Chapter Twelve #2
Braxton had walked the perimeter to make sure the posts were set for the night.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling lighter of heart.
For the first time in his life, he was actually happy.
When he returned, it was to stand behind his new wife and daughter, watching as Gray gently stroked her daughter’s arms, whispering soft words to the girl.
He felt rather guilty, knowing Brooke was frightened and upset by the turn of the day’s events.
But it had been in her best interest. And he knew Dallas, and the man’s character, better than she did. She had nothing to fear.
He moved from behind them and stood alongside. He cast a sidelong glance at Brooke, intermittently sobbing with her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“Brooke,” he said quietly. “May I express my pleasure at becoming your father?”
Both Gray and Brooke looked over at him; Gray was smiling faintly and Brooke was hiccupping with a finger in between her teeth. She blinked her luminous blue eyes at him.
“T-thank you,” she replied only after her mother gave her an encouraging squeeze.
Braxton smiled at her. “May I tell you something?” She nodded and he continued.
“I realize this night has been upsetting and surprising to you. I know you were not prepared for this. But you must realize that Dallas was not prepared, either. This is as much a life change to him as it is to you. And I promise you that I would have never suggested this to either of you if I did not, for one moment, believe it was the right thing to do. Do you believe that?”
Brooke’s sniffles were fading and she removed the finger from her mouth to wipe the tears from her eyes. “A-aye,” she said quietly.
“Good.” He reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
It was a gentle, fatherly gesture. “Dallas is a very fine man. I have known him many years and he has never once shown me that he is anything other than chivalrous, kind, and wise. If you searched your entire life for such a man, you could not have found a better one. I know he will make a fine husband and you must give him that chance. Will you do this?”
Brooke slowly lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder, her gaze moving to the tall man tying off the last of the tent lines. She sniffled again, but it was only remnants. Her tears, for the most part, were gone.
“Aye,” she said, her eyes still on him. “But… but I do not even know him.”
“Nor he, you. All he knows of you is a scrapper who fights with boys. Now show him a wife he would be proud to have.”
She looked at him, her big eyes blinking thoughtfully. “How do I do that?”
Braxton’s smile broadened. “Ask your mother. She is far more knowledgeable in these areas than I.”
Brooke turned to her mother, who wriggled her eyebrows in response.
“I am not sure if I am more knowledgeable, but I have had some experience. All I can tell you is to be kind, patient and obedient. The rest you must learn on your own.” She gave her daughter a squeeze.
“I like Dallas. I believe he will be a fine husband for you.”
By this time, Dallas had finished the tent and was half way over to them. Brooke saw him coming and her eyes widened. But she admirably controlled herself and settled down as he came upon them. It would seem that Braxton’s words had some impact on her.
“Norman and Edgar are going to bed with Graehm tonight, my lord,” Dallas said to Braxton. “Lady Brooke and I shall have the smaller tent while you and your lady wife share the larger one.”
Braxton nodded his acknowledgement, thinking it would perhaps not be much of a wedding night with Geoff a few feet away. But he said nothing to that effect; impatient as a bridegroom though he may feel, he was well aware of the logistics of their sleeping arrangements.
“It has been a long day,” he said. “I would suggest that we all retire and take what sleep we can. We will leave for Erith before dawn.”
He took a step back in the direction of the larger tent, noticing that Gray hadn’t moved.
She was still standing with her arm around her daughter.
Dallas was standing there, looking between Brooke and her mother, and the mood was becoming awkward.
Though not unfeeling, Braxton could see Gray’s reluctance and he understood.
Yet he would do what needed to be done; moving to the women, he took Gray’s hand and gently pulled her away from her child.
“Let us retire, Lady de Nerra.” God, how he loved using that title for the first time. “I am sure Brooke is exhausted and wishes to sleep. Bid her a good night and we shall see her on the morrow.”
In control for most of the evening, Gray suddenly looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
She reluctantly let Braxton lead her away, her gaze lingering on her daughter as the distance between them grew.
Brooke just stood there with her head down, looking at her feet.
When Gray and Braxton finally disappeared into the tent, Dallas spoke.
“You must be very tired,” he said in a quiet, deep voice.
