Chapter Eleven #2
“Maybe they were not stalking you at all,” Dallas interjected softly. “Maybe they were stalking the lady.”
Braxton lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed they were,” he said slowly. “And because of my foolishness, they were able to take what they sought. They waited until we were alone. Rather than invite a confrontation that I would very well win, they chose to ambush me and steal her. Bastards.”
Dallas could see that he was already beating himself up over the situation. “It was not your fault, my lord,” he said steadily. “You could never have anticipated such a thing.”
“Maybe not, but I should have.” Braxton continued to stare at the imprints, fighting off a clutching sense of horror. He finally motioned to Dallas. “Return to camp and assemble the men. We ride in search of Gray before this trail gets cold.”
Dallas nodded and was gone, leaving Braxton on his knees beside the soft earth.
He was struggling tremendously against his panic, telling himself that it would serve no purpose.
He needed to focus, to find Gray. Moreover, he would have to explain to Brooke that her mother had disappeared and, if for no other reason, had to remain strong for the young lady’s sake.
He stood up on weak knees, feeling an odd stinging in his eyes.
He rubbed at them, realizing it was tears.
He allowed himself a painfully brief moment to feel his emotion, letting the tears fill his eyes.
He could not believe this had happened. It was beyond comprehension.
What made it even more painful was that he had never seen nor heard anything; as a knight, his life had depended on his senses.
But they had failed him at a critical instant for his senses, at that very moment, were consumed with the woman in his arms. He had been blind to all else.
But he sought comfort in the fact that there was no blood anywhere, which more than likely meant Gray was still sound and whole. He could only pray that it was true.
“God,” he muttered. “Please keep her safe until I can get to her.”
Wiping his eyes, he pulled himself together and made his way back to camp.
*
She was not going to go easily.
Gray struggled against a man twice her size, kicking, punching, anything she could manage.
But he was still able to get her on to his charger and ride off, tearing through trees and bushes, across streams and through mud to wipe out their trail.
He finally managed to get her by the hair, which effectively ensnared her as they rode at break-neck speed into the sunset.
De Aughton was no fool. He had a good grip on her, and for good reason; he did not want her to injure herself in the struggle and he furthermore did not wish for her to escape.
At some point, the lady relaxed out of sheer exhaustion and when he relaxed slightly also, a hand came up and nearly gouged his eyes out.
It was enough to cause him to lose his grip and topple off the horse, nearly taking her with him.
But not quite; Gray stayed mounted and, with actions fed by terror and exhilaration, turned the big bay charger back in the direction they had come.
It was a split second decision made in a wink of an eye.
She saw the opportunity and she took it.
The horse was exhausted and excited and she kicked it as hard as she could to make distance between herself and de Aughton.
She could hear the knight behind her, yelling, but the sounds were growing fainter.
The charger was grunting as it galloped, foam flying from its mouth as she urged it down the road.
It had been a good hour since she last saw Braxton.
She prayed that he was all right after the blow he had received to the head. It was all she could think of.
Gray turned to see if de Aughton was following them; she could not see him back down the road, which would have been likely impossible given the speed the horse was traveling.
Still, she was terrified. She had to get away from him and back to Braxton.
As the trees sped over her head and the horse grunted loudly, she leaned forward on the beast and showed him the end of the reins now and again.
She was, in fact, fortunate the charger was responding to her at all.
Most chargers were one-man horses and would only respond to their owners.
But this horse was young and apparently not yet fully trained. It was Gray’s saving grace.
She followed the road and did not go back into the brush the way the de Aughton had originally taken them.
Gray was astute enough to know that they had originally camped on the outskirts of Milnthorpe; when de Aughton had grabbed her, he had headed west into the setting sun.
She was now traveling with the nearly-set sun against her back.
It would be very dark soon and she did not want to be caught out in the dark.
Since the road was so wide, she assumed it would run into Milnthorpe at some point.
There would be no other town in this area that would warrant such a well-traveled path.
She was right.
Gray passed straight through the heart of Milnthorpe, fully oriented as to where she was.
