The Falls of Erith (34 page)

She
rolled her eyes miserably. “Do not be glib,” she begged. “I am serious. I would
rather have you safe and whole than any piece of that old fortress.  It has
only brought me misery.  But to lose you would.…”

He
kissed her swiftly once, twice, then slanted his lips over hers hungrily.  “You
will not lose me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I will return.”

Norman
and Edgar were already mounted, riding up beside him.  Braxton kissed her one
last time and vaulted onto his charger, gathering the reins.

“Stay
here,” he ordered softly. “Make a fire and shelter, and anything else to keep
you comfortable until my return.”

Gray
was trying not to cry. “When will you be back?”

“Hopefully
before nightfall.”

Brooke
wandered up beside her mother, her lovely face pale and tear-streaked.  Gray
put her arm around her daughter to comfort her.

“Dallas,”
Brooke sniffled. “You will make sure he is all right, too?”

Braxton
smiled at the young woman.  “Dallas is a fine knight, Lady Aston. He can take
care of himself.”

Seeing
that Gray was distracted comforting her daughter, Braxton spurred his horse
back through the trees. Norman and Edgar followed close behind.  In little
time, they were back on the road and heading back into the heat of battle.

The
skirmish was still going when Braxton and the boys returned.  Braxton plunged
right into the fighting, wielding his sword against the heavily-armed de Clare
men.  Norman and Edgar stayed to the outskirts as they usually did, dragging
the wounded out of the fighting and trying not to become one of the casualties
themselves.  It was close-quarters fighting now that the archers had been
called off for fear of hitting their own men.

Dallas
and Graehm were in the thick of it; Dallas was still on horseback, fighting
more fiercely than Braxton had ever seen him. Perhaps it was because now he was
fighting for something that belonged to him and there was a measure of anger in
his movements.  He had a customized broadsword with a serrated edge that could
slice a man’s head clean from his body.  Braxton saw a few headless corpses
around, knowing that Dallas had been hard at work. 

Braxton’s
men may have been outnumbered, but the de Clare men were clearly suffering. 
Braxton’s fighting force was well-seasoned and well-trained; hence, they were
the better army.  De Clare’s band of not-so-skilled men was taking a beating. 
Braxton personally dispatched several without raising a sweat and his thoughts
began to turn to de Clare himself.  Leaving Graehm in charge of the skirmish
force, he collected Dallas and a few soldiers and fought his way towards the
keep.  There seemed to be less men the closer they drew to Erith, as the bulk
of the army was out on the road.  

Braxton
and Dallas charged into the dilapidated bailey of Erith and were met with
little resistance.  On high alert, they dismounted their chargers and made way
for the keep.  Dallas was slightly in front of Braxton, his sword leveled
defensively while Braxton walked with his sword lowered.  He was cool but
cautious. As soon as they mounted the top step and prepared to enter the keep,
a body suddenly came flying out at them.

Dallas
struck the figure down in one deadly thrust; it was a purely reflexive move on
his part. He had seen the body, seen the weapon, and had responded.  Braxton
was right on his heels, preparing for an all-out assault of more warriors, but
there was none. Lying dead at their feet was a lone boy, no more than Edgar’s
age.  They heard a cry coming from inside.

“William!”
a man screamed, coming to the doorway.  His eyes bugged at the youth lying on
the top landing. “You killed my son! You killed him!”

Dallas
sword was still raised, red with the young man’s blood. “He charged me with a
weapon. I had no choice.”

“But
he has no armor, no protection,” the older man was coming apart, falling to his
knees beside the dead boy. “Could you not see that?”

Dallas
was not swayed; his face remained hard. “Then he should not have been using a
weapon is he was unprepared to die for his actions.  I was defending myself.”

The
man dissolved; spittle dripped from his lips as he lingered over the lad.
“William,” he wept painfully. “My boy is dead. He’s
dead
!”

Braxton
stepped forward. “Who are you?”

