The Falls of Erith (13 page)

So
that’s what this was about. The old bitch had turned on him, gaining an upper
hand with her lies and deceit. He had underestimated her. Braxton struggled to
keep his composure as he faced Constance.

 “That,
Lady de Montfort, is a lie. You were the one who sent out the solicitations of
marriage, not I.”

“See
how he tries to defend himself?” Constance gripped her daughter’s arm. “He is a
mercenary, Gray. All he cares about is money. He bought Erith and Brooke for a
price. Now he intends to secure a fine return on his investment by selling them
both off. Why do you think he is fixing up the fortress? ‘Twill make it much
more attractive to a future husband.”

It
was purely amazing how so slight a woman could be so evil. Braxton knew, even
as he stared at her, that he was fighting a losing battle.  He never knew his
heart was capable of breaking, but at the moment, he suspected it was well on
its way. He looked at Brooke, cowering beside her mother.

“Lady
Brooke,” he said steadily. “Perhaps you can straighten this out. Did you not,
in fact, tell me that your grandmother was plotting behind your mother’s back
to marry you off?”

Brooke’s
eyes widened. She looked at her mother, her grandmother, and visibly shrank.
Her head began to wag back and forth.

“I…
I did not say,” she said.

“The
day I met you near the falls of Erith, you did not tell me this?”

“I…
I do not remember.”

Braxton
was not surprised by her denial. He put a hand to his forehead, wiping away the
trickle of blood from the crack Gray had given him.  He knew he would never be
able to convince Gray that both her mother and daughter were lying to her. He
did not blame her; they were her family and she had known them a lifetime. She
had only known him a few short days. A few short, miraculous days. He could not
believe it was all coming to so tragic an end.

The
only person who could validate his statement was too afraid to do so. Brooke
was only a child, caught up in an adult game. He didn’t blame her either. In
fact, it was no one’s fault but his. He should have told Gray about the
situation the moment he had returned to Erith. He should have been the first
one to come out with the truth about what had transpired with Wenvoe. But he
hadn’t; as he’d told Constance, Gray was just learning to trust him. He did not
want to ruin that. But his silence, and his conversation with a shrewd old
woman, had cost him dearly.  He should have been smarter about it.

“Then
I would suspect there is nothing more I can say to my defense,” he said after a
moment. His gaze lingered on Gray; she looked positively miserable. “I will
clear out my men before nightfall.”

He
went to move past the women, giving them a wide birth. Gray called out to him.

“Your
gifts and food stores will be brought to the bailey,” she said.

He
paused, meeting her gaze. “No need, my lady. They were gifts. I do not expect
them returned, nor would I want them. They were meant only for you.”

With
that, he turned and walked away. Gray stood there, pitchfork still in hand,
feeling heavy sobs bubbling within her chest.  The pitchfork came down and
tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“Mama…”
Brook began softly.

“Go,”
Gray threw the wooden implement down and turned away from her daughter and
mother. “Just… go. Leave me alone.”

Constance
took Brooke by the hand and led her off. She had come out on top of the
situation and did not feel the need to linger over her victory. The knight had
challenged her authority and had lost both the battle and the war as a result. 
She would never let a low-born knight to get the better of her, no matter how
wealthy or powerful. It was over now; she would leave her daughter to deal with
it. 

Gray
listened to their footfalls fade, finally allowing the sobs to come forth.   It
was the most painful thing she had ever experienced, and she’d experienced many
crippling things during her life. This was as bad as she could imagine, mostly
because her unprotected emotions were involved. To find Braxton with Brooke in
his arms… she closed her eyes to the sight of it, her tears falling on the
straw of the stables. Eventually, she sank to her buttocks and wept.

She
must have been there quite a while because the sound of footsteps in the straw
next to her nearly startled her to death. Looking up, she found herself staring
into Braxton’s pale face.

“I
have something for you,” he said before she could open her mouth. He held up a
yellowed parchment, rolled and tied with dried gut. “It is the agreement from
Wenvoe relinquishing his rights to Brooke and Erith. It is yours now. Keep it
safe.”

Leaving
the parchment in the straw next to her, he turned to walk away. She called
after him.

“Sir
Braxton,” she said. “I would have you read this to me, if it would not be too
much trouble.”

He
paused, turned to look at her, and slowly retraced his steps.  There was
labored hesitation to his movements, as if it was taking all of his strength to
complete them. Crouching down next to her, he sighed before picking up the
parchment and unrolling it.  His blue-green eyes focused on the scribed lines,
written by Wenvoe himself.

“
’On
this third day of August, in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and five,
let it be known that I, Neil Wenvoe, Baron Killington, Lord of Creekmere
Castle, do hereby relinquish my claim to Sir Braxton de Nerra for the Lady
Brooke Serroux and her dowry of Erith Castle and the hereditary title of Baron
Kentmere for the sum of thirty thousand gold marks in repayment for a debt owed
to me by Sir Garber Serroux.’
” He lowered the parchment. “That is all it
says. Then he gave his seal.”

He
began to roll it up again but she reached out and took it from him, their hands
brushing in the process. It was the most painfully exquisite touch; Braxton had
to close his eyes and turn away.  He was having a good deal of trouble dealing
with all of this at the moment and her proximity was distressing.

Gray’s
gaze lingered on him a moment before looking at the parchment, looking over the
careful words.  He didn’t know she could read, as taught to her by her father.
She had asked him to read the parchment for good reason; to see if he would lie
to her. But he had read every word as written.

“Thirty
thousand gold marks,” she whispered. “You paid thirty thousand gold marks for
the rights to my daughter and Erith?”

