Chapter Nine
It was dusk in Cumbria, a magical time when the last threads of daylight were woven into the tapestry of the coming night.
Gray usually enjoyed the dusk, as there was something innately peaceful in the time before the fall of darkness.
But tonight she found no real peace; sitting beside Geoff’s sleeping form, she played a waiting game in contest to see who could control the knight’s future.
If she won the match, he would live. If she lost, then Death would claim him.
It was difficult not to be discouraged as time ticked on and the knight remained unconscious.
The tournament had ended some time ago and most of the contestants and fans had already left.
A few hung around, mostly to catch a glimpse of Braxton and his men as they milled in and out of the larger of the two crimson tents.
Though Braxton had withdrawn from the competition in order to assist Gray with Geoff, Dallas and Graehm had continued at Braxton’s insistence.
Graehm was unseated in his match by Rickard Burton, who then went up against Dallas for the semifinal round.
Dallas managed to unseat Burton, causing the man to display a full-blown temper tantrum on the tournament field.
The crowd had laughed him right out of the arena.
The final round was between Dallas and Sir Niclas, the same knight who had accidentally driven splinters into Geoff’s neck.
The match, and the prize, was meant to have been a victory in Geoff’s name, but Dallas lost in three very hard-fought glances and the black knight from Northumbria emerged the victor.
It had been a bitter defeat to accept, but Dallas had done so graciously.
Braxton was just grateful he wasn’t down another knight; given de Aughton’s reputation, that could have very well been the case.
After stitching up Geoff’s neck, Gray had decided it was best not to move him for the night and Braxton had agreed.
But they hadn’t planned on making a night of it, so Braxton took Dallas with him to procure food for the evening.
The men at arms, meanwhile, built a roaring bonfire in the area between the two tents where Brooke, Edgar and Norman now sat.
A couple of soldiers set to fashioning a spit, much to Brooke’s curiosity.
She sat on a stump one of the men had found for her, eating candied pieces of sweet pumpkin that Braxton had purchased for her and watching the activity.
She sucked down the pumpkin treat, nearly oblivious to the real reason why they were still in Milnthorpe.
In her young mind, this was all a grand adventure and she intended to enjoy every minute.
When the spit was finally ready and the sunset cast gray and purple shadows across the sky, Brooke glanced over to see Edgar glaring at her. Mouth full of pumpkin, she frowned at him.
“Why do you look at me like that, Edgar?” she asked.
He started to open his mouth but Norman smacked him in the head to shut him up. The move only infuriated Brooke.
“Norman, why did you hit him?” she demanded. “Tell me why Edgar is glowering at me. Has my face gone green?”
Norman looked at her; he was a steady young lad, even-tempered, in contrast to his mercurial younger brother. “Your face has not gone green, my lady,” he said. “Edgar is simply exhausted. We all are. It has been a trying day.”
His calm explanation satisfied her until Edgar grumbled loud enough to be heard. “’Tis her we should be roasting on the pit, the big glutton.”
Brooke’s eyebrows rose and she leapt to her feet. “What did you say?”
He looked at her, his young face dark. “You heard me.”
Norman tried to intervene, but Edgar wouldn’t let him. Bad ankle and all, he rolled away from his brother as the youth tried to slap a hand over his mouth.
“You are a big, fat glutton, Brooke Serroux,” Edgar shouted, with Norman’s hand half-over his mouth. “You ate all of that sweet pumpkin for yourself!”
Brooke’s mouth popped open in outrage. “It was mine!”
“You could have shared it. I am hungry, too!”
Brooke’s open mouth went into a thin angry line.
She rushed Edgar, being prevented from totally destroying him by Norman, who had the unhappy task of being wedged in between the combatants.
The older boy was on the receiving end of a few sharp slaps.
Norman eventually turned away from Edgar to grasp Brooke around the body, lifting her up and carrying her away from his brother. She screamed and beat on Norman’s back.
Inside the larger tent, Gray could not help but hear her daughter’s yelling. Geoff hadn’t moved so she dared to rise and peek outside to see what was going on. All she saw was Norman carrying her daughter off into the darkness. She sprinted out of the tent and caught up with them.
“Norman,” she tried not to sound panicked. “What are you doing?”
