Chapter Ten
“Braxton, do you see the banners? Who do they belong to?”
The morning was soft with dew, bright with new sun.
The question came from Gray, seated on the wagon as the party returning from Milnthorpe drew close to Erith.
Braxton was on his charger riding beside the wagon, his blue-green eyes riveted to the scraps of blue banner he could see just inside the portcullis.
He did not recognize the colors at a distance.
“I do not know,” he said. “More suitors for your daughter, I would presume.”
Gray didn’t like the sound of that, though there could be no other explanation. “What will you do?”
He was very calm, very casual. “Send them away, of course.”
Gray didn’t say anymore, though her gaze lingered on his strong face. His expression was unreadable. Rightly assuming they could do nothing until they knew who it was, she turned her attention back to Geoff lying in the bed of the wagon.
The injured knight was sleeping again, lulled by the rocking of the wagon.
Surprisingly, he had awoken before dawn feeling better and without fever.
Gray took it as a good sign and the party packed up for Erith.
She wanted to get him back to the fortress and into a proper bed so that he could more readily heal.
He’s wasn’t out of danger by a long shot and she was anxious to return home.
Geoff wasn’t alone in the wagon. Edgar and Brooke sat at the very rear, their legs hanging over the back of the flatbed.
There had not been a harsh word between them all morning, even when Brooke produced the bag of candied fruits that Braxton had bought for her the night before.
She shared it with Edgar, making sure that Braxton and her mother saw her.
She even shared it with Norman, who rode beside the wagon astride Geoff’s charger.
With the children all getting along, it made the ride back to Erith much more pleasant.
But Gray kept shooting looks at her daughter, making sure the girl was behaving.
“Leave her alone,” Braxton’s voice was soft beside Gray.
She turned to him. “What do you mean?”
He looked at her, a smile on his lips. “You know exactly what I mean. She’s behaving quite nicely. She needs your trust in her ability to amend her manners, not your constant scrutiny.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him, though it was not an unkind gesture. “You know so much about children now, do you? Since when did you become an expert?”
He looked straight ahead. “I know everything,” he said seriously.
She laughed. “I believe that you do.”
He cast her a sidelong glance, grinning while she laughed at him.
The ride back to Erith had been filled with little glances and smiles from them both and Braxton was fairly certain that he’d never in his life experienced such joy.
Had anyone suggested to him a week ago that his life would have taken such a dramatic turn, he would have laughed at them. But turn it had.
As they continued to gaze coyly at each other, Erith loomed closer and the sentries on the repaired wall announced the approach of the party.
They could hear the shouts echoing as other soldiers took up the call.
Braxton broke away from Gray’s sweet face and spurred his charger into a canter, loping the big beast under the portcullis and into the ward beyond.
He wanted to see for himself who had arrived and he did not want to wait.
The first thing he saw were a few strange soldiers standing in a group near the keep.
The horses near them wore blue and white standards.
But a glance around the ward showed a heavy concentration of unknown soldiers near the northeast corner of the keep.
There were at least a hundred. Uneasiness swept him.
Braxton rode up to the small group collected near the keep.
“Who do you serve?” he demanded.
The men looked at him, a mixture of suspicion and defiance on their faces. “Roger de Clare,” one of them said. “Who are you?”
Braxton’s mood changed instantaneously. He had gone from mildly curiously and confidently unconcerned to deeply uneasy all in one split second.
His blue-green eyes swept the keeping, knowing de Clare was somewhere within the walls.
Without answering their question, he reined his charger sharply back in the direction he came.
He ran into the approaching party just as they approached the portcullis.
He flicked two thick fingers in Dallas and Graehm’s direction, motioning for them to attend him. He, in fact, rode straight for Gray, still seated on the wagon bench beside the driver. Her amber eyes studied him expectantly as he and the other two knights rode up beside her.
“Well?” she asked before he could speak. “Who is it?”
Braxton wasn’t quite sure how to tell her. There was no easy way. “Roger de Clare,” he said. He couldn’t help the sharp, helpless sigh that escaped his mouth. “It would seem that your mother has called forth the Devil himself, Gray.”
