Chapter Eight #3
Gray turned to the two faces sitting next to her; lovely Brooke and handsome Edgar.
Edgar’s ankle was up on the bench in front of them to keep it elevated.
Gray was about to reply in the affirmative when she realized that she had no money on her.
Braxton had paid for everything. Somewhat embarrassed as to what to say to the children, she was about to give them the generic ‘later’ answer when she caught sight of a man in armor at the base of the lists.
Her amber eyes immediately focused in on Braxton as he made his way towards them from the dusty staging grounds with Norman trailing after him.
His forehead was creased where the helm had rested upon his head and his face was tinged red from having been contained in the sweaty confines of the three-point helmet, but his expression was pleasant. He smiled at Gray when their eyes met, even at a distance.
“Look,” Gray distracted Brooke and Edgar by pointing. “Here comes Sir Braxton. Perhaps he would like some custard, too?”
Brooke shot to her feet and began waving madly. “Sir Braxton!” she shouted. “Here we are!”
He lifted his hand in response. As he reached the lists, he stood next to the platform, his eyes only for Gray.
“I thought I’d better come and feed this famished crowd,” he said. “Watching a tournament can give one a ravenous appetite.”
Gray lifted an eyebrow. “How did you guess?”
He winked at her. “I was a child once myself, believe it or not.” He waved a big hand at Brooke. “Come along, young woman. Let us go and find you some custard.”
Brooke almost tripped in her haste to leave her seat. “What about Mother? Can she come, too?”
Braxton held out a hand to steady Brooke as she fumbled for the stairs, but his eyes returned to Gray. “I was rather hoping she would.”
Gray smiled, a faint pink flush to her cheeks. “I would love to come, but we simply cannot leave Edgar here alone.”
The lad looked surprised at the mention of his name. “I can wait by myself, my lady,” he stammered.
While Gray looked doubtful, Braxton spoke. “Edgar is indeed quite capable of taking care of himself until we return. Come along, sweet.”
Gray stood up and left her seat, descending the steps from the lists right into Braxton’s waiting hands.
He took her on one elbow and Brooke on the other, feeling prouder than he ever had in his life.
It was one thing to be prideful of one’s skills and reputation; it was entirely another to be proud of the company one kept.
He knew, without a doubt, that he was in the presence of the most beautiful woman in Cumbria and her equally lovely daughter.
“Now that I am the envy of every man here,” he said, his blue-green eyes scanning the street and crowds beyond, “let us locate this vendor with custards and fattening tarts.”
Brooke giggled girlishly, pulling Braxton along more than she was actually following him. Her pretty new surcoat of soft blue linen looked sweet and elegant. She swished the skirt around with her free hand as they walked, never happier or more carefree in her young life.
“There is a vendor over there with something on his cart,” she jabbed her finger over to the left. “There are several people around him. Whatever he has must be good.”
Braxton turned in that direction, allowing Brooke to half-pull, half-drag him along. “Then it is as good a place to start as any,” he glanced at Gray, looking so lovely with her hair off her slender neck. “And you, my lady? Do you have any preference on sweets and other gluttonous items?”
She met his gaze, feeling the warmth that now sprouted so easily between them. She did so enjoy looking at him. “Whatever my daughter wishes is fine with me,” she said, tightening her grip on his arm. “You are most generous to allow her such treats, my lord.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her and mouthed Braxton. She grinned and nodded her head. “Lady Brooke has behaved herself admirably today in the wake of Edgar’s injury,” he said. “She deserves a reward.”
Brooke’s guilt at Edgar’s injury returned.
She didn’t want to incriminate herself and risk not getting custard, so she ignored the comment and continued to pull Braxton and her mother along.
Norman was following behind them, a silent reminder to Brooke’s bad behavior.
She hoped that he would not tell on her, but she could feel his stare against her back.
Norman was a big lad; she suspected he could be intimidating if he wanted to be.
But she would not let him frighten her. Had Edgar not been so awful, she would not have chased him. It was Edgar’s own fault… wasn’t it?
