His gaze was steady on her, as if trying to read what she was thinking. He finally shook his head. “Who has done such terrible things to you that you would be so suspicious?”
Gray averted her gaze, trying to pull her hand away, but he held her fast. “Nay, my lady, I’ll not let you run away. Not this time. I have come to this forsaken place to slake my curiosity of you and I will not leave until I have done so. Who has so horribly mistreated you that you would be so defensive? Tell me his name so that I may seek him out and champion you.”
Her eyes riveted back to him again, wide with surprise. She yanked her hand hard, finally pulling free of his grip. But she was still on her buttocks and a quick getaway was unlikely.
“You know not what you ask,” she said quietly.
“You are correct; I do not know. But I would ask just the same.”
“Why?”
“I told you why.”
Frustration blossomed. “Do not toy with me, my lord. If you only think to amuse yourself with my misery, then you may look elsewhere for entertainment. I shall not respond to your attempts to probe me. My life is my own and I do not know you. I will be glad to have you on your way tomorrow if only to be left in peace.”
She probably meant it, too. “I am not a clever man, my lady,” he did not rise to her irritation. “I have never, nor would I ever, toy with a woman. I have not the patience. What I tell you is the truth. I saw a beautiful lady today and simply wished to know her.”
She did not reply. He finally stood up, towering over her as she sat at his feet. Without another word, he turned and descended the stairs along the wall, crossing the dark bailey for the warmth of the keep. Though his body had left her, his mind had not. It was still upon the wall walk, wondering why such a beautiful woman was so embittered and mistrustful. If she did not believe him by now, she never would. He realized he felt a good deal of disappointment about it.
He was just mounting the steps to the keep when movement caught his attention. Glancing over, he could see Gray descending the stairs, clutching the stone walls as she lowered herself one step at a time. She was struggling, that much was clear. She seemed to be particularly weak and not simply because he had startled her by ripping a sword out of her hand. He paused half way up the stairs, watching her labor with every stair. He couldn’t just leave her. Slowly, he retraced his steps.
He met her at the bottom of the wall stairs. Gray looked at him, all of the fight gone out of her. Braxton stood there a moment, gazing back at her. He was still trying to figure her out, though he did not completely understand why. He’d never had a woman intrigue him so. Silently, he reached out and scooped her into his arms. She didn’t look as if she couldn’t walk another step.
Surprisingly, she did not protest. Her arms went around his neck and he could feel her hot breath on his jaw. He knew she was watching him. He was almost to the steps that led back into the keep when he felt her head, soft and sweet, lay down against his shoulder.
“Would… would you mind if we sat by your fire, my lord?” she asked softly.
He paused at the base of the steps and turned around, facing the south wall where three small fires blazed. “Those?”
“Aye.”
“Why would you want to sit there when there is a warm hall at the top of these stairs?”
Her head came up, the amber eyes fixed on him. “Because it is full of people. You have asked fair questions, my lord. I would give you answers, but not for all to hear. I… I thought we could speak privately if, indeed, you still seek answers to your questions.”
He didn’t argue. In fact, his pace picked up as he went over to the first of the three small blazes. He set her on her feet and she weaved dangerously. He reached out to steady her.
“Are you feeling ill?”
She waved him off weakly. “I shall be all right.”
“When did you eat last?”
Her head snapped in his direction and he could see the shame in her eyes. “Yesterday,” she lied. “I had a large meal. I simply haven’t been hungry until now.”
He didn’t want to dispute her, but Brooke’s hint of how her mother went without food because there was not enough to go around rang loudly in his mind. He pulled out the nearest bedroll and put it on the ground under her.
“Sit,” he ordered quietly. “I shall go and retrieve your meal.”
“Nay, please.…”
He was insistent. “I have not yet eaten myself. Sit there and I shall return.”
Gray was too weak to argue. She watched him cross the bailey, noting the confidence and power to his stride. He took the steps two at a time and disappeared into the keep. She began to relax, watching the flames as they danced before her. It was hypnotic, easing the strain on her mind. Before she realized it, Braxton was back, a hefty trencher in each hand, a wooden pitcher of the cheap wine hooked into a finger, and wooden cups under both arms.
Gray took the pitcher from him and both cups as he sat beside her. Neither one of them spoke as she poured the wine and accepted her trencher from him. As the fire blazed soothingly into the dark Cumbrian sky, Gray delved into the first real meal she had eaten in days.
Braxton ate silently beside her, watching her from the corner of his eye. He could see that she was famished, stuffing her mouth so full that she could barely chew. The action touched him deeply. Like her daughter, she was starving. There simply wasn’t enough for everyone and Gray suffered so that others would not starve. He doubted the grandmother felt the same pangs. He suspected the old woman took what she wanted without regard for anyone else. She looked like the type.
“You were going to answer my questions,” he reminded her casually.
Gray swallowed the bite in her mouth, chasing it with a long drink of the bitter wine. “Which question would you have answered?”
