Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Who do you serve?” he demanded.

  The men looked at him, a mixture of suspicion and defiance on their faces. “Roger de Clare,” one of them said. “Who are you?”

  Braxton’s mood changed instantaneously. He had gone from mildly curiously and confidently unconcerned to deeply uneasy all in one split second. His blue-green eyes swept the keeping, knowing de Clare was somewhere within the walls. Without answering their question, he reined his charger sharply back in the direction he came. He ran into the approaching party just as they approached the portcullis.

  He flicked two thick fingers in Dallas and Graehm’s direction, motioning for them to attend him. He, in fact, rode straight for Gray, still seated on the wagon bench beside the driver. Her amber eyes studied him expectantly as he and the other two knights rode up beside her.

  “Well?” she asked before he could speak. “Who is it?”

  Braxton wasn’t quite sure how to tell her. There was no easy way. “Roger de Clare,” he said. He couldn’t help the sharp, helpless sigh that escaped his mouth. “It would see that your mother has called forth the Devil himself, Gray.”

  She stared at him for a moment as the news, and implication, settled. Then her eyes widened. “De Clare?” she repeated, stunned. “But… he’s Gloucester. Gloucester is here?”

  Before Braxton could reply, Graehm piped up. “Gloucester is here?” he sounded like a dumbfounded lad.

  Braxton gave Graehm an intolerant look. He didn’t need one of his knights acting the giddy fool when he had a serious issue on his hands. “Aye, the cousin of the earl is here,” he said, somewhat sharply, before returning his attention to Gray. “He’s not brought a big party with him and I did not see any knights, but we must handle this very carefully, my lady. You know that. The relationship between the de Montforts and the de Clares is tenuous at best.”

  She nodded, still astonished at the news. “What shall we do?”

  Braxton shook his head, thinking aloud. “Is it possible that your mother sent invitation to Roger de Clare for Brooke’s hand? My God, the man has to be beyond sixty years. Moreover, he is already married with children, or at least he used to be married. Is it possible his wife is dead, then?”

  He was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. But they should have realized that Brooke would hear them. She was still perched on the wagon bed with her legs hanging over, listening to every word.

  “He has male children,” Brooke said casually, as if it was nothing at all to be concerned over. “Grandmother said he has many fine sons.”

  Now that the secret of her grandmother’s deeds were out, she was apparently very comfortable discussing what she knew. Gray, Braxton and the two knights were looking at her, a mélange of trepidation and displeasure on their faces. Braxton seemed the least emotional out of the bunch, his expression holding mostly steady.

  “Then it must be for one of the sons,” he lowered his voice as he spoke to Gray. “But I would be lying if I said his presence did not concern me.”

  “Why?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Because your mother has promised suitors Erith along with Brooke’s hand. Erith belongs to me and I have the document to prove it. Gloucester might not take the news so easily, especially if he is attempting to mend the ties his cousin destroyed. We do not need Gloucester coming down around our ears.” His mind began to work quickly, trying to think of a way out of or around this. His eyes fell on Dallas, the quiet knight. He was young, strong, and powerful, the second son of Baron Lisvane, vassal of the Earl of Cornwall. Though Dallas would not inherit his father’s title or baronetcy, he would inherit a small parcel of property from his mother. An idea began to form. Braxton was going to undo what that old woman was trying to do if it was the last thing he ever did.

  “Dallas,” he motioned to his knight. “A word, please.”

  Dallas obediently followed him to a resting point several feet away where they paused a moment, chatting quietly astride their snorting chargers. After a few exchanged sentences, Dallas’ eyes widened. Though he did not raise his voice or show obvious emotion, it was clear by his expression that he was shocked. Braxton’s expression was quite calm as he finished speaking, watching Dallas wrestle with whatever subject was occurring between them. Gray watched curiously as Dallas, still visibly uncomfortable, finally nodded his head. Braxton abruptly reined his horse away from him, emitting a piercing whistle between his teeth. The entire party came to an abrupt halt, wagon and all.

  They were almost at the threshold of the main gate. Braxton waved a gloved hand over his head in a circular motion. “Turn the wagon around,” he barked to the driver. “We return to Milnthorpe. Move.”

