The Falls of Erith (29 page)

“Then
tell me again.”

His
smile broadened. “I love you madly.”

She
threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. “And I love you also.”

It
was a pivotal moment in a morning, and a night, that had been full of them.
Braxton was so happy that he was nearly delirious, thoughts of Niclas de
Aughton being pushed from his mind for the moment. With Gray finally his wife,
how could there be a horrible thing in all the world? He spun her around,
listening to her squeal. In spite of the warm moment, however, he did remember
that he had come for a reason. He forced himself to focus whether or not he
wanted to.

“I
did come with a purpose,” he took his arms off her, reluctantly. “We were
unable to find de Aughton last night and I am uneasy with him on the loose. We
need to return to Erith immediately.”

She
looked slightly fearful before nodding. “Of course, Braxton. I was already
packing up.”

He
looked over at Geoff. “And we need to return Geoff to a decent room and warm
bed,” he wandered over to his knight, realizing the man was awake and looking
at him. Somewhat surprised, he knelt down beside him. “D’uberville, how long
have you been awake?”

Geoff
was moving and speaking slowly. “I am not entirely sure, my lord. Before you
came into the tent, at least.”

So
Geoff heard everything. He felt a flash of embarrassment, an instinctive
reaction to revealing his most personal thoughts in front of a subordinate. No
matter, though. She was his wife and they all knew he was mad about her.

“How
do you feel?” he asked.

Geoff
gingerly moved his arms, twisted his spine a little. “Sore.”

By
this time, Gray was leaning over Braxton’s shoulder. She smiled down at her
charge. “At least you have had no fever,” she said. “We are very grateful for
that.”

Geoff’s
green eyes focused on her, remembering the sounds of passion from her the night
before and struggling not to let his thoughts show. “I owe everything to your
skill, my lady.”

Her
smile broadened in thanks and she switched places with Braxton so that she
could take a look at Geoff’s bandage.  Braxton left her alone with Geoff, going
outside to find a couple of soldiers to start disassembling the tent.  He ran
right into Norman and Edgar, who had been out in the trees collecting more
firewood.

He
instructed the boys to stick with Lady de Nerra and help her however needed. 
Dropping the wood, the boys obediently went into the large tent to assist in
the packing process.  Braxton watched them disappear into the tent, his mind
moving from his wife to de Aughton. He debated whether or not to personally
make a sweep of the area; the more he thought on the knight’s movements, the
more convinced he became that the man was somehow near them. It made sense.
Part of him wanted to make a search, but most of him wanted to remain with Gray
for her protection. He could not take the chance of de Aughton circumventing
him somehow.

And
that’s when he heard the scream.

Braxton
bolted back into the tent in time to see de Aughton, as big as life, with his
arms around Gray.  Edgar had the man by the ankle while Norman rolled on his
back several feet away; a bloodied face indicated a strike from de Aughton.
Geoff, injured though he might be, was on his hands and knees, having rolled
from his position on his back to his saddlebags several feet away. He had a
sword in his hand but Braxton snatched it from him, all fury and fire and
lightning-fast movements as he went after de Aughton.  But the moment he
brought the broadsword up for a strike that would clearly behead, de Aughton
flicked a dirk against Gray’s neck.

“Another
step and she dies,” Niclas growled.  When fury and panic twitched through
Braxton’s poised body, de Aughton jabbed the tip of the dirk into her neck and
she gasped. “Another step and I drive this through.”

The
broadsword in Braxton’s hand clattered to the ground.  He stood several feet
away, his face trembling with the level of emotion surging through his vein and
the blue-green eyes fixed on de Aughton’s face.  They were probing, furious,
and finally pleading. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

“I
had heard, by reputation, that you were an honorable knight,” he said in low,
even voice. “I can see that those words were untrue. No honorable man would do
what you are doing.”