The
man seemed not to hear him. He wept with agony over the boy, shaking him in an
attempt to rouse him.  “William, lad, get up,” he sobbed. “Get up and embrace
me.”

Braxton
was unmoved. “You will answer my question. Who are you? And who is this boy
that attacked us?”

The
man’s head snapped up, his eyes mad with grief. “I am Roger de Clare,” he
snapped savagely. “And this is my son William that you have murdered.”

Braxton
felt the impact of the words, realizing all of the implications they held; he
didn’t dare look at Dallas.  “I am Braxton de Nerra,” he said evenly. “Your son
attacked us. We were defending ourselves.”

“William
was defending his holding!” de Clare barked. “You have no right to be here! It
belongs to him!”

“It
belongs to me, my lord,” Dallas said. “I married the Lady Brooke and the
holding is mine. You and your son are trespassing.”

Braxton
looked at Dallas, then.  He was somewhat surprised with the word ‘trespassing’,
true though it might be. Roger, too, focused on the tall young knight, his
expression wavering between outrage and agony.

“You
are lying,” Roger hissed.

“I
have the document and witnesses to prove it.”

Roger
struggled to stand. “But William was promised the Lady Brooke’s hand and this
holding. You stole it!”

“Who
promised it to you?”

“Lady
de Montfort, of course.”

“My
wife’s grandmother had no authority to do so,” Dallas replied. ”This castle
belongs to my wife’s mother, the Lady Gray, who pledged both her daughter and
the holding to me. It is therefore legally and morally mine. You have no
claim.  You never did.”

Dallas
sounded very matter of fact.  Roger stood on unsteady legs, glaring at the
young knight.  “Lady de Montfort is the lady of this keep, for it was her
husband’s holding,” he snarled. “She has every right to broker it.”

Dallas
shook his head. “The castle was Lady Gray’s dowry upon her marriage to Garber
Serroux. It was her husband’s to do with as he pleased. Having used the keep to
pay a gambling debt to Baron Wenvoe, Sir Braxton then purchased the rights to
Erith from the old baron. Technically, it is Sir Braxton’s holding.  But he
returned it to the Serroux family and it became my holding when I married
Brooke. Is any of this clear to you yet, my lord?  Understand that Erith was
never yours. Lady Constance had no right.”

Roger
began to shake. With clawed hands, he reached out towards Dallas, his mind
filled with madness. “I will kill you!”

Dallas
deftly side-stepped the old man, who tripped over his son’s supine body and
tumbled forward. Because Dallas was not there to prevent his fall, he plunged
over the side of the landing and to the bailey two stories below. Shocked, Dallas
and Braxton could do nothing more than watch the man crash on his head.  He was
dead upon impact.

They
stood atop the landing, staring at the body below them.  After long moments of
silent dread, Braxton looked at Dallas.

“I
fear,” he said quietly, “that we are in for a good deal of trouble.”

***

“None
of this would have happened had it not been for you,” Gray’s voice was icy. “I
want you out. I do not care where you go, but I order you from Erith. I never
want to see you again.”

Constance
sat in her fine bedchamber, facing the window. She refused to look at her
daughter, who was visible upset.  After the events of the last several hours,
the tension between mother and daughter was at splitting capacity.  But
Constance chose to ignore it.

“I
will not leave and you cannot force me,” she said firmly.

“I
will have Braxton bodily remove you, Mother,” Gray was in no mood for her
mother’s arrogance. “You have schemed your last scheme. Now see what you have
done to us with your treachery and selfishness. De Clare’s brother will return
and destroy us, and it is all your doing.”

The
old woman turned to her, eyes flashing. “You will not speak to me like that. I
will not tolerate your insolence.”

“Your
behavior dictates mine. You are to be treated accordingly.”

“What
is that supposed to mean?”

Gray’s
amber eyes blinked slowly, with exhaustion.  It was slightly after the nooning
meal in a day that had seen far too many shocking events in it already. But it
was about to see one more.

