Chapter Thirteen #3
“The greatest, Lady de Nerra,” Niclas replied before Braxton could.
Even in defeat for the lady’s affections, he was still competing for her attention, unconscious as it may be.
“Sir Thomas de Nerra is the fourth earl in a long line of great warring noblemen. Each of his four sons has also chosen the warring way and, as rumor would have it, the power and skill has increased with each successive son.”
Gray’s amber eyes were fixed on the big black knight. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your husband, as the youngest son, is the greatest of the line.”
She looked at Braxton, a glimmer in her eyes. “I would agree with that.”
Braxton smiled modestly. “You must agree, as my wife. But know that my other brothers are quite formidable. I am not sure that Niclas’s assessment is fair.”
“You are too humble, my lord,” Niclas broke into their conversation. “I saw you in the joust yesterday. Your talent is astounding.”
Braxton didn’t reply; he was not about to thank a lesser knight for a compliment, especially in light of the evening’s events. Better the man realize that he was indeed superior so he would not try anything so foolish again.
To their left, Geoff suddenly let out a groan when he shifted on his pallet and inadvertently caused himself some agony.
Conversation and fright forgotten, Gray immediately went to the knight, remembering his rough handling during the course of the earlier crisis.
She knelt beside him, full of concern, to check the bandages on his neck.
“Geoff,” she murmured. “I am so sorry I forgot about you. How brave you were to try and protect me.”
Geoff was deathly pale; it was evident he was struggling, a miracle he had stayed silent this long. “As any man would have done, my lady,” he said faintly. “But I fear I may have re-injured something. My left arm is numb.”
Gray knew that could not be a good sign.
She felt horribly guilty that her first thoughts had not been of him when Niclas had released her, for she had clearly seen Geoff’s valiant attempt to aid her.
She checked the wound; the stitches had held, but there was some additional bleeding with his movement.
Nothing looked terribly out of order. As Braxton, and even Niclas, stood in various positions behind her, she re-secured the bandages and looked up at her husband.
“He cannot be moved for quite some time,” she said firmly. “Tonight’s events may have caused more damage to him. I will not risk him in a wagon, on an open road, even to take him to safety. He must stay still and rest.”
Braxton’s face was grim. “How long?”
“A few days, at least.”
He didn’t hesitate. “As you say. What more do you need in order to help him?”
She sighed, looking back at the ashen young knight. After a moment, she rose to her feet and faced Braxton so that Geoff could not overhear her.
“I fear his condition is beyond my skills,” she said softly. “I would feel more comfortable if a reputable surgeon examined him. He very well may have re-injured himself attempting to defend me.”
Niclas heard her. “I will ride to Grange-over-Sands,” he said, already moving for the door. “It is a large town. Surely there will be a surgeon of reputation to examine him. I will bring him back as soon as I am able.”
Both Braxton and Gray looked at him, varied degrees of surprise in their expressions.
“This is not your trouble,” Braxton told him. “I believe you were going to leave, anyway.”
Gray put her hand on Braxton in preparation for defending Niclas’s actions, but the knight beat her to it.
“This entire folly with d’Uberville is my fault,” he said. “As an honorable man, I would right my wrong. I know that you do not believe me to be the honorable type, my lord, but I would consider it a privilege to prove you wrong.”
Under normal circumstances, Braxton would have rejected the request. But Niclas was trying to make amends and Gray’s hand on his arm told him that he should allow such an attempt.
If the man left and never returned, it was of little consequence other than Geoff would have to wait longer to be examined by a surgeon.
But if the man did as he said he would, then it was a statement of his word.
It would aid in restitution for his earlier behavior.
As Braxton was preparing to reply, the tent flap moved and Dallas entered the tent.
The knight was in full battle armor, broadsword in hand and smaller weapons slung and secured about his body.
His visor was up, his pale blue eyes scrutinizing the tent and its occupants.
At the sight of de Aughton, he was inclined to raise his sword and go on the offensive, but he could see that no one in the tent seemed particularly upset.
Puzzled, he nonetheless remained in a defensive posture.
“Is everything well, my lord?” he asked in an authoritative voice that Gray had never heard from him before. “I was told there were sounds of trouble here.”
Braxton’s eyes were on Niclas. “No trouble,” he said. “De Aughton was just leaving.”
Dallas moved away from the tent flap, his armored body between Geoff, Gray and Braxton. He watched de Aughton with the expression of one sighting prey. “Then leave, de Aughton,” he said to the big black knight.
Niclas put up his hands to show he was no threat. “I shall, as soon as my horse and possessions are returned to me,” he said, glancing at Braxton. “I can hardly walk to Grange-on-Sands, my lord.”
Braxton nodded at Dallas, who had focused on him for an affirmation. “Give him back his property,” he said. “He is riding for a surgeon for Geoff.”