Niclas
had calmed a great deal since his initial burst of threats.  He moved the dirk
away from Gray’s neck and she closed her eyes in relief, tears coursing down
her cheeks.   She was frightened but unharmed.  Braxton didn’t dare look at her
for fear of losing control. And he had to stay in control; too many lives depended
on it.

“These
are brutal times, my lord,” Niclas finally said. “One must often take what does
not come easily.”

“So
you would take my wife?”

Niclas’s
dark brow furrowed slightly. “So she is your wife? That was not made clear to
me.”

Braxton
nodded, looking at Gray’s face for the first time. It was wet with tears and he
felt his heart lurch.  His gaze was fixed on her as if he could not tear it
away and his heart was beginning to squeeze. “Give her back to me, de Aughton,
and I shall let you go in peace. There is no harm done for the moment unless
you consider scaring her half to death a crime.”

Niclas
lowered the dirk completely; it hung at his side but he still had Gray’s neck
in the crook of his elbow. One good squeeze and he could snap it.  The obsidian
eyes looked at the top of her blond head, a queer expression crossing his face.

“I
have never been denied what I have wanted,” he muttered. “A victory, a horse, a
woman… I have always gotten what I wanted.”

“Not
this time. By the laws of England and God, she is my wife and belongs to me. 
And I want her back more than you want to take her.”

More
uncertainty crossed Niclas’s features.  After a small eternity, it was he who
sighed heavily. “And she wants to stay with you, I would imagine, which is why
she nearly put my eyes out.”

“Exactly.
Even if you were to take her, she would not be a content captive. She would
escape you, or I would find her. Either way, we would be united again and you
would either be dead or alone.  Think about what you are doing, man. This is
not the way to achieve your wants.”

Niclas
just stood there. The dirk in his hand came up again, half way to Gray’s neck,
as he toyed with the blade in a bizarrely thoughtful manner. By this time,
Norman was up, his nose bloodied, standing by Braxton’s side and Edgar was over
with Geoff. The injured knight was in bad shape as the young lad helped him
back onto his pallet.  Niclas caught the movement, remembering the knight he
had injured in a fair joust. An odd sense of guilt, of disorientation, washed
over him and he lowered the dirk to his side again.

The
tension in the tent was unbearable. Braxton kept waiting for Niclas to bring
the dirk up again and somehow threaten his wife. But the knight suddenly
dropped his arm from Gray’s neck and she lurched forward, falling into
Braxton’s waiting arms. He held her tightly. Niclas watched the interaction,
the genuine affection to it, and it tugged at him. He would have liked to have
had that, too.

“I
thought she was simply a woman who traveled with your army,” Niclas’s voice was
low, laced with acceptance. “I did not know she was your wife, de Nerra. I
swear it. I thought she was a camp whore.”

Braxton’s
eyes flashed. “Are you blind as well as daft? Does she look like a whore?”

Niclas
shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Nay, she does not, which
is why I wanted her. But when I asked her if she was your wife, she did not
answer me.”

“Probably
because she wasn’t at the time. But she is now and I have the witnesses and
document to prove it.”

Niclas’s
obsidian eyes widened briefly. Then he broke down into snorts. “Are you saying
that somewhere within the past day, you married this woman?”

“Had
you taken her to a priest first, it would be another story.”

Niclas
shook his head with the irony of the situation.  Then he looked at Braxton.
“Fair enough, de Nerra. You won the prize.” He looked at Gray. ”My lady, I am
sorry to have harassed you. I saw you as something to be plucked for the
taking, but I was wrong.”

Gray
was still very frightened and very upset.  Jerking herself from Braxton’s arms,
she marched up to de Aughton, who was a good deal taller than she was, and
swung at him with a balled fist. She caught him right in the nose.  It was a
surprising action for a normally very docile lady.

“That
is for scaring the wits from me, you big dolt,” she squared off against him.
“And the next time you fancy a lady, you would do far better to behave like a
gentleman than a mindless beast.”

Niclas
stood there with his hand on his nose; there was a smear of blood on his
fingers. “You are correct, of course. And may I say that you pack a mighty
wallop, Lady de Nerra.”