She nodded, still looking at her feet. “I… I am, a little.”
“Perhaps we should retire.”
Woodenly, she headed for the tent. Dallas followed.
He reached over her head to shove the flap out of the way and she froze when she entered; Norman and Edgar were finishing laying out the bedrolls.
An oil lamp sat on the ground, burning brightly in the black of the tent.
The boys looked up at her, uncomfortable emotions in their eyes as they gazed at her, but just as quickly lowered their heads and vacated the tent.
Brooke swallowed hard as the shelter cleared, leaving her standing there with Dallas, still in the doorway.
“My lady?” Dallas urged her gently inside.
Brooke took a few strained steps into the tent, startled when Dallas let the tent flap fall shut. He was quiet as he removed pieces of his armor, down to his hauberk. She just stood there, unmoving and uncertain. Then he turned to her.
“My lady,” he said. “Would you be so good as to help me?”
She eyed him with hesitation but obediently went to him. “What would you have me do, my lord?”
He bent over and extended his arms to her. “Pull on the mail.”
She grabbed hold, timidly at first, but then got a good grip on it and yanked.
She almost pulled his head off and he pitched forward against her.
He grabbed her so he would not topple her over, still restrained by his half-removed hauberk.
Brooke took hold again and pulled and pulled.
Because he was sweaty, the mail seemed to want to stick to him and to his padded shirt beneath.
She only managed to remove one arm and was still struggling with the other when she heard a low rumble.
She paused, wondering where the sound was coming from. It took her a moment to realize that Dallas was laughing.
Brooke dipped her head so she could look him in the face; because of the placement of the hauberk, he couldn’t lift his head. “What’s so funny?”
He was giggling like a fool. “I am not sure,” he gasped. “But the more you pull, the more twisted I become.”
In spite of herself, Brooke grinned and gave another yank. The hauberk got stuck around his ears, covering his face. Dallas only laughed harder and Brooke’s grin broadened.
“What should I do?” she demanded. “You are stuck.”
He snorted and snickered. “Just keep pulling,” he told her.
She did. Eventually, the piece came off, but not before it almost ripped his ears off.
Brooke fell back with the weight of it when it finally came free, falling on her arse as she did so.
But it was very humorous. When she fell on the ground, she laughed uproariously.
Dallas stood there with his hands on his hips, looking down at her.
“You are going to have to become much more adept at helping me dress or I shall have my ears ripped off every time,” he scolded with a grin on his face.
She shrugged, trying to get back up. He pulled on her arm and set her on her feet.
“This is my first experience with removing armor,” she told him.
“I can tell.”
She tossed the hauberk back at him and he deftly caught it. “I haven’t had years of practice like you have.”
Laughter fading, he threw the hauberk to the ground with the rest of his armor. “You will from now on, I promise.”
He went about removing what was left of his leg armor. Levity waning, Brooke felt her trepidation rise once again as she watched him. She had many questions and many fears, and she knew that he was the only one who could satisfy them. She summoned her courage.
“Sir Dallas?”
He looked at her. “I am your husband, my lady. You do not have to address me as ‘Sir’.”
She cocked her head. “And I am your wife. You do not have to address me as ‘my lady’.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “True enough.”
“But it seems strange to call each other by our names so informally, doesn’t it? We hardly know each other.”
His smile grew. “It does indeed. We will do whatever you are comfortable with.”
It was a kind statement. Brooke was comforted by it somewhat. He didn’t seem pushy or assertive of his new role. Her courage grew.
“Maybe we should talk and get to know one another,” she suggested.
He sat down on one of the bedrolls. Without his armor and clad only in his breeches and padded linen undershirt, he appeared far less imposing.
He gazed up at Brooke and she studied him as if just seeing him for the first time; he had a nice, square jaw and a handsome face.
His eyes were deep blue, like a lake on a warm summer day, and his long blond hair dusted the tops of his shoulders.
It was very attractive hair, she thought to herself. He was attractive.
“An excellent suggestion,” he said. “What would you like to know?”
The focus was back on her. Hesitantly, she sat opposite him on the other bedroll. “Well,” she said slowly. “Where were you born?”