The charger was wet with exhaustion, but she pushed the animal through the town and onto the road heading east. Her heart was thumping against her ribs and she choked back the sobs as the road narrowed into a heavily wooded area that she finally recognized.
Just through the trees to the south was the area where Braxton had set up camp.
As the charger heaved and snorted, she pushed the animal across a small clearing and through a hedge of trees.
Immediately, she saw Braxton’s camp and the great fires burning around it. Then the tears came.
She dismounted the exhausted charger and led the beast the rest of the way. Wiping the tears off her cheeks, she entered the main body of the camp and noticed it was oddly vacant. But she heard voices in one of the larger tents and she recognized one of them. It was Brooke.
Dropping the reins, she burst into the tent to find her daughter and Edgar sitting near Sir Geoff’s pallet. Brooke was crying. But one look at her mother and the girl shrieked, throwing herself into her mother’s open arms. The women came together in a great bustle of sobs and tears.
“Mama!” Brooke wept. “Where did you go? Sir Braxton said you had been taken!”
Gray held her daughter tightly. “I was,” she did not want to elaborate further; she was simply glad to be safe. “Where is Braxton?”
Brooke pulled away from her mother, looking her in the eye. “He went out to search for you. They all did.”
“And they left you here alone?”
The girl shook her head. “There are a few soldiers about.”
Gray took her daughter by the hand and led her out into the cooling evening.
A massive fire burned in the middle of the camp, sending sparks into the deep purple sky.
Gray moved past the fire, calling for the guards that her daughter said had remained.
It wasn’t long before two men suddenly showed themselves, having run from the perimeter of the encampment when they heard the distinctly female voice calling.
They were younger men, their eyes wide on the lady. “My lady?” one of them spoke hesitantly. “What are you doing here? Sir Braxton said…”
She interrupted him. “You must find him immediately and tell him that I have returned. How long has he been gone?”
“Not more than an hour, m’lady,’ the other man said. “They cannot search much longer in this darkness. I would expect him to return shortly.”
“Be that as it may, you will please go and find him and tell him that I have returned,” she instructed. “He must know immediately.”
The soldiers nodded smartly and were gone.
She could hear them calling to companions in the darkness, letting them know that the lady was in camp.
Soon shadows emerged from the trees, men who had been guarding the perimeter that were now back in camp.
She counted eight of them. Feeling distinctly more comforted, not to mention suddenly weary, she took Brooke and went back into the larger tent.
Edgar was standing up, his eyes big. Gray looked into the blue orbs and could read a thousand questions in their depths.
He was a nice looking young lad, inquisitive and spirited.
And she also noticed he had a bruise on his cheek.
Suddenly, her abduction adventure seemed far away.
She was back where she belonged and she was safe.
She wondered at the bruise on Edgar’s cheek. She suspected she knew how he got it.
“Edgar,” she reached out and touched the hot welt. “What happened?”
Edgar blinked, looking like a child who just got caught raiding the sweets. “I… I fell, my lady.”
“Did you have help falling?”
“I do not know what you mean, my lady.”
“Aye, you do. Who gave you that bruise?”
He averted his eyes, his brow furrowed. He was struggling to give her an answer but Gray already knew the answer. She looked at Brooke.
“Did you do that?”
Brooke’s eyes bulged. “I… I….”
Gray shook her head. “Brooke Serroux, what is the matter with you? I told you to leave him alone. Why did you strike him?”
Brooke looked properly contrite, more panicked than anything else. She did not want to lie, but she certainly did not want to tell her mother the truth. “Because… because he said something rude and nasty and I punished him.”
“What did he say?”
Brooke’s eyes welled. “Don’t make me tell you, Mama. I don’t want to tell you.”
Gray wondered what had her daughter so upset. But it had been an upsetting night. Perhaps it really didn’t matter. She sighed again and shook her head, looking around for the nearest stool.
“No more, Brooke,” she told her daughter. “You will leave the punishment to Braxton. If I see another bruise or welt on this boy, I am going to bruise or welt you. Is that clear?”