Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “See what?”

  “What you feel for me, of course.” She was suddenly pressed against him, her hands on his big arm. “I saw it the first day we met, Braxton. I felt it when you saved my life. Oh, I know you told my grandmother that you had no intention of marrying, but why else would you come back to Erith with gifts? I know it is because you are interested in me.”

  He moved away from the post, trying to put some distance between him and her. “My lady,” he said evenly. “What I told your grandmother is was true. Though I am flattered, I clearly have no intentions towards you.”

  She was following him. “You do not have to pretend any longer, darling. I would be most pleased to call you husband. I am young and strong and can bear you many strong sons.”

  Braxton was backing out of the stable. Brooke threw herself forward, her arms wrapped around his neck like a noose.

  “You must control yourself,” he said sternly, trying to pry her arms off of him. “This is not appropriate behavior for a young woman.”

  “Kiss me,” Brooke begged, making sucking noises with her lips and aiming for his mouth. “Kiss me, my darling. I know you want to.”

  She was strong for a young girl. Braxton was trying to pull her off of him but he didn’t want to hurt her. “Let go, Brooke.”

  “I will not. You want me. Kiss me!”

  Off to his right he heard a strange noise, something that sounded like a gasp. By the time he turned around, Gray was marching up on the two of them with some kind of farm implement in her hand. Braxton’s hands were trying to restrain Brooke and he was unable to defend himself when Gray swung the wooden stick at his head.

  Stars burst before his vision and he fell onto his back, hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness. Stunned but not senseless, he rolled to his left, away from the second strike that landed very close to him. He could hear Brooke screaming.

  “Mama!” she shrieked. “No!”

  “You… you beast,” Gray swung the wooden implement one last time, missing him by a wide margin. As Braxton struggled to get to his feet, she wielded the pitchfork like a weapon. “Braxton de Nerra, you are a despicable, horrid creature and I want you out of here. Take your gifts and your food and leave my fortress immediately.”

  His ears were ringing and the world rocked. As his vision cleared, he saw Brooke’s fearful face, Gray’s angry one, and Constance standing just behind her daughter. For some reason, he found himself focused on the old woman. He did not like the expression on her face. But his attention moved back to Gray.

  “My lady,” he said. “You are gravely mistaken if you think.…”

  “Stop it,” she hissed at him. “I will hear no more from you. I trusted you and you lied to me.”

  “What?”

  Gray kept the pitchfork between them. “My mother told me what you did.” She was suddenly bordering on tears; he could see it in her face. “How could you do that?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but his gaze moved back to Constance. He has a suspicion that whatever Gray was thinking came from her mother. A dark wave of realization swept him.

  “What did I do, Gray?” he asked softly. “What are you talking about?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She looked so very hurt. Behind her, Constance stood cold and silent. Damn the woman; he knew something awful had come from her lips.

  “The contract,” Gray almost whispered. “My mother told me. Do not try to deny it. That is why you went to Wenvoe, to buy my daughter and my castle.”

  “I bought the contract because Wenvoe wanted me to lay siege to Erith to claim both the castle and your daughter. I bought it to spare you. Did you not know that your husband had promised him both Brooke and the fortress in payment for his debt to Wenvoe?”

  “I did,” she said hoarsely. “But Wenvoe promised he had no interest in either. He said he would not hold Brooke or I responsible for Garber’s disgrace.”

  “He had no interest until your mother started sending out invitations to vie for Brooke’s hand.”

  “Do not listen to him, Gray,” Constance entered the conversation. “He has been plotting since the beginning. He owns Brooke, and he owns Erith. He has been sending out solicitations of marriage to sell off your daughter and the castle.”

  So that’s what this was about. The old bitch had turned on him, gaining an upper hand with her lies and deceit. He had underestimated her. Braxton struggled to keep his composure as he faced Constance.

  “That, Lady de Montfort, is a lie. You were the one who sent out the solicitations of marriage, not I.”