His blue-green eyes fixed on her. “Why are you so mistrustful of my actions?”
She met his eyes; the urge to shy away was overwhelming. “I… I really don’t know. Perhaps it is because no man has ever been particularly truthful to me. Not my husband or my father.” She lifted a hand to suggest he look at their surroundings. “Erith is all I have. I am a lone woman with no army. I must protect myself and my family. It was stupid of me to allow you and your army inside these walls.”
“Yet you did. Do you believe me now when I tell you I have no intention of stealing your fortress?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I must.”
“I could take Erith at any time and you’d not be able to stop me. You might as well trust me, for you have little choice.”
Her silence confirmed what she already knew. Braxton watched her as she averted her focus and looked back to her food.
“What happened to your husband?” he asked, somewhat gently, somewhat seriously.
She picked up another bit of venison and put it to her lips, chewing slowly as she spoke. “He is dead.”
“So I was told. But what happened to him?”
Gray couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She didn’t know why she was about to tell him, but she was. “He was murdered,” she whispered. “Over a gambling debt.”
“I see.” He drew in a long breath, gazing up at the stars overhead. “Has he been gone long?”
“Four years.”
He looked back at her. “And you have not considered remarrying?”
She met his gaze, then. “Who would have me, my lord?” The strength was returning to her voice. “I have nothing to offer but a broken fortress. No man of standing or decency would want to marry a woman with nothing to offer but poverty.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You underestimate your worth, madam.”
She stared at him a long moment before shoving her trencher to the ground and rising on unsteady legs. She had barely turned to walk away before he was up and standing in front of her. She tried to move around him but he blocked her.
“What have I said to make you run away from me again?” he demanded quietly.
“Answer me,” he rumbled. “What did I say?”
The frustration was turning to angry tears. “Let me go.”
“Not until you answer me.”
She wrestled with him but he only held her tighter. “Let me go, I say.”
“Answer me and I shall.”
She very nearly exploded. “I told you not to toy with me. Save your sweet words for someone who appreciates empty compliments and stale flattery, for I do not.”
His brow furrowed. “Is that it?” He couldn’t believe she was upset with him over that. “God’s truth, madam, I mean every word. In spite of your broken fortress and destitute situation, you have the beauty of an angel. A wise man would look beyond your situation to see that the true treasure lies with you, not with your lack of a dowry.”
She stopped fighting him, looking at him as if he was mad. “How… how can you say such things?” she wanted to know. “Men marry for wealth and status, not beauty.”
“I would marry for beauty.”
The blue-green eyes were intense on her. Gray suddenly felt warm and confused. The frustration and anger from moments earlier was gone, replaced by a strange sense of euphoria.
“Then you are a unique soul,” she was calming, “for most men would not.”
His grip on her arms lessened but he did not let go. “They are fools.”
Even in the moonlight, he swore he could see a faint blush to her cheeks. It was enchanting. He took the opportunity to gently take her hand, turning her back around towards the fire.
Gray allowed him to sit her back down on the bedroll that served as her chair. He picked up her half-eaten trencher and put it back in her hands. He sat close to her as he reclaimed his own trencher.
“Is the venison to your liking?” he wanted to keep the conversation going but stay away from the heady subjects, of which there were apparently many. “This was a big buck. Sometimes if they are too big and too old, their flesh is tough.”
“This is delicious.” She chewed slowly, watching him from the corner of her eye. “Did you kill it yourself?”
He took a drink of the nasty wine. “Nay,” he shook his head. “I leave the sport to my men, though when I was younger, I was quite a good marksman.”
“Surely you still are.”
His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps you would like to go hunting with me to see just how good I am, or at least I used to be?”
She fought off a smile. “Nay, I would not. My father considered hunting quite a sport, but I thought it was cruel.”
“Cruel but necessary to feed an army.”
“Or a fortress.”
He lifted his cup to her in agreement. “Was your father a great hunter, then?”
For the first time since they had met, the conversation was flowing freely. No tension, no fears. Braxton was relieved to see that she was finally relaxing around him. It made him feel light hearted as he hadn’t felt in years.
“My father had been a great knight, once,” she replied. “He was the son of a great knight.”
He stared at her a moment. “Simon de Montfort.”
She met his gaze. “Aye,” she said slowly. “How did you know?”
He poured her more wine. “Because your daughter introduced me to your mother as the Lady Constance de Montfort. Since you said your mother was of the Northumberland Grays, I could only assume de Montfort is her married name. I also happen to know that Erith is a holding of Simon de Montfort, or at least it used to be many years ago. So logically, your father must be a son or descendent of de Montfort.”
She nodded. “My father was Simon’s sixth child and third son, Richard.”
Braxton smiled faintly. Gray gazed back at him, wondering what his reaction would be to her lineage. It was not something she bragged about, being the granddaughter of a publicly disgraced earl. The wine on her empty stomach was loosening her tongue, causing her to speak before she could think through clearly.
