Chapter Twelve
“He must have turned back for Milnthorpe,” Constance said. “There could be no other explanation, my lord. When your men told him who had come to Erith, naturally, he would do everything possible to keep my daughter and granddaughter from you. He has claimed them as his possessions, I tell you.”
Roger sat in the great hall of Erith. The fire in the heart spit and smoked, filling the room with silver haze.
It was sunset, the end of a long day. He had been informed some time earlier that a party had approached and a man had entered the bailey, demanding to know who bore the colors of the blue and white standard.
Then the man and his party had turned away from Erith and made haste in the direction they had come.
Only curiosity, rumors, and an eventual conversation with Lady Constance had made sense of the visitor. It had not been a pleasing realization.
Roger eyed the Lady de Montfort seated across from him, toying with his wooden cup of cheap wine as he did so. There were a great many things on his mind.
“Braxton de Nerra,” he rolled the name off his tongue. “You failed to inform me when I arrived that he was involved with this.”
“His involvement is purely by sheer aggressiveness, I assure you,” Constance said.
“We offered him shelter a week ago and he’s not left since.
He sticks to my daughter like a disease and has taken control of Brooke.
We’ve been unable to rid ourselves of him.
Even now, he parades them around the countryside against their will. ”
“Is it your daughter’s pleasure that he stays? Perhaps she is considering marriage to him.”
“She is not,” Constance said flatly. “My lord, I beseech you. I very much need your help if I am to save my daughter and granddaughter from that mercenary. For your aid, I assure you that your son will marry Brooke and you shall have my daughter if you deem her suitable. Will you not help me, please?”
Roger sighed, turning his attention back to his cup as he spun it in slow circles. “Did you know that de Nerra’s father is Baron Gilderdale?”
It was evident from her expression that she had not known. She did not want to come across looking like a fool. “He said he was distantly related to Anjou.”
“And he is. But he is also the son of Thomas de Nerra, fourth Baron Gilderdale. And Gilderdale is a massive war machine as I am sure you know. Anyone in Northumberland knows of Gilderdale’s military might.
Where do you think Braxton achieved his connections and knowledge?
He is bred from a long line of warriors.
The entire family is full of bloodthirsty fiends.
The Scots do not even like to go against them but God knows, they have. And they have lost.”
Constance was still trying to recover her shock, fighting off the uncertainty now that she was not in charge of the conversation. “Do you fear that he will call upon his father if you move against him?”
“He could. Certainly it would be a risk.”
William de Clare sat silently next to his father, watching the man fiddle with the utensils.
William may have looked like a pimple-faced lad, but in truth, he was even-tempered and wise as his mother had been.
While most de Clare men were warriors with a mean streak, William did not possess this trait.
True, he was training as a knight, and a very good one, but he was not mean by character. He was the opposite.
“Father,” the lad said. “If Lady de Montfort is asking for our help, perhaps we should. There is no telling what peril Lady Gray and Lady Brooke might be in. Even if Gilderdale does support Braxton, they cannot defeat the House of de Clare. We are greater in number than they are.”
“I’ll not start a war with someone I have no quarrel with,” Roger said with irritation.
Then he slowed himself; he was beginning to sound like a coward.
“De Nerra’s reputation is well known. He’s as ruthless as they come.
Obviously, the man saw a fortress without a man to run it and has taken advantage of the situation.
He’s a mercenary. He only sees the value of this acquisition. ”
William watched his father closely. “Then we will help?”
Roger pursed his lips, looking at Constance and watching her anxious features.
It was apparent that he was still weighing his options, struggling not to show his reluctance and trying to see the larger picture in all of this.
He did not want to provoke Gilderdale, but there was something valuable at the end of all of this.
Perhaps the risk would be worth it. When he spoke, it was to Constance alone.
“If I do lend aid, have I your vow that Lady Brooke shall wed my son and Lady Gray shall wed me?”
“Of course, my lord,” Constance agreed.
