Chapter Eleven
“Why does he keep looking at me?” Brooke whispered harshly to Edgar.
They were sitting in a pitched tent, watching over a sleeping Geoff until Gray returned.
But it had been quite some time and neither Gray nor Braxton had returned.
Moreover, Sir Dallas was staring at Brooke from his perch several feet away.
He had the strangest look on his face, seemingly lost in thought, as the rest of the camp moved busily around him.
“I do not know,” Edgar wasn’t particularly interested in Sir Dallas at the moment. “Maybe he does not like you.”
Brooke scowled at him. “Why are you so mean to me all of the time?”
Edgar had no good answer. He lifted his skinny shoulders. “I do not know,” he fussed with the wrappings on his ankle. “Where is your mother? She was supposed to come back and look at my foot.”
Brooke eyed the lad, still lingering on the insult he had dealt her. But she looked around, off in the direction she had last seen her mother heading. “She and Sir Braxton are off somewhere,” she sighed. “We’d best wait for them here. I do not think we should go looking for them.”
“Why not?”
Brooke gave him a knowing expression, much like her mother’s own. “Because they are probably doing something we should not like to interrupt.”
“Like what?”
She frowned. “Do you not know anything about the ways of men and women? Sometimes they like to be alone.”
Edgar shrugged, fooling with the wrap on his ankle. “I have seen the soldiers grab serving wenches and put their mouths on…”
Brooke held up a sharp hand. “Shhhhh,” she hissed. “I do not want to hear that.”
“But I have seen them.”
“I know you have and I do not care. It’s… it’s unseemly to talk about those things.”
“I bet your mother and Sir Braxton are doing the same thing!”
Brooke shrieked. “Do not say such things, you evil boy. I’ll slap you, I will!”
Edgar liked the reaction he was getting out of her. She was squirming and the corners of his mouth twitched. “What are you so upset about? I’ll wager you don’t even know anything about what men and women do.”
Brooke scowled and her cheeks turned pink. “I know more than you, Edgar.”
“Do not!”
“Do, too!”
Dallas picked that moment to break from his staring stance and move towards the wagon. “Edgar,” he snapped softly. “What have I told you about harassing Lady Brooke?”
Edgar looked at Dallas and was immediately quelled, but not entirely. There was still fight left in his expression. “I was not harassing her, my lord. We were… talking.”
“What about?”
Both Edgar and Brooke looked mortified. They looked at each other, wide-eyed, and Brooke blurted out: “My mother and Sir Braxton. They’ve been gone a long time.”
Dallas’ blue eyes moved in the direction he had last seen the pair wander.
He had to admit, they were correct. Braxton and the lady had been gone a long while, but he knew the reason for their disappearance and the contents of the subsequent discussion.
He suspected that it had taken longer than expected to convince Lady Gray the course of her daughter’s future.
Dallas, in fact, had spent the last hour coming to grips with just that.
He’d always hoped to marry, of course, but he’d not thought on it more than that.
Braxton’s request had been a surprising one.
At first, Dallas had been quite shocked.
Then his shock had moved to resistance, to contemplation, and finally to resigned acceptance.
Though he had not exactly been ordered to marry her, the implication was obvious.
He’d just spent the past several minutes watching Brooke interact with Edgar, observing every movement, every word.
She was certainly a pretty thing, like her mother, but she was also very much a spoiled child.
Yet he sensed there was something inherently agreeable in her, like a beautiful wild rose bush that needed some pruning and tending for it to fully blossom.
He never thought of himself as a gardener, but that was the position he could very well find himself in.
If he was successful, he would have a lovely, well-behaved wife. If not, then…
“Should we go look for them, Sir Dallas?”
Brooke’s soft voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked into her luminous blue eyes, the same shape but not the same color as her mother’s. “I shall go and look for them,” he said after a moment. “You stay here with Edgar.”
They watched him walk off towards the east, the tall knight with the damp blond hair.
Though he was slender, he had very broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had fought valiantly at the tournament the day before, falling only to a man nearly twice his size.
But he had accepted defeat graciously. Brooke had felt rather sorry for him.
When Dallas disappeared into the trees, Brooke and Edgar turned their attention back on each other.
