Chapter Thirteen #2
Braxton bolted back into the tent in time to see de Aughton, as big as life, with his arms around Gray.
Edgar had the man by the ankle while Norman rolled on his back several feet away; a bloodied face indicated a strike from de Aughton.
Geoff, injured though he might be, was on his hands and knees, having rolled from his position on his back to his saddlebags several feet away.
He had a sword in his hand but Braxton snatched it from him, all fury and fire and lightning-fast movements as he went after de Aughton.
But the moment he brought the broadsword up for a strike that would clearly behead, de Aughton flicked a dirk against Gray’s neck.
“Another step and she dies,” Niclas growled. When fury and panic twitched through Braxton’s poised body, de Aughton jabbed the tip of the dirk into her neck and she gasped. “Another step and I drive this through.”
The broadsword in Braxton’s hand clattered to the ground. He stood several feet away, his face trembling with the level of emotion surging through his vein and the blue-green eyes fixed on de Aughton’s face. They were probing, furious, and finally pleading. After a moment, he sighed heavily.
“I had heard, by reputation, that you were an honorable knight,” he said in low, even voice. “I can see that those words were untrue. No honorable man would do what you are doing.”
Niclas had calmed a great deal since his initial burst of threats.
He moved the dirk away from Gray’s neck and she closed her eyes in relief, tears coursing down her cheeks.
She was frightened but unharmed. Braxton didn’t dare look at her for fear of losing control.
And he had to stay in control; too many lives depended on it.
“These are brutal times, my lord,” Niclas finally said. “One must often take what does not come easily.”
“So you would take my wife?”
Niclas’s dark brow furrowed slightly. “So she is your wife? That was not made clear to me.”
Braxton nodded, looking at Gray’s face for the first time.
It was wet with tears and he felt his heart lurch.
His gaze was fixed on her as if he could not tear it away and his heart was beginning to squeeze.
“Give her back to me, de Aughton, and I shall let you go in peace. There is no harm done for the moment unless you consider scaring her half to death a crime.”
Niclas lowered the dirk completely; it hung at his side but he still had Gray’s neck in the crook of his elbow. One good squeeze and he could snap it. The obsidian eyes looked at the top of her blond head, a queer expression crossing his face.
“I have never been denied what I have wanted,” he muttered. “A victory, a horse, a woman… I have always gotten what I wanted.”
“Not this time. By the laws of England and God, she is my wife and belongs to me. And I want her back more than you want to take her.”
More uncertainty crossed Niclas’s features. After a small eternity, it was he who sighed heavily. “And she wants to stay with you, I would imagine, which is why she nearly put my eyes out.”
“Exactly. Even if you were to take her, she would not be a content captive. She would escape you, or I would find her. Either way, we would be united again and you would either be dead or alone. Think about what you are doing, man. This is not the way to achieve your wants.”
Niclas just stood there. The dirk in his hand came up again, half way to Gray’s neck, as he toyed with the blade in a bizarrely thoughtful manner.
By this time, Norman was up, his nose bloodied, standing by Braxton’s side and Edgar was over with Geoff.
The injured knight was in bad shape as the young lad helped him back onto his pallet.
Niclas caught the movement, remembering the knight he had injured in a fair joust. An odd sense of guilt, of disorientation, washed over him and he lowered the dirk to his side again.
The tension in the tent was unbearable. Braxton kept waiting for Niclas to bring the dirk up again and somehow threaten his wife.
But the knight suddenly dropped his arm from Gray’s neck and she lurched forward, falling into Braxton’s waiting arms. He held her tightly.
Niclas watched the interaction, the genuine affection to it, and it tugged at him.
He would have liked to have had that, too.
“I thought she was simply a woman who traveled with your army,” Niclas’s voice was low, laced with acceptance. “I did not know she was your wife, de Nerra. I swear it. I thought she was a camp whore.”
Braxton’s eyes flashed. “Are you blind as well as daft? Does she look like a whore?”
Niclas shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Nay, she does not, which is why I wanted her. But when I asked her if she was your wife, she did not answer me.”
“Probably because she wasn’t at the time. But she is now and I have the witnesses and document to prove it.”
Niclas’s obsidian eyes widened briefly. Then he broke down into snorts. “Are you saying that somewhere within the past day, you married this woman?”