  “See how he tries to defend himself?” Constance gripped her daughter’s arm. “He is a mercenary, Gray. All he cares about is money. He bought Erith and Brooke for a price. Now he intends to secure a fine return on his investment by selling them both off. Why do you think he is fixing up the fortress? ’Twill make it much more attractive to a future husband.”

  It was purely amazing how so slight a woman could be so evil. Braxton knew, even as he stared at her, that he was fighting a losing battle. He never knew his heart was capable of breaking, but at the moment, he suspected it was well on its way. He looked at Brooke, cowering beside her mother.

  “Lady Brooke,” he said steadily. “Perhaps you can straighten this out. Did you not, in fact, tell me that your grandmother was plotting behind your mother’s back to marry you off?”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. She looked at her mother, her grandmother, and visibly shrank. Her head began to wag back and forth.

  “I… I did not say,” she said.

  “The day I met you near the falls of Erith, you did not tell me this?”

  “I… I do not remember.”

  Braxton was not surprised by her denial. He put a hand to his forehead, wiping away the trickle of blood from the crack Gray had given him. He knew he would never be able to convince Gray that both her mother and daughter were lying to her. He did not blame her; they were her family and she had known them a lifetime. She had only known him a few short days. A few short, miraculous days. He could not believe it was all coming to so tragic an end.

  The only person who could validate his statement was too afraid to do so. Brooke was only a child, caught up in an adult game. He didn’t blame her either. In fact, it was no one’s fault but his. He should have told Gray about the situation the moment he had returned to Erith. He should have been the first one to come out with the truth about what had transpired with Wenvoe. But he hadn’t; as he’d told Constance, Gray was just learning to trust him. He did not want to ruin that. But his silence, and his conversation with a shrewd old woman, had cost him dearly. He should have been smarter about it.

  “Then I would suspect there is nothing more I can say to my defense,” he said after a moment. His gaze lingered on Gray; she looked positively miserable. “I will clear out my men before nightfall.”

  He went to move past the women, giving them a wide birth. Gray called out to him.

  “Your gifts and food stores will be brought to the bailey,” she said.

  He paused, meeting her gaze. “No need, my lady. They were gifts. I do not expect them returned, nor would I want them. They were meant only for you.”

  With that, he turned and walked away. Gray stood there, pitchfork still in hand, feeling heavy sobs bubbling within her chest. The pitchfork came down and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  “Mama…” Brook began softly.

  “Go,” Gray threw the wooden implement down and turned away from her daughter and mother. “Just… go. Leave me alone.”

  Constance took Brooke by the hand and led her off. She had come out on top of the situation and did not feel the need to linger over her victory. The knight had challenged her authority and had lost both the battle and the war as a result. She would never let a low-born knight to get the better of her, no matter how wealthy or powerful. It was over now; she would leave her daughter to deal with it.

  Gray listened to their footfalls fade, f
inally allowing the sobs to come forth. It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced, and she’d experienced many crippling things during her life. This was as bad as she could imagine, mostly because her unprotected emotions were involved. To find Braxton with Brooke in his arms… she closed her eyes to the sight of it, her tears falling on the straw of the stables. Eventually, she sank to her buttocks and wept.

  She must have been there quite a while because the sound of footsteps in the straw next to her nearly startled her to death. Looking up, she found herself staring into Braxton’s pale face.

  “I have something for you,” he said before she could open her mouth. He held up a yellowed parchment, rolled and tied with dried gut. “It is the agreement from Wenvoe relinquishing his rights to Brooke and Erith. It is yours now. Keep it safe.”

  Leaving the parchment in the straw next to her, he turned to walk away. She called after him.

  “Sir Braxton,” she said. “I would have you read this to me, if it would not be too much trouble.”

  He paused, turned to look at her, and slowly retraced his steps. There was labored hesitation to his movements, as if it was taking all of his strength to complete them. Crouching down next to her, he sighed before picking up the parchment and unrolling it. His blue-green eyes focused on the scribed lines, written by Wenvoe himself.

