His cheeks grew redder. “Lady Aston,” he repeated.
Brooke studied him closely for any sign of insubordination. “You are indeed very mean to me. I have no idea why you treat me so badly. I have only been nice to you and have even shared my treats with you.”
Norman looked away and rolled his eyes. Brooke was taunting Edgar; he could see it and he had to do something before Edgar exploded and Sir Dallas came down on both of them. He turned back to the pair.
“Lady Aston,” he addressed her correctly. “We have work to do, if you don’t mind. I would beg your leave.”
Brooke’s gaze lingered on Edgar a moment longer before looking to Norman. “You may go, Norman. But I want Edgar to stay here and help the cooks.”
“What?” both boys blurted. Then Norman spoke quickly. “My lady, Edgar has a good deal of work awaiting him in the stables. It is his duty to feed and water the chargers.”
Brooke’s stubborn streak took hold. “I need him here to help in the kitchens. You can handle the chargers by yourself, Norman. As lady of the keep, I demand it.”
Norman didn’t know what to say. God help them, she was the lady of the keep. He looked at his brother, still red in the face. He did not want to think on what would happen were he not there to act as a buffer between Brooke and Edgar.
“Edgar is not a kitchen servant, my lady,” he said, hoping she would see his point. “He’ll probably burn the keep down if you try to force him. He wouldn’t know what to do.”
“But I wish it. We need the help. Go away now, Norman.”
He sighed reluctantly. “Very well, Lady Aston.”
Brooke watched Norman walk away. She looked back to Edgar, who had his head down. A fiendish sense of pleasure swept her to think that he was now in her power.
“Come along, Edgar,” she said, turning back into the kitchens. “You have much work to do.”
“Like what?” Edgar blurted. “I am not a kitchen servant. I would not know the first thing about working in a kitchen.”
She frowned at him. “You are going to learn.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Edgar came to a halt, glaring hatefully at Brooke. “You cannot order me around. I serve Sir Braxton. In fact, I do not have to listen to you at all.”
Brooke’s mouth pressed into an angry flat line. “You do too have to listen to me. I am the Lady of Erith. My husband is Sir Dallas and if you do not do as I tell you, then I will tell him that you are insubordinate and need to be whipped.”
Edgar shook his fist at her. “Go ahead. You are nothing but a skinny, ugly girl that Sir Dallas was forced to marry. I’ll bet he hates you already!”
Brooke’s mouth popped open in outrage. “How dare you say that to me!”
“It’s true! Just look at him and see how much he hates being married to you!”
Brooke charged him; it was inevitable. Edgar dodged out of the way and she smacked into the cutting table, bruising her wrist. But she would not let Edgar get away. As he barreled out of the kitchen, she barreled out right on his heels.
Edgar was well acquainted with running from Brooke. He’d been making a career out of it over the past few days. His ankle was sore from his fall in Milnthorpe but worked well enough. He would make sure to step in no more rabbit holes.
Edgar tore a wild path out of the kitchen yards and out towards the stables. His arms and legs were pumping so fast that they were in danger of getting all tangled up. Brooke screeched after him, her skirts hiked up around her knees as she ran. Edgar looked over his shoulder to see that she was gaining ground and he ran faster. Out into the main ward he ran, flying like the wind with Brooke hot on his tail. He roared through the destroyed entry as some of Braxton’s men were working on the crumbling portcullis, heading out to the road beyond. Brooke roared after him.
The men working on the crumbling wall and destroyed gate watched curiously. Braxton, his head bent over a section of the wall that was particularly shattered, heard the distant hollering and looked up just in time to see Edgar shoot from the ward and out onto the road with Brooke right behind him. He shook his head and sighed heavily.
“Dallas,” he called.
Dallas’ dusty blond head suddenly popped up from a mound of rubble; he had been inspecting the foundation of this particular section of wall. He looked at Braxton, who pointed to the two running figures moving down the road. Dallas’ eyes widened briefly before he muttered a curse. Then he leapt from the hole he had been standing in and bellowed for a mount.
