Chapter Fourteen #3
She nodded once, too embarrassed to elaborate. He laughed softly again and kissed her on the cheek. “Very well, Lady Aston. We will do it as much as you wish, whenever you wish. I will not protest in the least.”
She refused to look at him, making a face when his laughter grew stronger.
Withdrawing himself from her tight little body, he made sure to kiss her face, both breasts, her belly, and the inside of her right thigh as he pushed himself off of her.
There was a slight amount of blood on her skin but certainly nothing shattering.
He didn’t mention it to Brooke, however; he simply collected her pantalets and shift for her.
She took them in silence, pulling her clothing on swiftly while he pulled on his own clothing.
By the time she had her shift and shoes on, he had on most of his mail.
The entire time, they had dressed in silence.
When their eyes finally met, they smiled at each other warmly.
Brooke flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Do you need any help to finish packing up?” he asked.
She shook her head. He collected his armor from where he had set it down, took her chin in one hand, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I shall be outside if you need me,” he said quietly. “I will send Norman and Edgar to finish packing my things.”
“I can do it for you,” she said eagerly. “I mean, shouldn’t I? As your wife?”
He smiled faintly. “Of course you should. How stupid of me.”
She returned his smile, looking rather pleased, and he winked at her as he quit the tent.
Brooke stood there for several long moments after he had gone, reflecting on the past several minutes.
Warmth filled her, making her limbs soft and mushy.
She truly didn’t know if she could even walk, but walk she did.
She had to. She had to pack her husband’s things so that they could return to Erith.
Her husband. Every time she thought of Dallas, she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.
True to his word, de Aughton returned by mid-day with a surgeon from Grange-on-Sands.
The physic was a fairly young man, driving an old cart pulled by an old donkey.
Even though in years, the man was not over thirty, he walked, acted and looked like someone much older.
In his dirty gray robes and mussy brown hair, he pulled his donkey to a halt and looked curiously around the camp.
Graehm and Dallas helped the physic secure his beast and collect his bags while Niclas remained standing next to his charger. Although he had fulfilled his promise, he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.
“How is d’Uberville?” he asked Dallas.
Dallas handed the bag he had collected to Graehm and instructed the man to take the physic to Geoff immediately. He waited until the two men were out of earshot before turning to the big black knight.
“Worse,” he said evenly. “His attempt to defend the lady from your abduction attempt worsened his injuries. He’s been coughing up blood all morning.”
Niclas didn’t show the guilt he was feeling. He remained quite unemotional. “I am sorry for that, then. But this physician comes highly recommended. He should be able to help.”
Dallas didn’t reply; his gaze lingered on the man a moment before turning back to camp. Niclas watched him walk away, knowing there was no longer any reason for him to be here. He had completed his task.
Consigning d’Uberville to his fate, he turned his steed for home.
*
On the road for the past hour, the mercenary army traveling back to Erith was moving slowly for Geoff’s sake; the physic that de Aughton had brought from Sands-on-Grange had recommended a very slow pace and Braxton took the man at his word.
Gray sat on the wagon bed beside Geoff, monitoring his condition; the knight had responded to the surgeon’s treatment enough so that he was somewhat stable and it had been decided to move him back to Erith for a measure of permanent shelter and protection.
Gray sat beside the knight diligently, watching every move and listening carefully to every sound.
She was sorry they hadn’t brought the physic with them, fearful that she wouldn’t be skilled enough to aid Geoff if something went horribly wrong.
Oddly, Braxton didn’t travel with a surgeon and most of his men were surgeons unto themselves; they could all stitch wounds and repair broken bones to a certain degree, including Braxton himself. So Gray was, essentially, on her own.
Braxton rode beside the wagon, just a few feet from her.
He was in full armor, his visor lowered, but every so often his helmed head would turn to her and she would catch his movement, turning to smile at him.
She could not see his face beneath the visor but knew he was smiling back.
It made her warm and giddy inside, but truth be told, it all still seemed like a dream.
In a few short days she had met and married a man who was very quickly becoming everything to her and at her age, she never imagined she would be so fortunate.
But fortunate she was and she was deeply thankful.