  “‘On this third day of August, in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and five, let it be known that I, Neil Wenvoe, Baron Killington, Lord of Creekmere Castle, do hereby relinquish my claim to Sir Braxton de Nerra for the Lady Brooke Serroux and her dowry of Erith Castle and the hereditary title of Baron Kentmere for the sum of thirty thousand gold marks in repayment for a debt owed to me by Sir Garber Serroux.’” He lowered the parchment. “That is all it says. Then he gave his seal.”

  He began to roll it up again but she reached out and took it from him, their hands brushing in the process. It was the most painfully exquisite touch; Braxton had to close his eyes and turn away. He was having a good deal of trouble dealing with all of this at the moment and her proximity was distressing.

  Gray’s gaze lingered on him a moment before looking at the parchment, looking over the careful words. He didn’t know she could read, as taught to her by her father. She had asked him to read the parchment for good reason; to see if he would lie to her. But he had read every word as written.

  “Thirty thousand gold marks,” she whispered. “You paid thirty thousand gold marks for the rights to my daughter and Erith?”

  He simply nodded his head. “Why?” she asked, astonished. “Nothing about this place is worth that kind of money. What would possess you to do such a thing?”

  He met her gaze, then. There was hardness in his eyes, a necessary self-protection. “Because I was trying to save you from having your castle razed and your daughter confiscated. If I did not accept this task from Wenvoe, he would find someone that would. This I could not allow. I was trying to do something noble, my lady,” the last words were bitter and ironic. “A lot of good it did me.”

  He stood up abruptly but did not leave. Gray watched him pace around like a caged animal. He wanted to go, she could tell, but he wanted much more to stay. She realized she wanted him to stay, too, in spite of everything.

  “Explain to me, my lord, how I could possibly misunderstand all of this,” she was begging for an explanation, without her mother hanging over her and her daughter clutching at her. It was just the two of them. “What is the truth of all of this? You have nothing to lose by telling me the verity of the situation now that the damage has been done. Tell me the truth and I shall believe you.”

  He looked at her and she was struck by the naked emotion in his eyes. “Will you?”

  “I said I would.”

  He took a deep breath, hardly daring to hope. “Then I will swear on my oath as a knight that I will tell you the complete, honest truth. You may believe me if you wish. If you do not, I hold no resentment against you. It would be difficult for you to know the truth living with a viper as you do.”

  She knew he meant her mother and she was not offended. She knew what the woman was capable of, or at least she thought she did.

  “Go on.”

  He stood in front of her. “Wenvoe had a verbal contract with your late husband. The deal was your daughter and Erith in exchange for the forgiveness of his debt to Wenvoe.”

  “I know.”

  “He also said your husband had died before the terms could be put to paper. You said your husband was murdered by Wenvoe. This information is conflicting.”

  It was her turn to look somewhat less confident. She lowered her gaze. “Since we are telling complete truths, I will tell mine. My husband committed suicide in shame over the bargain he had struck with Wenvoe, the shame of his gambling debts finally catching up to him. The old baron might as well have killed him for all of the humiliation he put Garber through. Somehow it sounds less shameful to say my husband was murdered. There is enough at Erith to be ashamed over without that added trouble hanging over our heads.”

  He watched the top of her blond head, feeling pity for yet another thing in her life that she had no control over. But it did not deter him from what he must say to her.

  “Upon my arrival at Creekmere, I discovered Wenvoe’s true plans for me. He had been informed that your mother had sent out offers for Brooke’s hand. Given the fact that Brooke was his property, he wanted me to confiscate both Brooke and Erith. He asked me to enforce the terms of his verbal contract with your husband. But I could not do it, Gray. I could not take both your daughter and your castle. So I told Wenvoe that I would buy the contract from him, thereby repaying your husband’s debt. When he refused, I threatened to raze Creekmere. So he sold me your daughter, and Erith, for thirty thousand gold marks.”

