“Perhaps,” Braxton shrugged. “Where is his horse and possessions?”
“The charger is tethered with the others and his possessions are with Graehm.”
Braxton nodded faintly, his mind still working on the possible whereabouts of the vanished knight. “As far as I know, the men did not search the vicinity of this camp. They spread out and started looking once they reached Milnthorpe. If De Aughton is watching us even now, it would be a very clever posture. He knows we would be looking elsewhere for him, not in our midst.”
Graehm looked stricken as it all suddenly made sense. “We should put an extra watch on his charger.”
“And on his possessions.”
Dallas suddenly broke away from them and marched for his tent. Braxton and Graehm watched him go. “Where are you going?” Braxton asked.
Dallas kept walking. He looked over his shoulder. “To rouse my wife and put her under my protection.”
Braxton had to agree with him. He, too, moved back for the larger tent where Gray was still sleeping. She was the target, after all, and with this latest development he was uncomfortable leaving her alone, even just a few feet away from him. He pushed back the tent flap, his eyes focusing on his new wife.
She was fully dressed, rolling up their pallet. When the flap moved, she looked up and her gaze locked with Braxton’s. His heart softened at the sight of her and he smiled broadly.
“Good morning, Lady de Nerra,” he went to her, putting his arms around her when she stood up to greet him. “Did you sleep well?”
She kissed him in greeting. “Better than I ever have,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes intently. “I do love sleeping in your arms.”
“And I love having you in them.”
She grinned and kissed him again. He responded with passion, with force, his mouth and tongue titillating hers. She pulled her lips away just to catch a breath, embracing him tightly.
“Oh, Braxton, how I do adore you,” she murmured.
He pulled back to look at her. His expression suggested disbelief and elation. After a moment, he cupped her face in his hands, the blue-green eyes glimmering.
“I adored you the moment I saw you wandering the falls of Erith,” he told her as if she should have already known such a thing. “That adoration has turned into love and it grows stronger by the day.”
She was speechless, breathless. “You love me?”
His brow furrowed, but there was a smile on his face. “My God, woman, how could you think anything else?”
“Because… because you have never told me until now.”
He gently squeezed the face between his hands and kissed her on the end of her pert nose. “You are right. It is my most grievous mistake. I just thought you would know.”
“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 i
n 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.”
Gray’s amber eyes were fixed on the big black knight. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your husband, as the youngest son, is the greatest of the line.”
She looked at Braxton, a glimmer in her eyes. “I would agree with that.”
Braxton smiled modestly. “You must agree, as my wife. But know that my other brothers are quite fo
rmidable. I am not sure that Niclas’s assessment is fair.”
“You are too humble, my lord,” Niclas broke into their conversation. “I saw you in the joust yesterday. Your talent is astounding.”
Braxton didn’t reply; he was not about to thank a lesser knight for a compliment, especially in light of the evening’s events. Better the man realize that he was indeed superior so he would not try anything so foolish again.
To their left, Geoff suddenly let out a groan when he shifted on his pallet and inadvertently caused himself some agony. Conversation and fright forgotten, Gray immediately went to the knight, remembering his rough handling during the course of the earlier crisis. She knelt beside him, full of concern, to check the bandages on his neck.
“Geoff,” she murmured. “I am so sorry I forgot about you. How brave you were to try and protect me.”
Geoff was deathly pale; it was evident he was struggling, a miracle he had stayed silent this long. “As any man would have done, my lady,” he said faintly. “But I fear I may have re-injured something. My left arm is numb.”
Gray knew that could not be a good sign. She felt horribly guilty that her first thoughts had not been of him when Niclas had released her, for she had clearly seen Geoff’s valiant attempt to aid her. She checked wound; the stitches had held, but there was some additional bleeding with his movement. Nothing looked terribly out of order. As Braxton, and even Niclas, stood in various positions behind her, she re-secured the bandages and looked up at her husband.
“He cannot be moved for quite some time,” she said firmly. “Tonight’s events may have caused more damage to him. I will not risk him in a wagon, on an open road, even to take him to safety. He must stay still and rest.”
Braxton’s face was grim. “How long?”
“A few days, at least.”
He didn’t hesitate. “As you say. What more do you need in order to help him?”
She sighed, looking back at the ashen young knight. After a moment, she rose to her feet and faced Braxton so that Geoff could not overhear her.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 72