She
thrust her chin up at him. “Get out. Get out before I gouge your eyes again.
And this time I will not miss my mark.”

Braxton,
fighting off a grin, put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back from
the enormous knight. He did not want her provoking de Aughton, although the man
deserved worse than what he got.  He passed her off to Norman, who put himself
between the lady and the offending knight.  Sweet, young Norman on the brink of
manhood was fully prepared to protect the lady with his life.

“I
will give you back your charger and your possessions and you may be on your
way,” he said with more benevolence than he felt.  “But I do not want to see
you again, de Aughton. Not ever.”

Niclas
nodded briefly. “That may be difficult, my lord, should you ever return to your
father’s castle.”

Braxton’s
expression didn’t change, but Gray looked confused. “His father’s castle?” she
blurted.  “Why do you say that?”

Niclas
fixed on her, the obsidian eyes twinkling with misplaced mirth. “Because your
husband’s father is Baron  Gilderdale. I serve Gilderdale.”

Gray’s
eyes widened.  She looked to Braxton for confirmation but Braxton was fixed on
Niclas. “You are my father’s knight?” he asked steadily.

“I
have served him for four years, my lord.”

Braxton’s
lips pressed into an ironic line. Lowering his gaze, he shook his head and
began to wander around, looking for a place to sit. He settled on a three legged
stool next to Geoff.  His expression was infused with disbelief, sarcasm, and
some disappointment.  Gray watched him closely, not wanting to speak for she
was not sure what to say.  It was clear that he did not seem pleased.

“And
how is my father?” Braxton asked, almost wearily.

“Well
enough, my lord,” Niclas replied. “As is your brother, Sir Robert, although he
has a disease of the joints that has shortened his days as a knight. He is in
pain a good deal of the time and can no longer ride his charger because his
fingers are so gnarled that he cannot handle the reins.”

Braxton
thought on the oldest brother he’d not seen in ten years. “I miss my brother,”
he finally muttered.  His gaze fixed intently on Niclas. “What are you doing so
far away from Black Fell? And why did you not compete in the name of
Gilderdale?”

Niclas’s
dark eyebrows lifted. “Your father sent me on a mission to Manchester. Once
delivering the missive and goods to the earl, my time was my own for a short
while. Gilderdale is a land of peace these days and I was taking the long route
home. It has been a long time since I have done any traveling. So I passed
through Milnthorpe, saw there was a tournament, and added my name.  It was
safer not to compete as Gilderdale; when I do that, everyone immediately has
double the reason to try and unseat me.”

Braxton
nodded in understanding, but Gray did not understand at all. She entered the
conversation as much as she dared. “I do not understand,” she said timidly.
“Who is Gilderdale? Why does that increase your chances of an opponent
attempting to unseat you?”

Braxton
reached over and took her hand, toying gently with her fingers. “Have you never
heard of Gilderdale?”

“Nay.
Should I?”

Braxton
smiled wryly. “If you are a knight, aye. But since you are not, I will
enlighten you. Gilderdale is in Northumberland, near the borders. You could say
that we are Northumberland’s war machine. The Earl of Northumberland calls upon
my father to quell uprisings, settle disputes, curb unruly Scots. Anything that
involves quick, violent action, Gilderdale answers the call.  Gilderdale is
Northumberland’s avenging angel.”

Gray
mulled over that bit of information.  She was not surprised that Braxton came
from a warring family; it would explain why he had chosen the life he had. He
knew of no other way. “I see,” she said. “Gilderdale is great, then?”

“The
greatest, Lady de Nerra,” Niclas replied before Braxton could. Even in defeat
for the lady’s affections, he was still competing for her attention,
unconscious as it may be. “Sir Thomas de Nerra is the fourth earl in a long
line of great warring noblemen.  Each of his four sons has also chosen the
warring way and, as rumor would have it, the power and skill has increased with
each successive son.”