“And Erith shall become William’s holding?”
“Indeed it shall.”
That was enough for Roger. He had just acquired a castle for his youngest son and a wife for himself.
He was anxious to have more sons to carry on the de Clare name; there was no guarantee the three he had would survive to perpetuate the family.
One had to plan for all possibilities of the future and Lady Constance’s suggestion of marriage to her widowed daughter had been an attractive one. Unexpected, but attractive nonetheless.
“Then we shall send for more troops to reinforce Erith as we search for de Nerra and his bunch,” he abruptly stood up, startling William.
He reached down and yanked his son to his feet.
“Go tell the captain of the guard to send a rider home to Bronllys Castle to assemble two hundred of our men. Send to Caerphilly Castle for five hundred more. If we are going against de Nerra, then I would be prepared. The men will proceed to Erith immediately for further orders.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Constance said sincerely, perhaps a bit dramatically. “I am sure my daughter will thank you as well when she is free of this menace.”
Roger lifted an eyebrow at the woman. For some reason, he was coming not to like her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something untrustworthy and intolerable about her. He hoped he hadn’t just consigned himself to a nasty fight against Gilderdale.
“We shall see,” was all he said.
When the men had left the hall and she was all alone with the dim flicker of the hearth, Constance sat at the table and smiled.
De Nerra might have been able to defeat her in her attempt to rid him from Erith, but he would not defeat Gloucester.
Roger de Clare would squash him and the de Montforts would once again be in favor with a political marriage.
And Constance would return to the life of luxury she deserved.
Her smile grew.
*
To the south of Milnthorpe near an ancient mound built by the Saxon forefathers, Graehm located a small church.
It was a dark and boxy structure with few windows.
Vespers had ended and the two priests that lived at the church were locking up for the night.
It seemed they weren’t very interested in Graehm at first; in fact, they seemed rather fearful of him and his purpose.
But the promise of a sizable donation to their cause was enough to prompt the older priest to ride with Graehm back to Braxton’s encampment.
Even though the man loaded himself onto the oldest mule Graehm had ever seen, they were still able to return to Braxton’s camp within an hour.
Once arrived, there was little time for introductions or niceties.
Although it wasn’t exactly how Gray would have planned a wedding, and it certainly wasn’t how she would have planned a wedding for her daughter, it really didn’t seem to matter.
She stood next to Braxton as Brooke stood next to Dallas, her daughter still sobbing intermittently as the priest said the mass.
The ceremony itself was short, to the point, and before Gray realized it, both she and her daughter were married women.
Even when Braxton kissed her lips, her cheeks, and both her hands, it did not seem real.
Even so, she knew in her heart it was the best thing she had ever done.
She felt content, and she felt at peace.
Brooke, however, was a completely different story.
She was terrified of the tall blond knight eleven years her senior who was now her husband.
He had hardly said a word to her but had shown an inordinate amount of courtesy and patience.
When the priest blessed their union, he leaned down and, very properly, kissed her cheek. He came away with tears on his lips.
Graehm, Norman, and Edgar had witnessed the ceremony.
The priest scribed marriage certificates on pieces of vellum he brought with him and had each man sign their name.
In Norman and Edgar’s case, writing their name was the only thing they knew, as neither of them had acquired the skills of reading or writing.
Then the priest sanded the documents and handed them over to the respective grooms, whereupon Braxton paid the man more money than he had earned the entire previous year. It was a tidy sum.
And with that, Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux became the Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux de Nerra, and her daughter became the Lady Brooke Serroux Aston.
It was nearly midnight by the time everything was said and done.
The priest would spend the night with them because traveling the roads in the dark was not safe, even for armed men.
They gave him a bedroll and plied him with food and drink.
Braxton’s men were spread out and several campfires burned throughout the dark, eerie oaks.
Gray stood with her arms around her daughter, comforting her as they watched Dallas and Norman pitch another tent under the half-moon sky.