Edgar reiterated the fact that Brooke knew nothing about men and women.
Brooke punched him in the arm and he fell off the wagon.
Dallas was oblivious to the fight going on back in the wagon as he wandered deeper into the trees.
His knightly senses were highly attuned to the area around him, not wanting to fall across something indiscreet between the lady and Sir Braxton.
He knew very well that his liege had set his sights on the lady.
They all knew, and no one blamed him. She was a beauty.
The trees grew denser and more than once a pointy branch caught on his armor.
Birds twittered above his head, the waning sunlight filtering through the heavy oak branches.
He could see a small clearing up ahead and, oddly, there was something lying in the middle of it.
He couldn’t quite tell what it was until it suddenly moved.
A hand went up; a gloved one. He recognized the glove.
Dallas broke into a run, plowing through the trees and into the clearing. He reached Braxton just about the time the man was trying to push himself up into a seated position.
“Braxton,” Dallas grabbed him to steady him. “What happened?”
Braxton had a nasty crack on the back of his head; his scalp was split and there was blood all over his hauberk. Moreover, the world was rocking dangerously and Dallas’ voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. He shook his head feebly.
“I do not know,” he grunted, then his eyes peeped open. “Where is Gray?”
Dallas looked around, seriously concerned. “I do not see her,” he held on to Braxton as the man tried to steady himself. “Did she do this?”
Braxton glared at him as much as he was able. “God, no,” he blinked his eyes, trying to focus. “Find her, Dallas. All I know is that the last I saw of her, she was in my arms. And then everything went dark.”
“But you are injured…”
“Find her,” Braxton barked savagely.
Dallas let go of him and stood up, studying the mashed grass beneath their feet. He whirled around, trying to find a pattern, but the grass was too dry and too mashed to discern much of anything. His fear began to rise.
“I do not see any blood,” he said. “Do you suppose she ran off after your attacker?”
Braxton was fighting down the bile in his throat, his senses becoming more oriented and a strong sense of trepidation taking hold. “More than likely whoever hit me took her.”
“A wild animal, perhaps?”
“I doubt it. There would be blood all over the place if that was the case. More than likely, it was a man with a weapon.”
Dallas could suddenly see a clear path leading off towards the northeast into a cluster of trees. “But to ambush you,” he paralleled the path, realizing it was indeed something of evidence. “Why would someone hit you on the head and take the lady? It makes no sense.”
Braxton was struggling to his knees, seeing where Dallas was heading. Hand on the back of his head, he took a deep breath to settle the spinning world. “Do you see something?” he asked his knight.
Dallas took off at a run, disappearing into the cluster of trees.
He yelled something that Braxton could not understand.
Braxton struggled to his feet, weaving and stumbling after his knight.
By the time Braxton reached him, Dallas was on his knees in some soft dirt behind a massive oak.
It was cool and dim and musty in the bramble.
Braxton walked up to him as quickly as his shaking legs would allow.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Dallas’ blue eyes were focused intently on the marks in the dirt. “Horse shoes,” he muttered. “And look; over there. Fresh horse dung. Someone was here, and quite recently. The earth is still damp.”
Braxton shook his head, struggling to clear his vision.
His head wasn’t swimming so much now, but it hurt badly.
He knelt opposite Dallas, very careful not to disturb the ground.
He realized that only his determination to discover what happened to Gray overrode his terror for the moment.
He feared that if he was to lose that focus, he would quickly deteriorate into a blathering fool.
“There are markings on the shoes,” he noticed quietly. “Can you make them out?”
Dallas lowered his head so that his nose was almost in the dirt. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “I see the mark, but I do not recognize it. But look over there,” he pointed to footprints a few feet away. “Do you see those? Boots”
Braxton peered closer. “Heavy, well made. See the distinct imprint of the heel? This was someone of means.”
“It is a big man,” Dallas said what they were both thinking. They looked at each other and Dallas could see the anguish in his liege’s eyes. “Who else would wear footwear like this but a knight or some other man of property?”
Braxton put a hand to his temple, trying to rub away the pain. “I fear that I was being followed and was not even aware,” he said with disgust. “God, what is happening to me? I used to be so much more astute. I used to know all, see all. But I did not see this.”