Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “You merely startled me, my lord,” she said as steadily as she could. “I apologize if I have stepped into your camp. I was… well, I was looking for my daughter but I see that she is not around here.”

  She walked a wide berth around him; though he did not stop her, his black eyes followed her like a cat tracking a mouse.

  “I saw you at the tournament today,” he said. “You were sitting in the lists with a young girl who has your same color of hair. Is that the daughter you are looking for?”

  She nodded, trying not to be too obvious about making distance between them. “Aye.”

  “She yells like an alehouse wench.”

  Gray paused in her attempt to escape and lifted an eyebrow at him. “It was her first tournament. How else should she behave?”

  The knight laughed softly. “Exactly as she did. She was all I could hear.”

  “You were competing, too?”

  “I was the victor.”

  An inkling of recognition came to Gray’s eyes. “You are Sir Niclas?”

  He bowed gallantly. “At your service, my lady.

  “You injured Geoff.”

  He straightened up, his dark eyes flicking in the direction of Braxton’s camp. “It was an accident, I assure you,” he said. “How fares the wounded knight?”

  Gray regarded him carefully. “We do not know yet,” she said after a moment. “We have done all we can. Only time will tell now.”

  Niclas nodded faintly and his gaze moved to her once again. “Are you d’Uberville’s wife?”

  “Nay.”

  “But you travel with Braxton de Nerra’s camp?”

  The answer was more complicated than that, but she simply nodded. “Aye.”

  “Then you must be de Nerra’s wife.”

  She cocked her head. “You ask many questions.”

  He lifted his big shoulders. “As I said, I saw you in the lists. And, I also saw you in town earlier in the day. If I do not ask questions, how am I to discover anything about you?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would you want to know anything about me?”

  He laughed softly. “Why wouldn’t I? Such beauty is rare. Are you married then, my lady?”

  “That is none of your affair.”

  It was Braxton’s voice. He suddenly appeared out of the darkness with Brooke, Norman and a limping Edgar behind him. His expression was as hard as iron, the blue-green eyes that could be so soft were like shards of glass. Gray had never seen that expression on his face before. Braxton walked up beside her, sizing up Niclas; though the tournament champion was at least a head taller, Braxton was clearly nothing to be trifled with. He was enormously muscled and powerful.

  Niclas knew of de Nerra; almost all fighting men did. Rumors and legends of the mercenary abound in the north. More than that, de Aughton’s sworn House was none other than Braxton’s own father, Baron Gilderdale. He was surprised Braxton did not know that, or at least, acknowledge it. He’d never met the earl’s youngest son before, however, and their first introduction was rather awkward. De Aughton dipped his head in acknowledgement, in respect, though his eyes had lost none of their black glimmer.

  “My apologies,” he said steadily. “I did not know. I meant no insolence to the lady, or to you.”

  Braxton just stared at him. Gray could sense the tension and she was uncomfortable. She did not want Braxton getting into an altercation with this knight. She put her hand on his arm.

  “I was looking for you and came across Sir Niclas instead,” she said evenly. “He has been most kind. Shall we return to camp now?”

  Braxton’s gaze lingered on Niclas a moment longer before looking at Gray. “I am sorry you had to go looking for me,” he took her hand, possessively, and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “The children were hungry and could not wait for the pig. I got them something to hold them over until sup.”

  A glance at Brooke, Norman and Edgar showed the three of them eating hunks of brown bread. Brooke had something else in her hand, though Gray could not see what it was. She lifted an eyebrow at Braxton.

  “I told you not to coddle her,” she said in a low voice. “What did you buy her this time?”

  He was defiant and penitent at the same time. “Bread and some kind of candied fruit. I had to pound on four or five stalls before I could find someone who would let us in.”

  Gray closed her eyes and shook her head. Braxton, not waiting for the rebuke that was sure to come, waved an arm at the children.

  “Come along,” he told them. “Back to camp.”

  The three of them scampered past him, although one was limping badly. He started to follow when he heard Gray’s soft voice.

  “Thank you for not allowing me to come to harm, Sir Niclas,” she said. “And congratulations on your victory today.”

  Niclas thought he had been forgotten and was mildly surprised at the lady’s words. “My pleasure, my lady,” he said. “And my wishes for recovery to the injured knight.”

  Braxton did not acknowledge the man as Gray smiled weakly in response. They continued on towards the camp in silence, though Gray kept stealing sidelong glances at him. He was distant and cold.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked softly.

  He looked at her. “For what?”

  “For speaking with that knight?”

  He shook his head. “I am to blame. I should have told you where I was going so that you would not go looking for me.”

  She was on to him. “But you did not tell me so that I would not stop you from spoiling Brooke as I’d asked you not to.”

  He refused to look at her, but a smile broke through. “That is beside the point. The issue is that it is not safe for you to wander outside of my protection. Men like de Aughton can be less than chivalrous to a lone lady.”

  “Really?” she turned to look at the spot where they had left Niclas; he was predictably gone. “He did not seem threatening.”

  “He was not; at least, not at that moment. But he has interest in you.”