Someone brought about a horse just as Norman ran past. Dallas vaulted onto the animal’s bare back.
“Norman,” he shouted as he gathered the reins. “What is going on?”
Norman paused long enough to look at the knight. “Last I heard, Lady Brooke was ordering Edgar to work in the kitchens. He must have disobeyed her.”
Dallas cursed again and spurred the horse after his wife. Norman, without a horse, was much slower. Galloping down the road, Dallas caught up to Brooke about a half mile from the castle. She was still running as fast as she could. Edgar, however, had slowed considerably. Dallas reached his wife about the time she was nearly on Edgar. He grabbed her by an arm.
“Stop,” he shouted, sliding from the horse before it even came to a halt. He had Brooke with both hands. “What in the world are you doing?”
Brooke’s pretty face was flushed and she was panting heavily. “He… he called me ugly and skinny. He must be punished!”
Dallas still had hold of his wife as he turned to Edgar, now lying in an exhausted heap in the grass several feet away. “Edgar!” he bellowed.
The lad shot to his feet and weaved a weary path back towards the knight. He, too, was flushed and panting. “My lord?”
Dallas’ expression was hard. “Did you call my wife ugly and skinny?”
Edgar’s weary expression was replaced by a fearful one. “I…I….”
“Speak up, boy.”
Edgar’s gaze moved between Dallas and Brooke. He finally lowered his head. “Aye, my lord, I did.”
“He said that you were miserable because you had married me,” Brooke wanted to get Edgar in trouble. But half way through her statement, she burst into tears. “He said you hated me.”
Dallas looked at his wife with some concern before turning back to Edgar. “Is this true?”
“Aye, my lord,” Edgar mumbled.
“I see,” Dallas’ eyes narrowed. “Have you anything to say in your defense before I dispense your punishment?”
Edgar was still looking at the ground. “She… she wanted to make me a kitchen servant, my lord, even though I had to tend to the chargers. That is my job. She told me that she was the Lady of Erith now and I had to do what she said. But Sir Braxton is my liege. I only do what Sir Braxton tells me.”
Dallas looked at Brooke, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Did you order him to tend the kitchens?”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded. Dallas’ grip loosened and he let her go, his attention moving back and forth between his wife and the young squire. He sighed heavily and scratched his dusty head.
“I am not entirely sure why you two seem so intent on harassing each other, but it is going to stop here and now,” his voice was low, threatening. “Brooke, Edgar is indeed Braxton’s squire and you may not order him about. He answers to Braxton alone. Is that clear?”
Rebuked, she kept her gaze averted but nodded her head. Dallas looked at Edgar. “And you,” he addressed him. “I will hear of no more insults dealt to Lady Aston. She is my wife and your words are slanderous. She is neither skinny nor even remotely ugly, and as for my being unhappy that I married her, I will tell you now that I am quite satisfied. If I hear of you calling her any more names or harassing her in any way, I will blister your backside. Is that understood?”
Edgar’s head was also still lowered but he nodded firmly. Dallas put his hands on his hips. “Now go,” he ordered quietly. “Take this horse with y
ou. Tend all of the chargers and when you are done, you can clean out their stalls and make sure they have fresh bedding. Then you can clean my armor and Sir Braxton’s armor until it shines. I want to see my face in it come morning.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Edgar fled back towards the castle under Norman’s silent escort. Dallas and Brooke were left standing alone, Brooke wiping at the remainder of her tears as Dallas turned his attention to her. His expression softened.
“You will leave Edgar alone,” he said quietly. “No more fighting with him. It is beneath you.”
She nodded, wiping daintily at her nose. Dallas took pity on her and took her hand, gently tucking it into the crook of his elbow as they began their walk back to the castle. Brooke remained silent but for an occasional sniffle.
“Did you hear what I told him?” Dallas asked quietly.
She looked at him, her expression guarded. “What do you mean?”
He met her gaze. “That I am satisfied with this marriage.”
She hiccupped. “Are you really?”
