Chapter Sixteen #3
As Gray sat and watched Brooke direct some servants to clear out the stale rushes, big arms suddenly embraced her from behind.
Braxton gently enfolded his wife into his arms, kissing the side of her head and being mindful of her sore ribs.
Gray smiled, placing a warm palm against his stubbled cheek as he kissed her.
“Greetings, wife,” he purred into her ear, kissing her again. “I am pleased to see that you are learning to be a lady of leisure.”
She gestured at Brooke, helping one of the old servants with a particularly large branch. “I was watching my daughter,” she said. Then she sighed. “My little girl seems to have grown up all in the past few days and I am not quite sure how I feel about it.”
He sat down on the bench next to her, holding her close and watching Brooke move about quite capably.
“Odd,” he said softly. “I have been thinking the same thing about Dallas. I have known the man since he was twenty years and one, when he was newly knighted, and although he has always proven himself extremely capable and responsible, our lovely young daughter has done something to him. He’s a changed man. ”
Gray turned to look at him, her amber eyes soft. “Our daughter?”
His blue-green eyes twinkled. “She belongs to me, as do you,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. “She was mine the moment I married you.”
She smiled at him, touching his handsome face. “You are as compassionate as you are generous. There are not many men who would happily accept two destitute women.”
“They are fools.”
She laughed softly and kissed him, to which he readily responded. When he pulled away, it was to cup her face in his enormous hands and study her fine features intently.
“I have been thinking something else along those lines,” he murmured.
“What is that?”
“I would like to make Brooke and Dallas my heirs.”
Gray nodded in serious consideration. “Although I do not question your judgment, would you not want for a child born of your blood to be your heir?”
He shrugged. “I do not have any children of my blood.”
“Not yet,” she smiled when he looked rather surprised at her. “I am not beyond my childbearing years, Braxton. It is entirely possible that you and I will be blessed in the future.”
He just stared at her. “Although I have always hoped…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. “The thought of bearing another child does not distress you?”
Her smile broadened. “Of course not. Why should it?”
He half-shrugged, half-scratched his head, suddenly looking nervous. “You had Brooke at such a young age,” he stumbled through his words. “You are now… well, were very young then.”
“Aye, I was,” she laughed softly. “’Tis well enough for you to mention my current age. It does not offend me. I am not exactly a young woman anymore, but I am certainly not too old to bear a child.”
He snorted, relieved that she wasn’t offended by what could have been slander against her age. “Nay, you are not.”
“But I am not getting any younger. Perhaps we should make all due haste to conceive a child quickly so I do not die of old age before your son is born.”
He gazed at her, his hands moving to her face again.
There were a thousand unspoken words that he could not seem to bring to his lips; it seemed as if each day with the woman brought about greater pleasure and surprise.
He could hardly believe this side of life existed, one where he was wildly content and with everything he had ever wanted.
After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“We have not yet known each other a full month,” he murmured. “Speaking of children seems so premature, so… aggressive. I did not marry you in order that you should bear me a child right away.”
“I know,” her smile remained. “I brought it up, after all. Every man wants a son and it would be my deepest honor to bear yours.”
He was truly speechless for a moment. “A son would be the greatest gift, madam,” he finally said, sincerely. “Yet I am already the most blessed man in England.”
“Why do you say that?”
He kissed her. “Because I have you.”
Gray smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. It was a sweet moment broken up by Brooke as she suddenly appeared with a broom in her hand. She thumped the end of the broom on the floor to get the attention of the cuddling adults.
“Sir Braxton?” she asked crisply. “May I ask you something?”
Braxton looked at her as Gray unwound her arms from his neck. “You may,” he said. “But first, I must tell you something.”
“What?”
“Do not call me Sir Braxton.”
Brooke cocked her head. “What should I call you?”
“I am your mother’s husband,” he informed her of the obvious, “and, I might mention, your new father. You do not need to be so formal with me.”
Brooke grinned, a charming smirk that emphasized the dimple in her left cheek. “Shall I call you Dada, then?”