  “Me?” she seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

  He looked at her as if she was a simpleton. “He asked if you were married, Gray. It does not require great intellect to figure out that he was inquiring for his own interest.”

  She continued to peer at him, studying his expression. It occurred to her that she had never had two men interested in her at one time; at least, not like this. It was an oddly proud and humbling awareness. But something more occurred to her as she gazed at Braxton.

  “You are jealous?” It was a statement more than a question.

  They had reached the great fire where the pig sizzled and spit over the open flame. He turned to her.

  “Call it what you will. You belong to me and I would have every man in England know it.”

  She smiled at him, her amber eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. “You needn’t worry, Braxton,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t even dream of looking at another man.”

  His icy stance broke somewhat. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I have your attention.”

  “You have all of it and more.”

  The harsh manner faded completely and his smile broke through. “To be honest, I was not sure. You are a beautiful woman, after all, and I am….”

  He didn’t finish and she lifted an eyebrow. “You are… what?”

  He lifted his big shoulders. “I simply meant that there are better prospects out there than me.”

  She shook her head. “Not to me there isn’t. You are more than I could have dreamed of.”

  It was a sweet moment. He took her hand and kissed it in full view of the youngsters. Brooke and the boys pretended not to notice, still stuffing their faces with bread, though Brooke was understandably curious. It was the first time she had ever seen her mother smile like that. She was glad her mother was distracted, as it would make her forget that Brooke had, once again, coerced treats from Braxton. Moreover, Braxton
seemed to have a way of dealing with her mother that made the woman forget everything else. Even at her young age, Brooke could see that.

  Gray and Braxton disappeared into the tent where Geoff lay, leaving the others by the fire. The pig continued to steam and smoke into the night, filling the air with a delicious smell. By the time it was finished, everyone was ravenous and the animal came apart in big pieces. Brooke and Edgar ate until they were sick and Gray found herself tending not only an injured knight but a nauseous daughter.

  In the distant camp, obsidian eyes continued to watch the crimson glow of the de Nerra tents as outlined by the great campfire. Pensive thoughts became decisive ones. He’d seen the lady earlier in the day when he’d nearly run her down on the street. He had been struck by her beauty even though she was clearly in the company of a knight he later found out to be Braxton de Nerra.

  At the tournament, he had seen her sitting in the stands, a radiant bit of loveliness surrounded by the dregs of society. He would have asked for her favor had de Nerra not hovered around her like an over eager schoolboy. It was obvious that she was de Nerra’s woman, though he could not be sure if they were married. He suspected that they were not. That morsel of information was the one piece he had been looking for. If she wasn’t married, then there was still a chance. Even if it did risk the wrath of de Nerra.

  Niclas was not an evil man. He was not manipulative or ruthless, at least not in the matters of men and women. But he had always been a man who got what he wanted, and tonight he knew exactly what he wanted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Braxton, do you see the banners? Who do they belong to?”

  The morning was soft with dew, bright with new sun. The question came from Gray, seated on the wagon as the party returning from Milnthorpe drew close to Erith. Braxton was on his charger riding beside the wagon, his blue-green eyes riveted to the scraps of blue banner he could see just inside the portcullis. He did not recognize the colors at a distance.

  “I do not know,” he said. “More suitors for your daughter, I would presume.”

  Gray didn’t like the sound of that, though there could be no other explanation. “What will you do?”

  He was very calm, very casual. “Send them away, of course.”

  Gray didn’t say anymore, though her gaze lingered on his strong face. His expression was unreadable. Rightly assuming they could do nothing until they knew who it was, she turned her attention back to Geoff lying in the bed of the wagon.

  The injured knight was sleeping again, lulled by the rocking of the wagon. Surprisingly, he had awoken before dawn feeling better and without fever. Gray took it as a good sign and the party packed up for Erith. She wanted to get him back to the fortress and into a proper bed so that he could more readily heal. He’s wasn’t out of danger by a long shot and she was anxious to return home.

  Geoff wasn’t alone in the wagon. Edgar and Brooke sat at the very rear, their legs hanging over the back of the flatbed. There had not been a harsh word between then all morning, even when Brooke produced the bag of candied fruits that Braxton had bought for her the night before. She shared it with Edgar, making sure that Braxton and her mother saw her. She even shared it with Norman, who rode beside the wagon astride Geoff’s charger. With the children all getting along, it made the ride back to Erith much more pleasant. But Gray kept shooting looks at her daughter, making sure the girl was behaving.

  “Leave her alone,” Braxton’s voice was soft beside Gray.

  She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  He looked at her, a smile on his lips. “You know exactly what I mean. She’s behaving quite nicely. She needs your trust in her ability to amend her manners, not your constant scrutiny.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him, though it was not an unkind gesture. “You know so much about children now, do you? Since when did you become an expert?”

  He looked straight ahead. “I know everything,” he said seriously.

  She laughed. “I believe that you do.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance, grinning while she laughed at him. The ride back to Erith had been filled with little glances and smiles from them both and Braxton was fairly certain that he’d never in his life experienced such joy. Had anyone suggested to him a week ago that his life would have taken such a dramatic turn, he would have laughed at them. But turn it had.