His lips twitched with a smile. “I am. So do not let his words upset you so. He couldn’t be more wrong.”
She smiled timidly. “Are you sure?”
Dallas returned her smile and took her in his arms, gazing down into her lovely young face. His eyes were intense as he studied her, thinking her to be a beautiful creature indeed. His soft kiss was met by a powerful response as Brooke threw her arms around his neck. He reacted by squeezing her so hard that she gasped. He laughed low in his throat.
“I hope this means that you are growing to like my kiss,” he said as he released her.
She nodded, breathless. “Do it again.”
He did, with pleasure. When Braxton looked out to the road to see what was keeping Dallas, he saw the passionate embrace in the distance. With a grin, he turned back to the crumbling wall.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Unfortunately for Constance, she had spent most of the money Braxton had given her for food and lodgings in the town of Levens. The town was small but had several well-known inns, and Constance set herself up in the finest tavern in town, the Dixon Arms, and lived like a queen until she realized that she was very nearly out of coin.
Her plan had always been to return to the seat of the mighty Grays with a grand story of abduction and exile. It was not in her nature to admit the truth; in fact, the truth had long since become amalgamated with the fiction created in her mind into a story that she was truly coming to believe herself. In her mind, Braxton had taken over Erith and forced Gray into marriage. Worse, he had forced Brooke into an unsuitable marriage with one of his knights. Then, he had exiled Constance, the last line of defense between her daughter and granddaughter and the mercenary knights. Constance considered herself the victim in all of this.
The other details were conveniently forgotten, those that pointed out Constance’s foul actions. In her mind, she could do no wrong. She did what she had to do, in all things. And a mercenary knight bannerette was not going to best generations of breeding and intelligence. She was going to punish the knight and emerge the victor no matter what the cost.
So she hired two men to take her to Thirlwall Castle, the Gray stronghold in Northumbria where she had been born. It was at least a four-day ride from Levens. Unfortunately, she had agreed to pay the men by the day and by the third day, her funds had run out and they left her in the small town of Rosehill, just to the east of Carlisle. On a very expensive palfrey that she had purchased in Levens, Constance was forced to travel the last fourteen miles alone, arriving at Thirlwall Castle just after sunset on the fourth day.
Thirlwall was a small castle with an all-inclusive keep that contained stables on the bottom floor and the hall, kitchens and bedchambers above. The castle itself was heavily fortified with soldiers, being so close to the Scots border, but the only remains of Constance’s family were a distant nephew and his son.
Nonetheless, they were family and they listened to Constance’s tale with great concern. She came across as intelligent and victimized, not a conniving shrew who would stop at nothing to obtain a victory. And she made sure to throw Braxton de Nerra’s name into the story at every opportunity. She wanted the name ingrained into their brains as a man of great evil. She wanted Braxton to pay.
Her nephew immediately sent word to the Earl of Northumberland, Yves de Vesci, asking that men be sent to Erith Castle to save Lady Constance’s daughter and granddaughter from the wicked mercenary de Nerra. De Vesci, recognizing the de Nerra name as the Lords of Gilderdale, his vassals, sent word to Thomas de Nerra forthwith to seek out his son and rescue Lady Constance’s family. And with that, victory, for Constance, was guaranteed. She would finally have the last word.
But her assured victory was not to be. Weary from travel and stress, Constance went to bed that night with dreams of success over Braxton de Nerra on her mind. But those dreams soon faded and she began to dream of a great knife stabbing her in the chest. The pain was tremendous and in her dreams, she struggled to get away from the knife but it remained firmly lodged in her sternum, creating waves of anguish. And that was the last thing she remembered, for one of the servants found her stiff and cold in the morning, having died sometime during the night in her sleep.
She was buried the next day in the vault of her ancestors, finally, as she had always asserted and demanded, among her own blue-blooded peerage.
The peerage of the dead.
*
Black Fell Castle, Northumberland
“My son would not have kidnapped women and absconded with a fortress,” the man who spoke the words used a deadly tone. “Who spreads these lies?”