Braxton gave one short, big guffaw that set both Brooke and Gray to giggling. “You cheeky girl,” he rumbled, lifting an eyebrow at Brooke. “Call me whatever you wish but do not call me Sir Braxton ever again.”
Brooke was still snorting; she leaned down and pecked Braxton on the cheek. “As you command, Dada,” she said lightly. “Now, may I ask my question?”
She was taunting him; he could see it. But he was also quite charmed by it and pleased that she felt comfortable enough with him to show some affection. After their tumultuous beginning, he wondered if they would ever reach that state.
“Very well,” he sighed. “What is it?”
“Would it be too much trouble to procure a few more servants for the keep?” she asked.
“What I mean is that our servants are very old. It is difficult for them to do the amount of work that is now required with all of the people living in the keep. I believe we need some strong, young peasants to help us.”
“Brooke,” Gray shook her head admonishingly, but Braxton stopped her. He looked as if he was seriously considering her request.
“What would you suggest, Lady Aston?” he asked her.
Brooke cocked her head thoughtfully, leaning on the broom.
“We need at least two strong men to help in the kitchens and in the hall. It is too much work for the women with all of the additional people we now have eating and living in the keep,” she replied.
“I believe we also need at least two or three more women to help out. There is much to do around here and not enough people to do it. Why, I myself must sweep the floor because everyone else is busy.”
She suddenly shook the broom at him. Gray was moving to her feet in outrage but Braxton stood up with her, putting his arm around his wife and giving her a good squeeze to silence her; Brooke was now lady of the keep and must be given that confidence and control.
“I will see what I can do,” he assured Brooke patiently. “For now, I will have one of my men do the sweeping. You do not need to do it.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Gray rolled her eyes and yanked the broom from her daughter’s grip. “This conversation is ridiculous. Give me that broom and I shall do the sweeping.”
Braxton snatched the broom from her and held it out of her reach. “Nay, Lady de Nerra, you will not,” he moved away from her as she swiped at the broom, trying to snatch it from him. He made haste towards the door with Gray following. “Go away from me, woman. You cannot have the broom.”
Brooke was laughing uproariously as Gray went after Braxton and he made every effort to stay out of her way.
He was too big, fast and agile for her but Gray wasn’t making a very strong attempt; her ribs were still sore so she finally surrendered as he gave her a flashy grin and darted out of the front door.
Gray stood there with a smirk of her face, shaking her head, as Brooke came up beside her.
“He is funny,” she turned to her mother. “Do you really think he is going to find someone to sweep?”
Gray gazed at her daughter, tucking a stray piece of blond hair behind her ear. “Aye, I believe he is going to find someone to sweep,” she winked at her child. “Return to your duties, sweetheart. You are doing a marvelous job.”
Brooke flashed a happy grin, thrilled with her mother’s approval. “What are you going to do now?”
Gray sighed, her amber gaze lingering on the bailey beyond the door in the hope that she might catch a glimpse of her husband with the broom. “Rest, I suppose,” she said. “There isn’t anything for me to do and I feel rather useless.”
Brooke’s smile faded. “You are not useless, mama. Braxton simply doesn’t want you to work. This is my keep now and I should be doing all of the work, anyway.”
Gray smiled faintly at her daughter, stroking the young woman’s blond head before moving to the stairs.
Just as she did so, Dallas suddenly came bolting through the keep door with the broom in his hand.
He smiled sweetly at his wife, completely ignorant of the fact that his mother-in-law was standing on the stairs just to his left. He had eyes only for Brooke.
“Greetings, Lady Aston,” he said jovially. “I have come to sweep your floor.”
Brooke blushed furiously as Gray chuckled. “Is this the type of strong, young help you had in mind, Brooke?” she asked.
Brooke’s gaze moved between her mother and her husband. “Well… aye, I suppose,” she was growing increasingly embarrassed. She focused on her husband. “You do not have to sweep the floor. I can do it. I thought Braxton was going to have one of his soldiers do it.”
Dallas winked at her. “I am one of his soldiers,” he said, glancing over at Gray on the stairs. “Good morning to you, Lady de Nerra. ’Tis a fine day.”