She stared at him for a moment as the news, and implication, settled. Then her eyes widened. “De Clare?” she repeated, stunned. “But… he’s Gloucester. Gloucester is here?”
Before Braxton could reply, Graehm piped up. “Gloucester is here?” he sounded like a dumbfounded lad.
Braxton gave Graehm an intolerant look. He didn’t need one of his knights acting the giddy fool when he had a serious issue on his hands.
“Aye, the cousin of the earl is here,” he said, somewhat sharply, before returning his attention to Gray.
“He’s not brought a big party with him and I did not see any knights, but we must handle this very carefully, my lady.
You know that. The relationship between the de Montforts and the de Clares is tenuous at best.”
She nodded, still astonished at the news. “What shall we do?”
Braxton shook his head, thinking aloud. “Is it possible that your mother sent invitation to Roger de Clare for Brooke’s hand? My God, the man has to be beyond sixty years. Moreover, he is already married with children, or at least he used to be married. Is it possible his wife is dead, then?”
He was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. But they should have realized that Brooke would hear them. She was still perched on the wagon bed with her legs hanging over, listening to every word.
“He has male children,” Brooke said casually, as if it was nothing at all to be concerned over. “Grandmother said he has many fine sons.”
Now that the secret of her grandmother’s deeds were out, she was apparently very comfortable discussing what she knew.
Gray, Braxton, and the two knights were looking at her, a mélange of trepidation and displeasure on their faces.
Braxton seemed the least emotional out of the bunch, his expression holding mostly steady.
“Then it must be for one of the sons,” he lowered his voice as he spoke to Gray. “But I would be lying if I said his presence did not concern me.”
“Why?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Because your mother has promised suitors Erith along with Brooke’s hand.
Erith belongs to me and I have the document to prove it.
Gloucester might not take the news so easily, especially if he is attempting to mend the ties his cousin destroyed.
We do not need Gloucester coming down around our ears.
” His mind began to work quickly, trying to think of a way out of or around this.
His eyes fell on Dallas, the quiet knight.
He was young, strong, and powerful, the second son of Baron Lisvane, vassal of the Earl of Cornwall.
Though Dallas would not inherit his father’s title or baronetcy, he would inherit a small parcel of property from his mother.
An idea began to form. Braxton was going to undo what that old woman was trying to do if it was the last thing he ever did.
“Dallas,” he motioned to his knight. “A word, please.”
Dallas obediently followed him to a resting point several feet away where they paused a moment, chatting quietly astride their snorting chargers.
After a few exchanged sentences, Dallas’ eyes widened.
Though he did not raise his voice or show obvious emotion, it was clear by his expression that he was shocked.
Braxton’s expression was quite calm as he finished speaking, watching Dallas wrestle with whatever subject was occurring between them.
Gray watched curiously as Dallas, still visibly uncomfortable, finally nodded his head.
Braxton abruptly reined his horse away from him, emitting a piercing whistle between his teeth.
The entire party came to an abrupt halt, wagon and all.
They were almost at the threshold of the main gate. Braxton waved a gloved hand over his head in a circular motion. “Turn the wagon around,” he barked to the driver. “We return to Milnthorpe. Move.”
Gray held on to the bench so she would not slide off as the wagon abruptly turned around. Then the wagon driver snapped the whip and the horses began to run. The last glimpse she had of Erith as it faded away was of curious soldiers up on the walls, watching their departure.
“Graehm,” Braxton’s charger was cantering next to the wagon as he shouted his order. “Return to Erith. Collect all of our men and all of our possessions and make haste for Milnthorpe.”
Graehm broke away from the party and returned to the fading castle.
Dallas, bringing up the rear of the party, shoved a squealing Brooke back onto the wagon bed and slapped closed the door at the rear of the bed where she and Edgar had been hanging their legs out.
The wagon was bouncing over the road, rattling heavily, and Brooke and Edgar were bouncing right along with it.
“Braxton,” Gray called to him over the noise. “Where are we going? What’s wrong?”