The Falls of Erith (18 page)

She
understood, somewhat, watching Norman strap on his leg armor.  Braxton stomped
his foot, letting the protection settle comfortably on his leg once Norman was
finished.  Then the lad went to work on the other leg.

“Usually,
both Edgar and Norman assist me,” Braxton watched the dark-haired lad work
quickly. “I am normally dressed far more quickly than any of the other men.”

Norman
picked up the pace, thinking Braxton was giving him a hint. Gray smiled as she
watched the boy’s fingers work swiftly over the leather fastens. “I think he is
doing a remarkable job,” she said.

“He
usually does.”

When
Norman finished with the other leg, Braxton took a couple of good stomps and
settled the rest of the armor.  He twisted his torso, stretching out and moving
his plate protection to a comfortable spot.  Norman grabbed Braxton’s
broadswords, scabbards, and other necessary equipment and made a dash for the
charger outside the tent. 

Gray
stood in the dimness of the tent, watching Braxton fuss with a shoulder strap
that was too tight.  He glanced up, noticing that she was staring at him again.

“What
is it?” he asked.

She
shook her head. “Nothing,” she cocked her head at him. “I simply haven’t seen a
man dress for battle in a very long time.”

He
continued to fidget with the strap. “Your father?”

She
nodded. “I remember him going to battle when I was young, though at that point,
the wars with Henry had ended.  My father was fifteen years old when Simon was
killed at Evesham in twelve hundred and sixty five, so he never had the chance
to fight alongside his father. He was too young.  He went to his grave with
that regret.”

“What
about Garber?”

“Never,”
she said, her expression changing. It was apparent that when discussing her
late husband, there was not much pleasure in it. “Garber was not a knight in
spite of being raised that way. I never saw him in a suit of armor, though his
father was quite a warrior. Garber was too concerned with his drink and
gambling to bother with the anything else.”

Braxton
had never shown much interest in learning about Garber Serroux other than
cursory knowledge. But the closer he drew to Gray, the more he wanted to know
about this man she had been married to.  He was inherently curious.

“I
have only heard the darker side of Garber Serroux,” he said, finished adjusting
the strap. “Surely the man had some redeeming qualities.”

Gray
shrugged. “Not particularly. The moment he married me, he began to sell off my
father’s possessions. They were passed down from my grandfather; furniture,
fine weaponry, things like that. He took them all and sold them in London, not
telling anyone that they were possessions once having belonged to Simon de
Montfort.  Then he went and gambled all of the money away on dog races. And
that was the beginning of our descent into poverty. He was a drunkard, rude,
abusive, lazy and dishonest.  I can honestly tell you that he had no redeeming
qualities that I was aware of, and I was married to him for fifteen years.”

His
blue-green eyes were fixed on her. “What do you mean when you say that he was
abusive?”

“I
mean that he used to like to strike me when he was drunk. Not always, but
sometimes.  It depended on what he was drinking. If he was drunk on ale, then
he was not so mean. But if it was anything else, he turned quite violent.”

Braxton
took a step towards her, reaching out to gently stroke her arm. “I am sorry,”
he said quietly. “You did not deserve that. In fact, you have deserved nothing
of what your ties to Garber Serroux brought you.”

“It
wasn’t my ties to Garber. It was my ties to Simon.”

He
knew that. “You only deserve the greatness of that association, not the unfair
shame cast upon it.”

He
was gentle and sincere. It almost made her forget every bad deed Garber, or her
association with the de Montfort name, had ever executed against her.  His
manner, and time, had eased her dreadful memories a great deal.  But it was the
first time she had ever heard anyone apologize for the misfortunes of her fate.

“It
is of no matter,” she said. “He is gone and you are here. That is all that
matters to me now.”

He
didn’t take his eyes off her as he stepped close, gazing down into her
exquisite face. He didn’t want to pull her into an embrace against the hard
armor he wore, so he took her hands, bringing them to his lips.  He kissed the
fingers sweetly, turning her hands over to kiss her palms.  It was a tender yet
exhilarating gesture that brought a smile to them both.

