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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gray was still lingering on the exchange between her daughter and Dallas. It took her a moment to realize he had asked her a question.

  “Nay,” she forced herself to shift her focus back to the cut. “It doesn’t look like she’ll need stitches. She will mend.”

  “Good. I do not want anything to mar that lovely face.” Dallas looked back to his wife and gave her a bold wink. Brooke smiled broadly. Gray was astonished at them both.

  “Dallas,” Braxton was still astride his charger, plodding alongside the wagon. “A word, please.”

  Dallas tore his gaze from Brooke and swiftly mounted. Together, they spurred their chargers to the head of the column so that their conversation would not be overheard. Gray cast a glance at her husband as he cantered off before returning her attention to her daughter. Even as she tended the cut, her mind was on the exchange between Brooke and her new husband. Being a mother, and a very concerned one, she could not help her curiosity.

  “Is all well, Brooke?” she asked softly.

  Brooke could see Dallas in her peripheral vision. She kept trying to turn her head to watch him as her mother cleaned the cut. “Aye, Mama,” she said, still trying to catch a glimpse of her husband. “Everything is fine.”

  Gray’s movements slowed as she fixed her daughter in the eye. “Are you sure? He was… kind? You are not injured?”

  Brooke knew what her mother was speaking of and she flushed violently, averting her gaze. “Everything is fine, Mama. Truly.”

  Gray sighed faintly and resumed cleaning the wound. She wasn’t going to press if Brooke did not want to speak of it. As long as Brooke said she was fine, she would ask no further. Still, it was difficult to fathom that her little girl was now a married woman. She wasn’t used to the idea.

  Up at the front of the column, Braxton was amused to notice that Dallas seemed unfocused also. He kept looking back over his shoulder. Braxton finally cleared his throat loudly.

  “She is a lovely girl,” he commented casually.

  Dallas apparently hadn’t realized how distracted he had appeared. He faced forward, pretending to focus on the road ahead. “What did you wish to speak of?”

  Braxton fought off a smile. “Your wife. Did you do your duty?”

  “I did.”

  “Completely? So it can never be questioned that the marriage was consummated?”

  Dallas looked at him, then. “I performed as a husband. And she performed as a wife.”

  Braxton could see he was being truthful. He would not press further. “Excellent,” his gaze moved forward again. “Now we have a bit of a situation on our hands; Erith is now your keep. The de Clares were guests there last we saw. What is your wish as far as they are concerned? Will you continue to show them hospitality or will you order them to leave?”

  Dallas fell into contemplative silence. “I have no reason to order them away if they have come peacefully,” he said after a moment. “Of course, I would know the reason for their visit. If they have come to seek Brooke’s hand, however, I will throw them out on their arse.”

  Braxton looked at him; Dallas was usually quite calm, even in the heat of battle. It was a powerful quality in a powerful man. To hear him speak with such force was completely uncharacteristic. Braxton fought off a grin, suspecting that the lovely Lady Brooke had somehow left a mark on the dedicated young knight.

  “As you wish,” he replied. “But we must be mindful of their numbers. They are, after all, Gloucester, and Erith is in no condition to withstand a siege. Whatever you decide to do, it must be done with great foresight.”

  Dallas nodded, thinking of the broken down fortress that was now his. Strange how the castle now seemed so magnificent to him and he felt quite naturally protective of it.

  “I will tell you what else I wish,” he went on. “I wish for Lady Constance sent back to wherever she came from. I do not want that old witch within my walls or near my wife. She is a snake.”

  “You are speaking of my wife’s mother and your wife’s grandmother,” Braxton reminded him. “You must be very careful how you approach this.”

  “Do you disagree?”

  “Hell no. But you must be very careful when throwing her bodily from the keep. You do not want to appear cruel or controlling. More than that, the old woman is of the Northumberland Grays. It would do Erith absolutely no good to offend the whole of Northumberland.”

  Dallas looked at him, a twinkle in his eye. “Will your father not ride to our aide?”

  “My father will be leading the attack against us.”

  “Marvelous,” Dallas snorted ironically. “A most twisted predicament we find ourselves in.”

  Braxton could only lift his eyebrows in agreement, his gaze moving back over the scenery around them. It was lush and quiet. Erith was only a few miles to the north. They would be arriving soon and his trepidation sparked.

  “If I can make a suggestion, Dallas,” he ventured.

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Do not address me so formally in moments like this.”

  “Of course, father.”

  Braxton’s head snapped up, seeing Dallas silently laughing at him. He smirked. “Whelp,” he muttered insultingly. But he grew serious. “I would suggest you send word ahead to Erith announcing not only your marriage to Lady Brooke, but your impending arrival as the new lord of Erith. If de Clare is still there, they must know immediately. And be forewarned.”

  “Do you believe that entirely wise? It might give them time to build up a righteous rage.”

  “Indeed it will. But I would rather meet that rage head-on than wait until we are at Erith and trapped by the de Clare army within her crumbling walls.”