“Now that you know my family lines, I do not blame you if you should take back every nice deed you have done for me,” she drank of the deep red liquid. “Most people do, you know. Once they discover my grandfather was Simon de Montfort, they smile to my face yet whisper behind my back.”
He frowned. “Simon de Montfort was a great man with great ideas. I have a great deal of respect for his memory.”
She snorted. “You speak treason, my lord.”
“Perhaps. But I speak the truth.”
“Most people do not think that way, especially in these lands where de Montfort held a presence. The king was hard on those who supported my grandfather when the tides finally turned against him. People around here have still not forgotten that.”
“True enough. But it is a pity they cannot remember that de Montfort’s only true crime was his quest for a better England.”
“You know something of my grandfather’s history?”
“I know a great deal.”
“Then you know that he believed the lesser nobles and common people of England should have a say in the rule of their country. Did you know that there was a time when he had more power than the king? Simon held a parliament of barons to help direct this country on a better path. He did so much good for this country in the short time he was able. But a key ally turned against him because of a silly quarrel and betrayed him to the king at Evesham. It was horrible. My father never recovered from what King Henry did to his father.”
Braxton could see her distress. He could only imagine it had been part of her life since the day she was born, the tragic tale of Simon de Montfort. “Be that as it may,” he said quietly, “there are those left in England who believe that de Montfort did something great. There are those that believe he has showed us a better way of governing a country.”
She smiled, without humor. “Perhaps. But those people were nowhere to be found to support the family Simon left behind.”
He wriggled his eyebrows. “Those people conveniently forgot that your noble bloodlines ran deep on both sides of the family,” he said softly. “You are the great-granddaughter, niece and cousin of kings. Your grandmother, Eleanor, was King Richard and King John’s sister. Your great-grandfather was Henry the Second. Even now, you are a direct relation to Edward Longshanks.”
It may have been the truth, but he made her sound more prestigious than she was.
“For a short time our family was glorified and respected, but when the end came, we became social outcasts,” she told him. “When it came time for me to marry, my father had to beg or bribe a suitor for no one wished to be associated with the disgraced de Montforts. I was finally promised to a lesser baron’s son, Garber Serroux, after much negotiation. We knew something of his family, but not too much.” Her eyes moved across the dark and crumbling fortress. “I suppose you can say the joke was on us. Garber Serroux was as undesirable a marriage prospect as I was only we did not know it at the time. He was a foul, abusive liar with a penchant for gambling. He had no inheritance because he had wagered it all away. Erith did not always look like this; it was still a moderately decent place ten years ago. But my husband sold everything we had to pay his debts, sold off our servants, and when he was drunk, he used our walls as target practice for the trebuchets my grandfather left behind. He left Erith as you see it.”
By this time, Braxton expression had darkened. “And then proceeded to get himself murdered for a gambling debt, leaving his family destitute.”
“He left us destitute long before that.”
The words were softly spoken, but their impact could not have been greater. Braxton had wanted to know the lady, but he had gotten more than he’d bargained for. Though he’d only known her a matter of hours, he could not imagine anyone abusing this gentle, noble and angelic creature. The mere thought made a
nger burn in his chest.
“I am sorry for your trouble,” he said after a moment; he wasn’t sure what more he could say. “Life has not been kind to you and I find that grossly unfair. You deserve far better.”
Gray took a closer look at him; as always, his manner was honest and sincere. To speak kindly of her grandfather was a rare thing indeed. Be it the wine or the conversation, she was growing more comfortable with him.
“Where are you going when you leave tomorrow?” she asked.
He casually shifted in his seat, moving closer to her. His elbow was brushing against her knee. “I have a contract to fulfill in Kendal.”
“What kind of contract?”
It was usual that he did not speak of contract terms with anyone other than the party soliciting his services and it was habit to be evasive with those who did not need to know the details.
“My military services for money, my lady. That is how I make my fortune in life.”
She gazed at him seriously. “Do you like being a mercenary?”
“I make a great deal of money fighting other people’s battles. The life has done well for me.”
“Who are you going to fight a battle for this time?”
He looked at her; she was very close to him now, her sweet face and amber eyes illuminated by the warm blaze. Being this close to her made him feel strangely dizzy. He did not see any harm in telling her one small detail.
“A man named Wenvoe,” he said. “He has a fortress a few miles to the northeast of Kendal called Creekmere. It is probably less than a day’s ride from Erith.”
As Braxton watched, Gray’s drunken amber eyes widened to the point where he thought they might pop from her head.
“God’s Bones…,” she breathed. “What are you to do for him?”
“Why would you ask that? Do you know him?”
She nodded, all of the color gone from her face again. Even in the moonlight, he could see it. “Aye,” she said.
“Then what do you know? Why do you look so?”
Her mouth worked as if searching for the correct words. She finally shook her head, unable to do anything more than simply spit it out.
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