A knight bearing the red and blue shield of the Earls of Northumberland stood in the great hall of Black Fell Castle, delivering a message from his liege, Yves de Vesci. He tried not to appear nervous but, truth be told, everyone was always a bit apprehensive upon entering Black Fell. The place was full of the dark ambiance that is given to those whose life and vocation is geared towards battle.
Sir Thomas de Nerra came from a long line of aggressive soldiers; powerful but not brutal, brave but not reckless. Still, the man was more of a warrior than most, seasoned and bred along with the rest of the Lords of Gilderdale. The sons that stood with him were of the same mold: powerful, cunning, calculating and cold.
But the messenger held his ground. “My liege has received this information from Thirlwall Castle, seat of Sir Edmund Gray.”
“And how would he know this?”
“Because his father’s sister, the Lady Constance Gray de Montfort, has returned to Thirlwall with this information. Sir Edmund is most concerned for his cousin and her family.”
Thomas de Nerra gazed at the man with calculating blue-green eyes. Most of his sons resembled him to fault, the exception being his eldest, Robert. Robert had the dark of his mother. Even now, Robert stood beside his father, his blue-green eyes hard as he listened to the tale involving his youngest brother. Before his father could reply, he interjected his thoughts.
“There must be a logical explanation for what Lady de Montfort has said,” he replied firmly. “My brother is not the sort to go around confiscating castles and abducting women.”
The messenger’s eyes flicked to him. “Be that as it may, the earl is concerned enough that he asks you to ride to Erith Castle and remove your son. This he demands on behalf of the Grays of Northumberland.”
“God’s Beard,” the second eldest brother, a big man with graying blond hair named Davis, cursed lowly. “Braxton is a grown man and, I might add, a powerful knight in his own right. Do you think we can simply march to Erith and scold him like a child? That is ridiculous.”
Robert shook his head in agreement, glaring at the messenger as he turned away. Not to be left out, the third de Nerra son, Steven, made his presence known. He was a massive, hairy beast of a man with shaggy gray hair and hands the size of trenchers. He was also the most volatile, which is why Davis grabbed t
he man before he could throw the messenger into a head lock.
“Braxton would not do what your lord fears,” he snarled. “He is a man of honor.”
“He is a well-known mercenary,” the messenger unwisely countered. “He will do what is necessary if there is profit involved. Lord de Vesci is simply concerned for the safety of Lady Constance’s daughter and all of you, as vassals of de Vesci, are obliged to obey his command.”
There was truth in the statement that none of them could refute. Thomas sighed heavily, thoughtfully, averting his gaze as he scratched his neck and generally fidgeted about as his sons grumbled and postured. He rose from the bench upon which he was seated, stretching his muscled legs and thinking of the son he’d not seen in years. He hadn’t even heard of him in nearly as long until one of his knights, Niclas de Aughton, returned from mission to Gloucester. He had run across Braxton and his army and told quite a different tale than the one being carried by de Vesci’s knight. Thomas sent a soldier for de Aughton before returning his attention to the messenger.
“One of my knights has recently seen Braxton,” he said. “I have sent for him and we shall clear this up once and for all.”
The messenger didn’t say any more; he was only the messenger, after all, and not qualified to argue the point. So he stood politely while de Nerra’s sons conferred between them, big men with big reputations. They were growing older now and their own sons were beginning to take on the family mantle; Robert had two boys while Steven had one, young men that were even now outside with the army. Thomas went back to the bench and lowered his body heavily, sitting near the fire because his joints ached.
The messenger’s gaze moved from the whispering sons to the pensive father, brushing over the features of the massive two-story hall that smelled like dogs and men. He’d never actually been to Black Fell Castle but he could see why it was considered a foreboding stronghold; it reeked of war. He could feel it, and see it, everywhere. It was a dark place of stone, smoke and power.
De Aughton wasn’t long in coming. The big black knight with eyes of obsidian entered the smoky great hall from the bailey outside, approaching Thomas with pounding steps. Before Thomas could speak, Steven leapt out to intercept him.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 77