  She was gazing up at him quite earnestly. “Was that his asking price?”

  “It was my offer. But I would have doubled it without hesitation.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her as if she was daft. He lifted a big hand, letting it slap helplessly back against his thigh. “Because your happiness is worth all of that and more. How much plainer can I be?”

  Gray stood up, unsteadily, tears reforming in her eyes. “You said something earlier. You said that Brooke had told you about my mother’s subversive solicitations on her behalf. Is that God’s truth, Braxton? Did she really say that to you?”

  He nodded. “It is. She told me that your mother said that she was a young woman now and was due a wealthy husband.”

  Gray blinked and the tears spilled down her cheeks. Braxton’s hands ached for want to wipe the tears away but he was afraid to touch her, afraid she would pull away from him.

  “I have heard my mother say that before,” she sniffed. “But never did I think she would go behind my back. She sent out offers for Brooke’s hand, didn’t she?”

  “That is what Brooke told me and what your mother confessed to when I confronted her.”

  She blinked again and more tears spilled down her face. Then she dissolved into soft sobs. “Then they both lied to me,” she wept. “My mother, most of all, and Brooke because she was afraid. I know how my mother is. She lied to take the blame off herself.”

  “Your mother does what she must in order to survive.”

  She wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “It is not a good enough reason to lie to me and to deliberately discredit you,” she said. Then she looked at him. “But tell me one more thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Why did I see Brooke in your arms?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Because she was throwing herself at me. I was attempting to pry her off when you appeared.” The blue-green eyes glimmered faintly. “My only interest is in you, Gray. Do you really think I would show anything other than friendly attention to your daughter?”

  She looked at him, seeing the naked honesty in his face. She’d been around enough cheats and fabricators to know when she saw the raw elements of tru
th. “Nay,” she murmured. “I do not.”

  Braxton didn’t know if he felt more relief than anger; relief that she apparently believed him, anger at Constance’s tactics. The old bitch did not care who she hurt, not even her own daughter. Poor Gray was on the receiving end of a very unscrupulous woman. He moved towards her to offer some words of comfort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dallas.

  The blond knight stood in the stable entry, his eyes fixed on Braxton. “My lord,” he said. “The visitors have arrived. They are from the House of Haistethorpe.”

  “That’s in Windermere,” Gray muttered as she wiped her nose.

  Braxton looked at her a moment before turning back to Dallas. “Did they say why they had come?”

  Dallas’ gaze moved between the lady and his lord. “At the invitation of the Lady Constance.”

  Gray’s head snapped up. Her face was wet, her eyes furious. “Is that what they said, exactly?” she demanded.

  Dallas nodded his head. “Aye, my lady. They asked for the Lady Constance by name.”

  Braxton dismissed Dallas before Gray could say anymore. She was dangerously close to exploding; he could tell. He stood there a moment, watching her face, waiting.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked softly. “Do you still want me to leave?”

  She looked at him, then, and the anger fled from her face. Her lower lip trembled delicately. “Oh, Braxton,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I hit you… I accused you of awful things.”

  He went to her, pulling her into his warm, powerful embrace. Gray collapsed against him, her soft sobs returning. They clutched at each other, in relief, in sorrow. His hand held her head against his chest, gently stroking her soft blond hair.

  “No apologies, sweetheart,” he murmured into the top of her head. “All is well again with us.”

  Her arms were around his torso, holding him tightly. “Please do not leave,” she begged softly. “I do not want you to go.”

  “Then I will not.”

  “I… I am afraid.”

  He scowled gently. “I don’t believe it. Of what?”

  She tilted her head back to look at him. “Of what my mother has done. I have no idea how to deal with these people who believe they are honestly vying for Brooke’s hand. She’s only fifteen years old, for God’s sake. What am I going to do?”