  Dallas turned his head, lifting a gloved hand in Graehm’s direction. The stocky knight was almost to the rear of the column but caught the gesture and spurred his charger forward. He met up with Braxton and Dallas at their position near the front.

  “Aye?” he answered Dallas.

  “Send word ahead to Erith announcing the marriage of the Lady Brooke Serroux to Sir Dallas Aston.”

  “Very good,” Graehm saluted sharply, grinning. His gaze moved to Braxton. “And you, my lord? Am I to announce your marriage to Lady Gray?”

  Braxton’s focus was on the road ahead as if he could see Erith in the distance. He began to seriously wonder what lay in wait for them. With Constance’s treachery, he could only imagine. And he knew she would not take the announcement of the marriages well. But he didn’t care.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You will let the world know that Braxton de Nerra has taken a bride.”

  Graehm was gone. Braxton glanced over his shoulder at Dallas to notice that the young knight was staring at him. They gazed at each other a moment, a thousand words of curiosity and foreboding filling their air. Braxton faced forward again.

  “Put the wagons and the ladies to the rear,” he said quietly. “Put the men on alert. Knights with shields slung.”

  Dallas moved swiftly to carry out the order. The last glimpse that Braxton had of his wife was as the wagon made a sweeping turn for the rear of the column.

  His visor went down and his shield went over his left knee.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Gloucester didn’t simply release a barrage. He released chaos.

  As soon as Braxton’s army neared the outer perimeter of Erith, the three hundred men that Roger de Clare had brought with him attacked from the woods. The fortress was hardly manned, being that it provided no protection whatsoever. Roger had wisely sent his men into the cover of the trees to attack de Nerra’s army.

  The first volley of arrows struck the men at the front of Braxton’s column. He lost four men right away, pierced through their bodies and heads with Gloucester arrows. Braxton himself was hit, but only in the wrist. The arrow didn’t even lodge itself; it simply pierced him and fell away. Knowing they had walked right into an ambush, Braxton did the only thing he could. He called a retreat.

  But there were
de Clare men lining the woods for several hundred yards. Even in retreat, they found themselves in a full-scale battle as Roger’s army almost completely encircled them. Braxton’s heart was in his throat as he thundered his way to the rear of the column where Gray and Brooke were; he found them laying in the wagon next to Geoff, being shielded from the arrows and fighting by none other than Norman and Edgar. When the soldier driving the wagon was hit with an arrow to the neck, Braxton leapt from his charger and took the reins himself.

  The wagon barreled back down the road as fast as the horses would go. His only thought at the moment was to get the women to safety. Gradually, the fighting fell away from them and they were alone, tearing down the road towards Milnthorpe. He could hear Brooke weeping softly in the bed of the wagon but he did not stop; he continued for another mile at least, far enough away so that he was sure they were clear of the fighting. But he did not trust Gloucester not to follow him. He drove the wagon off the road, across a small brook, and continued into a heavy thicket.

  By this time, Gray had lifted her head. Realizing there was no longer a war going on over her head, she climbed onto the wagon bench beside her husband and held on for dear life as he drove a crazy path through the foliage. Braxton felt her presence but didn’t look at her; he could not afford the diversion. His primary focus was to get them to safety.

  They finally reached a cool, grassy area imbedded in a cluster of white birch trees and Braxton pulled the wagon to an unsteady halt. It was silent but for the singing of the birds overhead. As Gray turned to Braxton, the thunder of hooves behind them startled everyone. They turned to see Braxton’s charger rushing up behind them, riderless. The horse had followed his master all the way from the battle, very well trained to stay with his lord.

  When they saw it was only the destrier, everyone emitted varied sighs of relief. Braxton’s gaze lingered on Gray a moment, just to see for himself that she was all right. She smiled wanly. He patted her cheek, bailed from the wagon, and went straight to the team of horses. Gray watched him unfasten the tack.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Braxton uncoupled the team as Norman and Edgar ran up. The boys began unstrapping the leather connecting the animals.

  “I must return,” he told her.

  “But why are you unhitching the horses?”

  “Norman and Edgar return with me.”

  Gray didn’t say anything, but her wide-eyed expression conveyed much. Braxton couldn’t linger on her fear, however; she was safe and that was all that concerned him. He had a job to do.

  When he had helped the boys as much as he was able, he went to the wagon and motioned Gray down off the bench. She slid into his waiting hands and he put his arm around her shoulders as he led her back towards his now-grazing charger. She laid her head on his shoulder, clinging to him.

  “I will go back and fight off de Clare, but I wanted you safe,” he explained, trying to alleviate her fears. “It should not take long. Skirmishes like this usually don’t. But you will say here until I come for you. Is that clear?”

  They had reached the charger and now faced each other. “Aye,” Gray nodded, dread in her eyes. “Please be careful, Braxton. Nothing about Erith is worth dying for.”

  He smiled at her. “It is Dallas’ fortress now. He might have something different to say about that.”

  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.”

  B
raxton 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!”