“And
I will be here for some time to come, so you had better become used to my
presence,” he leaned down and kissed her lips. “Now, I suspect everyone will be
waiting for me. Are you ready to be entertained?”

Her
gentle, dreamy expression fled. “Braxton, I really wish you would not do this.
It frightens me.”

He
winked at her, kissing her fingers again before letting her hands go. “Not to
worry. You’ll enjoy this, I promise.”

She
looked so dubious that he grinned, kissing her lips once, then twice. She
tasted so good that he held her face in his hands and kissed her so deeply that
his head swam.  She was so warm and soft and delicious and with every kiss, he
seemed to crave her more and more.  She ignited a tingle in his hands and a
flame in his heart that only seemed to grow with every touch, every look.  He’d
never known anything like it.  He could only pray she felt the same but he was
far too fearful to ask, fearful of the answer.  He almost laughed at himself at
the thought that he would actually experience fear.  Since the moment he met
her, he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

“You
know,” he said after a moment, “you never have given me an answer to my
question.”

She
was still attempting to catch her breath from his ardent kiss. “What question
is that?”

“I
asked you if I may have your permission to court you. You never have answered
me.”

A
gradual smile spread across her lips. “Isn’t that what you have been doing?”

“Aye;
but only because I have boldly moved forward in the hope that you would not
stop me.”

She
shook her head slowly.  “I will not stop you.”

His
blue-green eyes glimmered. “Is that an affirmative answer?”

“It
is.”

He
smiled broadly, taking her hand and leading her towards the tent flap. “Then
come along, lady,” he took her hand, leading towards the tent flap. “Your
Intended promises to give you an exciting gift as celebration of your gracious
consent.”

Gray’s
smile faded. She doubted it would be exciting. Terrifying was more like it.

***

“Unfortunately,
you have arrived at an inopportune time,” Constance told the two men standing
before her. “My daughter, and Lady Brooke, have gone into Milnthorpe. They
shan’t return until this evening.”

It
was a warm day and the dust from the rebuilding of Erith swirled about the
bailey. Constance was fearful it would damage the new wine-colored surcoat she
wore and she certainly did not want to make a bad impression on the visitors.
She had been both surprised and pleased by their arrival not a half hour
before.

With
Gray and Brooke gone, there had been no one to greet the guests. Constance
naturally took the duty, not only because she was the only family member left,
but because the visitors most recently arrived at Erith were of such
substantial significance that she dare not leave this task to anyone other than
herself. She was frankly surprised they had heeded the invitation. 

Sir
Roger de Clare, cousin to Gilbert of Clare, sixth Earl of Gloucester, stood in
the center of Erith’s bailey with an expression of dubious curiosity.  The
depth of the man’s significance and relationship to Erith could not be escaped;
as the cousin of the man who betrayed Simon de Montfort at Evesham, Roger was
an old man who had married late in life. He was propertied but not titled as
his cousin had been; he was a glorified, and very wealthy, baron whose seat was
Elswick Castle near Blackpool.  He had three sons, the eldest of which was
almost sixteen years of age. It was this son who had interest in Brooke Serroux
and the legacy that was Erith Castle. Being that the lad’s cousin had once been
Simon de Montfort’s best friend and then greatest enemy, the implication of a
betrothal to Simon’s great-granddaughter could not be overlooked.

Constance
knew this. She, more than anyone, understood the importance of lineage and
marital ties.  When she had sent the original marriage solicitation to Roger,
she had not expected an answer. There was too much bitter blood between the de
Montforts and the de Clares.  But Roger’s appearance told her that perhaps it
was not so bitter as she had thought.  She was tremendously glad that her
daughter and the mercenary were away this day. Now, she would be free to do as
she must for the survival of the family. To the Devil with this mercenary that
was trying to usurp everything she had worked for.