By the time they reached the vendor, some of the crowd had cleared away and they could get a good look at the vendor’s table; dried meats, warm wine, and globs of almond milk pudding nestled in hollow gourds.
Brooke immediately went for the pudding and Braxton found himself paying for five of them.
Norman inhaled his pudding in three bites.
Brooke devoured hers shortly thereafter and Braxton bought her another one.
Gray held on to her pudding, and on to Edgar’s, fearful that it would vanish if her daughter got a hold of it.
Braxton, grinning at the ravenous youngsters, handed his pudding over to Norman.
The lad grinned and shoveled it down, although a bit more slowly than the first. Braxton slapped him affectionately on the back of the head.
They were half way across the avenue when Graehm suddenly appeared. In full armor, he made his way straight to Braxton. His expression was wrought with seriousness.
“My lord,” he said shortly. “Geoff took a bad hit in his round with de Aughton. The physic is with him now.”
Braxton didn’t react outwardly, but Gray gasped softly. “What happened?” Braxton asked calmly.
“The pole broke and the jagged edge went right into his neck,” Graehm explained. “We carried him off the field and back to the staging area.”
Braxton’s pace picked up as they continued their way back to the tournament field. “Is it a mortal wound?”
“’Tis possible, my lord. He bleeds a great deal.”
Braxton didn’t say anymore. He escorted Gray and Brooke back to the lists before continuing on with Norman and Graehm.
As Brooke took Edgar’s pudding from her mother and made haste back to her seat, Gray paused as she mounted the steps, watching Braxton and his men stride away.
If Geoff was as bad as Graehm said he was, then perhaps she could help.
Lord knows, Braxton had already done enough for her and for Erith.
Perhaps this was one time she could attempt to return the favor.
Gathering her skirt, she bade Brooke and Edgar to wait in the lists as she followed Braxton’s trail off across the tournament grounds.
Since she already knew where Braxton’s camp was interred, it took her little time to reach it.
Several men were milling about, mostly de Nerra men-at-arms. They hovered outside of the smaller of the two tents, speaking in muted tones.
Gray acknowledged them as she walked between them, her focus on the tent opening and the dimness beyond.
No one stopped her when she peeled back the flap.
She could see someone lying on their back just inside the door; there were at least three bodies hovering over the supine form so she could see little more than booted feet.
Braxton, who had been peering over the shoulder of a round, hairy-faced man, looked up when she walked into the tent.
His eyes widened at the sight of her and he straightened up.
“Lady Gray,” he greeted. “Is something…?”
She cut him off politely. “I came to see if I could help, my lord.”
He went to her, his hand on her elbow. “The physic is tending him. Though I thank you for your kindness, I doubt there is anything you can do.”
Her amber eyes met his blue-green orbs. There was a spark, a jolt of warmth that passed between them as he touched her. “May I at least see him?” she asked softly.
Braxton could see she only wished to help.
He smiled faintly and led her back over to where he had been standing.
At their feet lay Geoff, pale and unconscious, with an ugly cluster of splinters sticking out of his neck.
The physic and the man’s assistant were attempting to pull the splinters free, one at a time, holding a soiled rag up against the gushing wound in an attempt to prevent the man from bleeding to death.
They weren’t doing a very good job; blood was everywhere.
Gray could see that the knight was going to bleed to death unless they changed their method. She instinctively opened her mouth to speak but quickly thought better of it. She did not want to seem overbearing, yet she could not stand by and watch this man die. Braxton heard her soft gasp.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
A man’s life was at stake. She could not keep silent about it.
“They are going about this all wrong,” she whispered.
“The wound must be stitched closed as they remove the wood. All they are managing to do now is pulling out whatever material is holding back the tide of blood. Soon they will remove it all and everything will drain out, like pulling a cork from a bottle.”
Braxton looked over at Dallas, at Graehm. “Remove the physic,” he snapped softly. “Lady Gray will tend him.”