Another figure capturing her attention had been her daughter.
The young woman rode on the rear of the wagon bed along with Edgar but there had, remarkably, been no harsh words between them.
In fact, Brooke seemed very distracted when she realized that it was more than likely because Dallas was riding a few feet behind her.
He, too, was in full armor with his shield slung and his visor lowered.
Gray couldn’t see his face. Having not talked to her daughter since last night, she had no idea what had transpired between the newlyweds.
Focusing on Braxton, she motioned him near her.
“Braxton, look at Brooke,” Gray said softly. “Does she look upset to you?”
Braxton’s helmed head turned in the young lady’s direction. “I cannot see her face. Why? Is she upset?”
Gray shrugged. “I do not know,” she said quietly. “She has barely said a word to me all morning. Have you spoken with Dallas?”
“Not since this morning.”
“Do you suppose things are not well between them?”
“If things are not, you must let them work it out.”
She sighed, turning to face forward. “I was not attempting to interfere. But Brooke is my daughter and.…”
“And Dallas is her husband,” Braxton cut her off. He flipped up his visor and looked at her, although not unkind. “You have your own husband to worry over, my lady. That is where your focus should be.”
She fought off a grin. “Is that so? And when has my focus not been completely and utterly upon you, my lord?”
He smiled at her. “Never. You are my devoted angel.”
She smiled shyly, a gesture that enchanted him. Then her smile faded as her amber gaze fell on the road ahead. “What do you intend to do if de Clare is still at Erith?”
His own smile faded and he too turned his attention forward. “Offer them the hospitality of Erith, of course,” he said evenly. “But it is now Dallas’ keep; that is his decision.”
She gazed at him, his strong profile through the limited view of the visor. “Braxton, I am afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of these Houses that my mother has invited to vie for Brooke’s hand. What if they become enraged because she has already married? Erith cannot withstand a siege. There is nothing to hold back the enemy.”
He looked at her, then. “You forget that you have the army of Braxton de Nerra within your walls. Only a fool would knowingly attack me.”
“But you have less than two hundred men. De Clare, and others, have hundreds.”
“One of my men is worth ten of someone else’s. Do you have so little faith in me?”
“Of course not,” she said softly, putting a hand on his armored arm. “I did not mean to insult you. I know your reputation is great.”
He grunted. “Great indeed. If anyone should be afraid, it should be de Clare.” With that, he turned his head and emitted a shrill whistle from between his teeth.
Dallas spurred his charger forward, kicking up rocks and dirt as he did so.
One rock flipped up and hit Brooke on the face, just below her left eye.
She screamed and threw her hand over her cheek.
The sound brought everyone running. Gray was already climbing from the wagon bench back into the bed in an attempt to reach her daughter.
Dallas, having reined his horse around at the sound of his wife’s cry, was joined by Braxton.
Everyone was racing to her side. Brooke sat on the open wagon bed and wept.
Gray was the first to reach her. “Let me see, sweetheart.”
She peeled her daughter’s hand away from her face to find a bloody cut underneath. Brooke continued to weep as Gray looked around for something to wipe the blood away with, taking an offered strip of boiled cloth from the wagon driver as he yanked it from one of the bags at his feet.
“There now, love,” she smiled as she put the cloth over the cut to stop the bleeding. “It’s not bad. What happened?”
Brooke’s luminous blue eyes were shedding rivers of tears. “The horse kicked up a rock.”
“What horse?”
“Dallas’.”
Dallas was off his charger, walking beside Brooke as the wagon plodded along. He flipped up his visor, gazing at Brooke’s face with great concern. Holding the reins in one hand, he put the other on her knee.
“I am so sorry, Brooke,” he said softly. “It was an accident.”
Gray watched the young knight interact with her daughter, surprised at the emotion in his voice. She had not expected it. She was even more surprised when Brooke stopped crying immediately and smiled at him. It was just like magic.
“I am all right,” she assured him in a tone her mother had never heard her use before. “I know you did not mean it. I… I think I was startled more than anything. It will heal.”
Dallas smiled back at her, patting her knee before looking to Gray. “Is it bad?”