“I
know you, Lady Constance,” Roger said, his voice quiet and deep. “You and I
were acquainted as children, though you were older than I. We would play together
at Thirlwall Castle. Do you not recall this?”

Constance
nodded. “I do, my lord. It has been many years since we last met.”

“Too
many,” Roger looked her over. Next to him stood a tall, red-haired youth with
very bad skin.  Roger glanced at his gangly son. “My lady, meet my son,
William. He has come today to meet the Lady Brooke.”

Constance
eyed the young man, awkward and unattractive at sixteen. She nodded to him
graciously. “I assure you that Brooke will be most pleasing. Will you not come
inside and enjoy some refreshment?”

She
led the pair up the newly repaired steps. Roger’s keen gaze roved the fortress.
“What happened to this place?” he asked. “I can remember when it was a powerful
fortress. It looks as if it has seen a great deal of damage.”

Constance
was afraid he would pick up on the extent of the rebuilding going on; it was
truthfully difficult to miss it.  But she was thankful that the fortress
appeared far better than it had mere days ago. “Erith has seen better days,”
she agreed “But, if you will notice, we are rebuilding most of the walls with
better stone. Some of the materials used to originally build the fortress were
not holding up to the test of time. We thought it best to rebuild what was not
holding fast. Moreover, we want the young man who inherits this place to have a
fine, solid fortress. Would you not agree?”

It
sounded like a good explanation, even to her.  Roger bought it. “I do,” he said
as they entered the dark keep. “What of your granddaughter’s dowry? Your
invitation failed to mention coinage and property.”

Constance
had to think quickly. She knew this question would come, though she had not
expected it so soon. “All in good time, my lord,” was the best she could come
up with at the moment. “Let us sit and discuss the days of our childhood first.
I am eager to learn of your wife; I had heard you had married Anne of Hereford.
Is your lady wife well these days?”

“She
is dead,” Roger evidently did not wish to discuss her. “As I had heard tale
that your only girl child was quite a beauty. Is her daughter also?”

An
idea suddenly occurred to Constance. A seedling, growing by the second, took
root in her fertile and vicious mind.  Her amber eyes glittered at the baron as
they took a seat opposite one another at the long table in the hall.

“Both
women are quite beautiful, I assure you,” she tried to appear casual. “Your
wife is dead, did you say? Have you considered remarrying?”

Roger
had. Constance was delighted to hear that.

***

The
de Nerra knights discovered that there were indeed a couple of noteworthy
knights at the small Milnthorpe tournament.  When they drew matches, Geoff had
drawn Sir Niclas de Aughton, a powerful knight from Northumbria, while Graehm
drew Sir Rickard Burton of Somerhill.  Burton was a big man with a mean temperament
and was known for his violent competitiveness.  De Aughton was only slightly
less violent, but had the reputation of being extraordinarily cunning and
enormously strong.  Truth be told, Braxton was mildly disappointed that he
hadn’t drawn either man in the first round.  As good as his knights were, he
suspected that if he won his first round, he might be facing one or both
opposing knights eventually. It was just a hunch he had.

Braxton
had the first match in the new rounds after the afternoon break.  He had drawn
a knight from Navarre, one Sir Fulk, who looked as if he had eaten far too many
pastries in his time. The man was so round that he was barely able to mount his
equally fat charger.  Braxton took one run against the man, hit him squarely in
the chest, and knocked him right off his horse.  In less than a few seconds he
had won his match and a new roan charger, and the crowd in the lists went mad
for his victory.

Gray’s
relief was palpable. If every match was as easy as this one, perhaps it would
not be such a bad day after all. Once Braxton had unseated the knight, he made
a sweeping turn along the lists and thundered past the cheering throng,
listening to them scream madly for him.  Even Brooke was screaming at the top
of her lungs as he cantered in front of their group astride his big black
charger. Gray could only sit there and smile, watching him casually acknowledge
the crowd as if it meant absolutely nothing at all.   When he reached the gate
that led from the field, however, he flipped up his visor and his gaze sought
out Gray.  He lifted a big gloved hand to her.