Chapter Nineteen
Gray had never been to Creekmere Castle, although Garber had spent some time there in the past. Baron Wenvoe was a known gambler, a man who had prospered from the sport, and his castle reflected that.
It was small but well built and well maintained, and as the party from Erith entered the main gates, men went running into the keep to summon the baron.
Astride their two big warmblood mares, Gray and Brooke inspected their surroundings cautiously.
A wagon, ten men at arms and Edgar had accompanied the women from Erith on the morning following the arrival of Gilderdale.
Gray had known of a way north that kept them out of the line of sight of Gloucester or her spies, so the party had stayed to a small, less-traveled road to the northeast that kept them shielded by forests and dales.
It took just a few hours to reach Creekmere, now as clouds were beginning to waft in from the sea and gather ominously overhead.
As the portcullis dropped in behind them with a resounding boom, Gray was coming to feel as if she was a prisoner in this tiny castle.
Edgar, riding at the head of the column quite proudly on a fluffy brown destrier that was too old to do much fighting or competing, dismounted his steed and very impressively announced Lady de Nerra and Lady Aston to Baron Wenvoe’s servants.
Even now, he stood at the head of the group, waiting expectantly for the baron to appear.
Braxton had put him in charge of the ladies even though a senior sergeant was in charge of the soldiers, but still, Edgar was coming to feel as if he was finally being appreciated.
Norman so often overshadowed him that it was rare when he had such opportunity to prove himself.
As he turned back to look at Gray and Brooke, just to make sure they were looking at how officious he was, Brooke made a face at him.
So much for being officious; he stuck his tongue out at her.
Baron Wenvoe emerged from the small keep several minutes later, looking rather flustered, as if he had just been awakened in his bed.
His white hair was standing up and he had a crease on one side of his face as he stumbled down the stairs from the keep, his fat face fixed on the small party from Erith. He approached Gray somewhat timidly.
“My lady,” he semi-bowed, not an entirely mannerly man. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Gray dismounted the mare as a soldier grasped the reins to steady the beast. She approached Baron Wenvoe, struggling against the memories that the man provoked.
Garber and Baron Wenvoe had been as thick as thieves with their gambling habits and she had tried to explain that to Braxton, but he was less concerned about old memories than he was about getting his wife and daughter to safety.
She didn’t agree with him but she respected him enough to do as he asked.
Facing Wenvoe, however, she was coming to feel some disgust. She simply didn’t like the man.
“Greetings, baron,” she said with more pleasantness than she felt. “My daughter and I must beg refuge from you for a few days, at least until my husband sends for me.”
Wenvoe peered at her curiously. “Husband?” he repeated, well aware that Garber Serroux had been dead for years. But then it occurred to him that she had been announced by another name. “Are you… are you now Lady de Nerra?”
Gray nodded. “Braxton and I were married last month,” she said. “I am now Lady de Nerra and my daughter, Brooke, is now Lady Aston. She married one of Braxton’s knights.”
Shocked, Wenvoe looked between Gray and her lovely daughter. His jowls quivered as he attempted to straighten out his line of thought.
“I see,” was all he could manage to say. “You said you are seeking refuge? What has happened to Erith?”
Gray’s pleasant expression faded. “Erith is under threat of attack from Gloucester at the moment,” she said evenly. “My husband wishes for Brooke and I to be away from the compromised fortress until the matter is settled. I hope you will be able to accommodate us.”
“Accommodate you?” he scratched his head, looking back at his tiny keep before nodding. “Of course I will show you hospitality. An attack, did you say?”
“Aye.”
“But… but Erith is already a crumbling wreck. Surely Gloucester and all of its might will have no problem breaching the castle.”
Gray smiled thinly. “You have not seen Erith recently,” she replied. “The fortress has been rebuilt. She is back to her former glory, make no mistake. She will hold.”
“Is that so?” Wenvoe was genuinely surprised. “Erith has been derelict for years.”
Gray thought of Braxton and his massive rebuilding project, trying not to let the depression of their separation swamp her.
“My husband has virtually rebuilt the castle,” she said.
“It is truly remarkable. Hopefully you will have the opportunity to see what he has accomplished when this difficulty with Gloucester is over.”
Wenvoe couldn’t decide how he felt about that.
Once, the fortress had been promised to him.
Then de Nerra came along and basically threatened him into selling his rights.
Now de Nerra had it and had stirred up problems with, of all people, the mighty force of Gloucester.
Wenvoe didn’t understand any of it, but he was coming to think some evil thoughts about the situation. It was simply his nature.
Lazy and slovenly, Wenvoe was no fool. Money and greed were his livelihood.
As he looked at the two women, he could suddenly see how he would be able to capitalize on the situation.
Damn de Nerra for forcing him to sell his rights to the young Serroux girl and the castle along with her; Wenvoe wanted it back.
He couldn’t do anything about the girl, but perhaps he could do something about the fortress. And with that, his mind began to work.
As he called his servants to collect Lady de Nerra’s belongings, he began to think very wicked and calculating thoughts.
He was a gambler, after all; with his very precious guests, he began to see monetary possibilities in all of this.
Gloucester was mad enough at de Nerra to attack Erith; de Nerra was trusting enough to send his wife and daughter to Wenvoe, who he had claimed as an ally those weeks ago when he had purchased Wenvoe’s rights to Erith.
Wenvoe wondered how much Gloucester would pay him for Lady de Nerra and her daughter.
It would make them extremely valuable hostages and de Nerra, for whatever he had done to Gloucester, would be at their mercy.
But best of all, Wenvoe would make an ally of Gloucester, giving de Nerra pause should he consider vengeance for the betrayal.
The man would be foolish to tangle with Gloucester, and Wenvoe.
Retribution was a sweet and awful thing.
As Wenvoe watched the women mount the stairs into the keep, he grabbed one of his trusted male servants and whispered words of treachery into the man’s ear. The servant, stupid and strong, slithered off to accomplish his lord’s bidding with the promise of a great reward when all was said and done.
As Gray and Brooke settled in to the tiny keep at Creekmere, they had no idea that the man who had humiliated Garber Serroux was about to do the same thing to them.