“It
means that you are treacherous, deceitful and horrid. It means that I am
embarrassed to call you my mother. It means that after this day, you will be
dead to me.”

Constance’s
thin face tightened; she approached her daughter with fury in her manner. “You
impudent girl. What gives you the right to judge me? I was doing what I had to
do in order to preserve this family.  You would see us die away without lifting
a finger. You are weak;
weak!
I am ashamed I birthed such a creature!”

Gray
watched her mother’s features as she spoke; the old woman believed everything
she said. She simply didn’t understand.  In the world of the Northumberland
Grays, what she had done was perfectly acceptable behavior and Gray knew there
was no use in continuing the conversation.

“You
have one hour to pack,” she said, moving for the door. “If you pack nothing,
you take nothing. But mark my words, Mother; you shall be removed from this
place and I do not want to see you again. Is that clear?”

Constance
was quivering with rage. “You cannot banish me. This is my home.  I forbid it.”

Gray
wasn’t going to get into a verbal altercation with her mother any more than she
already was. She’d made her position clear.  When she put her hand on the latch
to open the door, she was hit in the ear with something hard and heavy.  Stunned,
she put her hand to her head, drawing away blood.  At her feet lay the iron
candle holder that had done the damage.  She looked to her mother in horror.

“Why
did you do that?” she demanded.

Constance
would not cower. She lifted her chin defiantly in a gesture that was very
reminiscent of her sometimes-rebellious granddaughter. “You are an evil child,
Gray. You deserve to be punished for every evil thing you have ever done to me.
Have you no respect for your mother? How dare you order me from my own keep.
And you are raising Brooke to be just like you. She is as evil and disobedient
as you are.  If given the chance, I would take her from you and raise her as
she should be raised.”

Gray’s
horrified expression turned to one of threat. “And just how should that be?”

Constance’s
eyes blazed with a deeper madness. “Like
me
.”

Gray’s
control snapped; she had always kept her composure with her mother, no matter
how the woman had behaved. She was her mother, after all. But in that
statement, every thread of respect vanished. The woman was vicious and evil. 
If she would harm her daughter, then there was no knowing what she would do to
someone else. Gray could not allow her to get her hands on Brooke. She simply
couldn’t take it any longer and momentary insanity filled her.

She
rushed to her mother and grabbed the woman by the hair.  Gray was taller and
stronger than her mother and used that to her advantage; as tears streamed down
her face, she yanked the screaming woman to the door and threw it open.

The
entire keep suddenly came alive to the screaming of Constance and the cursing
of Gray.  Gray pulled her mother down the narrow spiral stairs, almost tripping
but managing to keep her balance. She was mad with grief, with fury, as she
continued to pull the woman down the second flight of stairs to the main living
level. 

Servants
came rushing out to see what the matter was, dumbfounded to see Gray towing her
mother brutally by the hair.  But no one moved to intercede; they all knew that
Lady Constance had punishment coming to her. For the years of harassment and
cruelty to her daughter, for the evils she had sewn during that time.  In fact,
there wasn’t one witness that did not approve of what they saw.  They saw
justice.

Gray
was sobbing and cursing as she pulled her mother outside.  She yanked the woman
down the first two steps but Constance grabbed hold of the banister, holding
herself firm.  Gray took hold of a bird-like arm and gave another pull,
managing to move the woman another two steps down the flight.  But Constance
took hold of the railing with another hand, holding fast as Gray pulled. There
was much screaming going on, and some blood.  It was the screaming that
attracted Braxton.

On
the outer wall with Dallas, he had been consulting with his men as to the
fastest and most complete way to reinforce the crumbled sections before
Gloucester undoubtedly came down around their ears.  De Clare’s army had left a
few hours before with their dead liege and his dead son as somber cargo and
Braxton had no doubt that they would return in force to avenge the deaths. He
wanted to be ready. But the screaming distracted him, especially when one of
his soldiers, with a better vantage point, told him what was transpiring.