’d never before known.
It made her limbs weak and a strange quivering filled her.
She couldn’t stop smiling. She watched as Norman led Braxton off the field, still astride his beast, and then there was another knight to take his place at the post start.
Sir Geoff, astride his big bay stallion, looked every inch as imposing as Braxton had.
The field marshals officiating the event took their places as both competitors signaled their readiness. The crowd hushed to an expectant buzz. As she watched Geoff make a thundering run against the big black knight from Northumbria, she felt Brooke poke her in the arm.
“Mama?” she poked her again. “May Edgar and I have some custard?”