Dallas instantly dropped his sword and quit the tent.
They could hear him shouting orders outside, rousing the men and having Niclas’s property brought forth.
Listening to the shouts outside, Niclas’s gaze lingered on Braxton a moment.
It seemed that he wanted to say something more but ultimately held his tongue.
“I shall take my leave, my lord,” he dipped his head. Then his gaze moved to Gray. “My lady, I shall return as soon as I can.”
With that, the big black knight left the tent.
Braxton and Gray stood there a moment as if still trying to absorb the events of the morning.
After a small eternity of digesting their shock, they finally turned to each other.
Blue-green fixed on amber and Braxton stroked his wife’s cheek. She smiled weakly in return.
“Are you really all right?” he asked softly.
She nodded, winding her arms around him just to draw strength from his embrace. “I am fine, truly,” she sighed as his arms tightened around her. “But it was rather frightening.”
“No doubt,” he murmured. “Will you be all right if I leave you a moment?”
“Of course. I am not a weakling.”
He laughed softly. “God’s Bones, you are most certainly not. I must speak with Dallas a moment.”
Dallas was standing outside, several feet away, with Brooke standing beside him.
They were both watching something in the distance.
As Braxton marched up on them, he noticed that they were watching Graehm issue de Aughton his possessions and horse.
Brooke, her fair young face anxious, fixed on Braxton.
“Is my mother all right?” she demanded. “What happened?”
Braxton held up a hand. “She is well enough.”
“But what happened?”
“Sir Niclas paid us a visit, Lady Aston. Now he is riding for a surgeon for Sir Geoff”
Brooke’s pretty face darkened with confusion, with concern. “But… but a soldier told us he heard suspicious sounds coming from your tent and then Dallas dressed in his armor and ran over there with his sword and… are you sure my mother is all right?”
“Go and see for yourself.”
She did, without hesitation. As she bolted into the distant tent that contained her mother, Braxton turned to Dallas.
“What took you so long to come?” he asked quietly. “Gray was in peril for several moments until I diffused the situation. Where were you?”
Dallas shook his head. “In my tent, with Brooke. We are far enough away that I did not hear anything until a soldier came to me and said he had heard strange sounds coming from your tent. I wasn’t sure the strange sounds he heard were indicative of trouble, if you understand my meaning, so I took my time to investigate.
But when I approached your tent and heard a strange voice, I suspected the worst and made haste to retrieve my armor and weapon. ”
Braxton nodded, satisfied. “As I would have more than likely followed the same path of logic.”
“Your wife is uninjured?”
“Just frightened. And speaking of wives, have you carried out your obligation yet?”
Dallas wriggled his eyebrows. “I was preparing to broach the subject when I was interrupted by the soldier.”
“Then resume your plans. I will keep her mother away from your tent for the time being.”
Dallas sighed heavily. “Nothing like the screams of a child to incite the mother.”
“Exactly.”
They broke from their stance and walked back to the larger tent.
As they were preparing to enter, Norman and Edgar exited, moving quickly out of the way.
Braxton grabbed Norman by the arm, forcing the lad to stop so he could take a good look at his face.
Dallas peered at the swollen nose over Braxton’s shoulder.
“You took a good hit,” Braxton said to the young man. “Is it broken?”
Norman’s eyes were already becoming dark-ringed as his nose swelled. “Lady de Nerra already looked at it and says she does not believe so.”
Dallas lifted his eyebrows, looking at Braxton. “Young Norman went on the offensive against de Aughton?”
“Indeed.”
“Most impressive.”
Dallas slapped the boy lightly on the head and continued past him, into the tent.
Braxton lingered with the boy a moment longer, inspecting his face as if suddenly seeing something more mature in the youth.
The lad was sixteen or seventeen years, after all.
He was becoming a man. He let go of his arm with a satisfied nod.
“Most impressive indeed,” he said. “Norman, you and I will speak later on your training. Perhaps it is time you moved past the duties of a squire. Perhaps it is time for you to learn to serve as a warrior.”
Norman watched Braxton disappear into the tent. There was a somewhat dazed expression on his face. A few feet away, Edgar was struggling to light a cooking fire, scowling at his brother. He thought he had been rather brave, too, although he hadn’t gotten bloodied for his efforts.
“Maybe next time I’ll get an arm cut off,” Edgar sniffed. “Then Sir Braxton will appreciate my valor, too.”
Norman pursed his lips at his brother; leave it to Edgar to ruin a proud moment. “Don’t be such an idiot,” he said.
Edgar just made a face at him as he continued to try and light the stubborn fire. Norman watched for a minute or so before shoving his brother aside, adjusting the kindling, and lighting the blaze on the first try. Edgar’s spirits sank lower.
“Show off!” he yelled.