He
simply nodded his head.  “Why?” she asked, astonished. “Nothing about this
place is worth that kind of money. What would possess you to do such a thing?”

He
met her gaze, then.  There was hardness in his eyes, a necessary
self-protection. “Because I was trying to save you from having your castle
razed and your daughter confiscated. If I did not accept this task from Wenvoe,
he would find someone that would. This I could not allow. I was trying to do
something noble, my lady,” the last words were bitter and ironic. “A lot of
good it did me.”

He
stood up abruptly but did not leave. Gray watched him pace around like a caged
animal.  He wanted to go, she could tell, but he wanted much more to stay.  She
realized she wanted him to stay, too, in spite of everything.

“Explain
to me, my lord, how I could possibly misunderstand all of this,” she was
begging for an explanation, without her mother hanging over her and her
daughter clutching at her. It was just the two of them. “What is the truth of
all of this? You have nothing to lose by telling me the verity of the situation
now that the damage has been done. Tell me the truth and I shall believe you.”

He
looked at her and she was struck by the naked emotion in his eyes. “Will you?”

“I
said I would.”

He
took a deep breath, hardly daring to hope. “Then I will swear on my oath as a
knight that I will tell you the complete, honest truth. You may believe me if
you wish. If you do not, I hold no resentment against you.  It would be
difficult for you to know the truth living with a viper as you do.”

She
knew he meant her mother and she was not offended. She knew what the woman was
capable of, or at least she thought she did.

“Go
on.”

He
stood in front of her. “Wenvoe had a verbal contract with your late husband.
The deal was your daughter and Erith in exchange for the forgiveness of his
debt to Wenvoe.”

“I
know.”

“He
also said your husband had died before the terms could be put to paper. You
said your husband was murdered by Wenvoe. This information is conflicting.”

It
was her turn to look somewhat less confident. She lowered her gaze. “Since we
are telling complete truths, I will tell mine. My husband committed suicide in
shame over the bargain he had struck with Wenvoe, the shame of his gambling
debts finally catching up to him. The old baron might as well have killed him
for all of the humiliation he put Garber through. Somehow it sounds less shameful
to say my husband was murdered. There is enough at Erith to be ashamed over
without that added trouble hanging over our heads.”

He
watched the top of her blond head, feeling pity for yet another thing in her
life that she had no control over. But it did not deter him from what he must
say to her.

“Upon
my arrival at Creekmere, I discovered Wenvoe’s true plans for me. He had been
informed that your mother had sent out offers for Brooke’s hand. Given the fact
that Brooke was his property, he wanted me to confiscate both Brooke and Erith.
He asked me to enforce the terms of his verbal contract with your husband.  But
I could not do it, Gray. I could not take both your daughter and your castle.
So I told Wenvoe that I would buy the contract from him, thereby repaying your
husband’s debt.  When he refused, I threatened to raze Creekmere. So he sold me
your daughter, and Erith, for thirty thousand gold marks.”

She
was gazing up at him quite earnestly. “Was that his asking price?”

“It
was my offer. But I would have doubled it without hesitation.”

“Why?”

He
looked at her as if she was daft.  He lifted a big hand, letting it slap
helplessly back against his thigh. “Because your happiness is worth all of that
and more.  How much plainer can I be?”

Gray
stood up, unsteadily, tears reforming in her eyes.  “You said something
earlier. You said that Brooke had told you about my mother’s subversive
solicitations on her behalf. Is that God’s truth, Braxton? Did she really say
that to you?”

He
nodded. “It is. She told me that your mother said that she was a young woman
now and was due a wealthy husband.”

Gray
blinked and the tears spilled down her cheeks.  Braxton’s hands ached for want
to wipe the tears away but he was afraid to touch her, afraid she would pull
away from him.

“I
have heard my mother say that before,” she sniffed. “But never did I think she
would go behind my back.  She sent out offers for Brooke’s hand, didn’t she?”

“That
is what Brooke told me and what your mother confessed to when I confronted
her.”

She
blinked again and more tears spilled down her face.  Then she dissolved into
soft sobs. “Then they both lied to me,” she wept. “My mother, most of all, and
Brooke because she was afraid. I know how my mother is. She lied to take the
blame off herself.”

“Your
mother does what she must in order to survive.”

She
wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “It is not a good enough reason to
lie to me and to deliberately discredit you,” she said. Then she looked at him.
“But tell me one more thing.”

“Anything.”

“Why
did I see Brooke in your arms?”

He
lifted an eyebrow. “Because she was throwing herself at me. I was attempting to
pry her off when you appeared.” The blue-green eyes glimmered faintly. “My only
interest is in you, Gray. Do you really think I would show anything other than
friendly attention to your daughter?”

She
looked at him, seeing the naked honesty in his face. She’d been around enough
cheats and fabricators to know when she saw the raw elements of truth. “Nay,”
she murmured. “I do not.”

Braxton
didn’t know if he felt more relief than anger; relief that she apparently
believed him, anger at Constance’s tactics. The old bitch did not care who she
hurt, not even her own daughter. Poor Gray was on the receiving end of a very
unscrupulous woman. He moved towards her to offer some words of comfort but was
interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dallas.

The
blond knight stood in the stable entry, his eyes fixed on Braxton. “My lord,”
he said. “The visitors have arrived. They are from the House of Haistethorpe.”

“That’s
in Windermere,” Gray muttered as she wiped her nose.

Braxton
looked at her a moment before turning back to Dallas. “Did they say why they
had come?”

Dallas’
gaze moved between the lady and his lord. “At the invitation of the Lady
Constance.”

Gray’s
head snapped up.  Her face was wet, her eyes furious. “Is that what they said,
exactly?” she demanded.