“Had you taken her to a priest first, it would be another story.”
Niclas shook his head with the irony of the situation. Then he looked at Braxton. “Fair enough, de Nerra. You won the prize.” He looked at Gray. “My lady, I am sorry to have harassed you. I saw you as something to be plucked for the taking, but I was wrong.”
Gray was still very frightened and very upset. Jerking herself from Braxton’s arms, she marched up to de Aughton, who was a good deal taller than she was, and swung at him with a balled fist. She caught him right in the nose. It was a surprising action for a normally very docile lady.
“That is for scaring the wits from me, you big dolt,” she squared off against him. “And the next time you fancy a lady, you would do far better to behave like a gentleman than a mindless beast.”
Niclas stood there with his hand on his nose; there was a smear of blood on his fingers. “You are correct, of course. And may I say that you pack a mighty wallop, Lady de Nerra.”
She thrust her chin up at him. “Get out. Get out before I gouge your eyes again. And this time I will not miss my mark.”
Braxton, fighting off a grin, put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back from the enormous knight.
He did not want her provoking de Aughton, although the man deserved worse than what he got.
He passed her off to Norman, who put himself between the lady and the offending knight.
Sweet, young Norman on the brink of manhood was fully prepared to protect the lady with his life.
“I will give you back your charger and your possessions and you may be on your way,” he said with more benevolence than he felt. “But I do not want to see you again, de Aughton. Not ever.”
Niclas nodded briefly. “That may be difficult, my lord, should you ever return to your father’s castle.”
Braxton’s expression didn’t change, but Gray looked confused. “His father’s castle?” she blurted. “Why do you say that?”
Niclas fixed on her, the obsidian eyes twinkling with misplaced mirth. “Because your husband’s father is Baron Gilderdale. I serve Gilderdale.”
Gray’s eyes widened. She looked to Braxton for confirmation but Braxton was fixed on Niclas. “You are my father’s knight?” he asked steadily.
“I have served him for four years, my lord.”
Braxton’s lips pressed into an ironic line.
Lowering his gaze, he shook his head and began to wander around, looking for a place to sit.
He settled on a three legged stool next to Geoff.
His expression was infused with disbelief, sarcasm, and some disappointment.
Gray watched him closely, not wanting to speak for she was not sure what to say.
It was clear that he did not seem pleased.
“And how is my father?” Braxton asked, almost wearily.
“Well enough, my lord,” Niclas replied. “As is your brother, Sir Robert, although he has a disease of the joints that has shortened his days as a knight. He is in pain a good deal of the time and can no longer ride his charger because his fingers are so gnarled that he cannot handle the reins.”
Braxton thought on the oldest brother he’d not seen in ten years. “I miss my brother,” he finally muttered. His gaze fixed intently on Niclas. “What are you doing so far away from Black Fell? And why did you not compete in the name of Gilderdale?”
Niclas’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Your father sent me on a mission to Manchester. Once delivering the missive and goods to the earl, my time was my own for a short while. Gilderdale is a land of peace these days and I was taking the long route home. It has been a long time since I have done any traveling. So I passed through Milnthorpe, saw there was a tournament, and added my name. It was safer not to compete as Gilderdale; when I do that, everyone immediately has double the reason to try and unseat me.”
Braxton nodded in understanding, but Gray did not understand at all. She entered the conversation as much as she dared. “I do not understand,” she said timidly. “Who is Gilderdale? Why does that increase your chances of an opponent attempting to unseat you?”
Braxton reached over and took her hand, toying gently with her fingers. “Have you never heard of Gilderdale?”
“Nay. Should I?”
Braxton smiled wryly. “If you are a knight, aye. But since you are not, I will enlighten you. Gilderdale is in Northumberland, near the borders. You could say that we are Northumberland’s war machine.
The Earl of Northumberland calls upon my father to quell uprisings, settle disputes, curb unruly Scots.
Anything that involves quick, violent action, Gilderdale answers the call.
Gilderdale is Northumberland’s avenging angel. ”
Gray mulled over that bit of information. She was not surprised that Braxton came from a warring family; it would explain why he had chosen the life he had. He knew of no other way. “I see,” she said. “Gilderdale is great, then?”