  As they continued to gaze coyly at each other, Erith loomed closer and the sentries on the repaired wall announced the approach of the party. They could hear the shouts echoing as other soldiers took up the call. Braxton broke away from Gray’s sweet face and spurred his charger into a canter, loping the big beast under the portcullis and into the ward beyond. He wanted to see for himself who had arrived and he did not want to wait.

  The first thing he saw were a few strange soldiers standing in a group near the keep. The horses near them wore blue and white standards. But a glance around the ward showed a heavy concentration of unknown soldiers near the northeast corner of the keep. There were at least a hundred. Uneasiness swept him. Braxton rode up to the small group collected near the keep.

  “Who do you serve?” he demanded.

  The men looked at him, a mixture of suspicion and defiance on their faces. “Roger de Clare,” one of them said. “Who are you?”

  Braxton’s mood changed instantaneously. He had gone from mildly curiously and confidently unconcerned to deeply uneasy all in one split second. His blue-green eyes swept the keeping, knowing de Clare was somewhere within the walls. Without answering their question, he reined his charger sharply back in the direction he came. He ran into the approaching party just as they approached the portcullis.

  He flicked two thick fingers in Dallas and Graehm’s direction, motioning for them to attend him. He, in fact, rode straight for Gray, still seated on the wagon bench beside the driver. Her amber eyes studied him expectantly as he and the other two knights rode up beside her.

  “Well?” she asked before he could speak. “Who is it?”

  Braxton wasn’t quite sure how to tell her. There was no easy way. “Roger de Clare,” he said. He couldn’t help the sharp, helpless sigh that escaped his mouth. “It would seem that your mother has called forth the Devil himself, Gray.”

  She stared at him for a moment as the news, and implication, settled. Then her eyes widened. “De Clare?” she repeated, stunned. “But… he’s Gloucester. Gloucester is here?”

  Before Braxton could reply, Graehm piped up. “Gloucester is here?” he sounded like a dumbfounded lad.

  Braxton gave Graehm an intolerant look. He didn’t need one of his knights acting the giddy fool when he had a serious issue on his hands. “Aye, the cousin of the earl is here,” he said, somewhat sharply, before returning his attention to Gray. “He’s not brought a big party with him and I did not see any knights, but we must handle this very carefully, my lady. You know that. The relationship between the de Montforts and the de Clares is tenuous at best.”

  She nodded, still astonished at the news. “What shall we do?”

  Braxton shook his head, thinking aloud. “Is it possible that your mother sent invitation to Roger de Clare for Brooke’s hand? My God, the man has to be beyond sixty years. Moreover, he is already married with children, or at least he used to be married. Is it possible his wife is dead, then?”

  He was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. But they should have realized that Brooke would hear them. She was still perched on the wagon bed with her legs hanging over, listening to every word.

  “He has male children,” Brooke said casually, as if it was nothing at all to be concerned over. “Grandmother said he has many fine sons.”

  Now that the secret of her grandmother’s deeds were out, she was apparently very comfortable discussing what she knew. Gray, Braxton, and the two knights were looking at her, a mélange of trepidation and displeasure on their faces. Braxton seemed the least emotional out of the bunch, his expression holding mostly steady.

&
nbsp; “Then it must be for one of the sons,” he lowered his voice as he spoke to Gray. “But I would be lying if I said his presence did not concern me.”

  “Why?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Because your mother has promised suitors Erith along with Brooke’s hand. Erith belongs to me and I have the document to prove it. Gloucester might not take the news so easily, especially if he is attempting to mend the ties his cousin destroyed. We do not need Gloucester coming down around our ears.” His mind began to work quickly, trying to think of a way out of or around this. His eyes fell on Dallas, the quiet knight. He was young, strong, and powerful, the second son of Baron Lisvane, vassal of the Earl of Cornwall. Though Dallas would not inherit his father’s title or baronetcy, he would inherit a small parcel of property from his mother. An idea began to form. Braxton was going to undo what that old woman was trying to do if it was the last thing he ever did.

  “Dallas,” he motioned to his knight. “A word, please.”

  Dallas obediently followed him to a resting point several feet away where they paused a moment, chatting quietly astride their snorting chargers. After a few exchanged sentences, Dallas’ eyes widened. Though he did not raise his voice or show obvious emotion, it was clear by his expression that he was shocked. Braxton’s expression was quite calm as he finished speaking, watching Dallas wrestle with whatever subject was occurring between them. Gray watched curiously as Dallas, still visibly uncomfortable, finally nodded his head. Braxton abruptly reined his horse away from him, emitting a piercing whistle between his teeth. The entire party came to an abrupt halt, wagon and all.

  They were almost at the threshold of the main gate. Braxton waved a gloved hand over his head in a circular motion. “Turn the wagon around,” he barked to the driver. “We return to Milnthorpe. Move.”

  Gray held on to the bench so she would not slide off as the wagon abruptly turned around. Then the wagon driver snapped the whip and the horses began to run. The last glimpse she had of Erith as it faded away was of curious soldiers up on the walls, watching their departure.