Norman immediately set Brooke on the ground, whereupon she bolted back in Edgar’s direction.
The lad, unable to run, put up his arms as Brooke came down on him with hurling fists.
Shocked, Gray ran after her daughter with Norman on her heels.
She reached out and pulled her child off of the injured young boy.
“Enough,” Gray shouted at her daughter.
Since Gray never shouted, Brooke immediately came to a halt. Her big eyes gazed fearfully into angry amber orbs.
“But… Mama, he…”
Gray shut her down with a harsh shake of the arms. “I said enough,” she growled. “I do not know what vendetta you have against this boy, but this is the end of it. Any more violence against him and I shall take a switch to you. Do you hear me? I’ll spank you within an inch of your life.”
Unbeknownst to Gray, Braxton and Dallas had ridden up behind her. There was a gutted pig strapped across Dallas’ horse. Dismounting, Braxton watched curiously as Gray laid into her daughter.
Brooke’s eyes welled. “But, Mama, he was so very mean to me. He called me a glutton.”
“And so you are,” Gray didn’t mince words.
“You have been eating since we arrived, begging money from Sir Braxton for your selfish wants. Sir Braxton is not obligated to buy you anything, Brooke. He does it from the kindness of his heart and Lord knows why he indulges you after the way you have treated him, but he does. You are selfish and petty and I am ashamed of you. If your manners were kinder and more gracious, then perhaps this boy would have no cause to insult you. But you deserve every word.”
Brooke burst into tears. Gray did not want to comfort her, knowing she must teach her child a lesson. But it was difficult to restrain her motherly instincts as she watched Brooke sob. She let go of her daughter.
“Go and sit down by the fire,” she instructed, her tone less harsh. “You will think on what I have said and amend your behavior accordingly.”
Weeping, Brooke wandered over to her stump and sat heavily. The mood around the fire was somber as Norman and Edgar tried not to look at her. Braxton, having witnessed the entire event, slowly made his way over to Gray.
“My lady?” he said to catch her attention.
She turned to him, startled. “I am sorry; I did not hear you approach.”
He smiled faintly at her. “I know.” His eyes moved to his squires, to Brooke. “Is everything all right?”
Gray nodded, sensing he had probably heard some of her tirade. “It will be,” she gathered her skirts and moved back in the direction of the large tent. “Sir Geoff has not yet awoken.”
Braxton followed her into the tent. Inside, it was eerie and dark but for the soft light given off by one fat taper near the knight’s bedside.
Geoff was on his back, his neck and left shoulder heavily bandaged, and breathing deeply.
Gray resumed her seat beside him, putting her hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature rise.
“He’s still cool,” she said. “Tomorrow would be the soonest we could expect a change.”
He nodded. “Will he be able to travel back to Erith come the dawn?”
She shrugged. “If there is no change, I would think so.”
Satisfied, his gaze moved from Geoff to Gray. She looked so lovely and serene and his attention shifted.
“You and Brooke can sleep in the smaller tent tonight,” he said. “My knights and I will sleep in here with Geoff.”
She looked up at him. “I would prefer to sleep here where I can watch him.”
He shrugged. “Then you and Brooke shall have this tent and we will take the smaller one.”
“I am sorry. I know it will be crowded.”
He waved a hand at her. “That’s not it at all. ’Tis simply that the smaller tent is warmer. I thought you would be more comfortable.”
She smiled. “You are most thoughtful. Thank you.”
He returned her smile, feeling the warmth spark between them again. “You are most welcome.”
Their gaze lingered on one another until Braxton moved towards her, crouching down next to her.
He was very close, the heat from his big body radiating against her.
He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but no words would come.
He couldn’t quite articulate the newfound feelings he was experiencing.
So he reached out and took her hand instead, bringing it to his lips.
She watched him, his face inches from hers.
“Braxton?” she asked softly.
“Hmmm?” he murmured, his lips still against her hand.
“Why are you so good to us?”
He smiled. “Because you deserve it. And because I want to.”
She studied his face, trying to detect anything about it that wasn’t being totally truthful. “I am sorry that Brooke is so demanding and ungracious.”
He shook his head, kissing her fingers at the same time. “She is neither. She is simply a young girl, with all of the wants and dreams and hopes of a young girl. She will settle down soon enough.”
“But you spoil her.”