  Gray held on to the bench so she would not slide off as the wagon abruptly turned around. Then the wagon driver snapped the whip and the horses began to run. The last glimpse she had of Erith as it faded away was of curious soldiers up on the walls, watching their departure.

  “Graehm,” Braxton’s charger was cantering next to the wagon as he shouted his order. “Return to Erith. Collect all of our men and all of our possessions and make haste for Milnthorpe.”

  Graehm broke away from the party and returned to the fading castle. Dallas, bringing up the rear of the party, shoved a squealing Brooke back onto the wagon bed and slapped closed the door at the rear of the bed where she and Edgar had been hanging their legs out. The wagon was bouncing over the road, rattling heavily, and Brooke and Edgar were bouncing right along with it.

  “Braxton,” Gray called to him over the noise. “Where are we going? What’s wrong?”

  He knew she needed an explanation. His mind was working so quickly that he had almost forgotten. But he couldn’t stop now; they had to get back to the town as quickly as possible.

  “Later,” he told her.

  Gray watched him spur his horse ahead, charging down the road as if riding to battle. Geoff gave a groan at the bouncing of the wagon and she found her attention turned to him. Even so, her thoughts were still with Braxton and their mad dash back to Milnthorpe.

  Something was up. She could feel it.

  *

  “Are you mad?” Gray demanded. “Have you completely lost whatever good sense God gave you?”

  They stood beneath the shade of a mature oak, just Gray and Braxton. On the outskirts of Milnthorpe, the rest of Braxton’s army had just caught up to them in the past few moments and had begun settling their encampment. The sun was burning bright in the afternoon sky, but Gray wasn’t paying any attention to that, or to anything else at the moment. Her focus was solely on the powerful knight with the graying blond hair standing before her.

  Braxton was calm in the face of her tirade. In fact, he hadn’t expected less. They were away from the rest of the encampment so that no one could hear their emotional exchange. He had brought her to this clearing a-purpose, knowing their conversation had the potential to be explosive.

  “Think about it, Gray,” he said evenly. “It is the best option unless you want Brooke’s future to be marred with uncertainty. You are going to have suitors showing up from now until next year demanding to negotiate for your daughter. But they cannot negotiate for her if she is already married.”

  Gray knew that; Lord, she knew that. But it didn’t help her sense of despair. “But to Dallas?” she shook her head, baffled. “Surely you cannot take marriage so lightly that you would force your knight to marry a young lady without a cent to her name?”

  He crossed his thick arms patiently. “I told you that I would supply her dowry. She is most certainly not penniless.”

  Gray shook her head until tendrils of blond hair escaped from her bun. “I cannot let you do that. You are not responsible for her dowry. And Dallas…”

  He interrupted her. “I have a piece of vellum that states I am quite clearly responsible for her. She belongs to me. And since she belongs to me, I will supply her with a suitable dowry.”

  Gray froze, her amber eyes wide on him. “So you inten
d to marry my daughter to your knight no matter what I say? Because she belongs to you?”

  “Nay,” he unwound his arms and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “That is not what I meant and you know it. What I am saying is that I am indeed responsible for her; therefore, I will supply a dowry to make her attractive to a husband. And I am trying to save you and your daughter if you will stop fighting me on this. Would you rather see her married to a de Clare?”

  She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t claiming Brooke as some prize to be awarded. Her angry expression wavered. “Nay.”

  “Haistethorpe?”

  She grimaced. “Nay, not him.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Then you must marry her to someone suitable right away to eliminate the uncertainty that she will end up with men like that. Can you not see the logic, sweet? I am trying to help you. But you must learn to trust me.”

  She did trust him, but it didn’t help her sense of hopelessness and outrage. Still, he was trying to do what he thought was best. Ever since she had met the man, he had been trying to do what was best for her and her daughter and she had resisted him at nearly every turn. She did not want to resist him anymore; she wanted to trust him with complete abandon. He hadn’t steered her wrong yet.

  “Oh… Braxton,” she breathed, the fight suddenly draining out of her. “Must it be like this?”

  He nodded his head. “I fear that is the only way to save your daughter from a horrible fate,” he pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “Dallas is a chivalrous, gentle knight. I would not entrust your daughter to him if he was not. He will inherit a slight amount of property upon the death of his mother, so he is not completely unsuitable. His father is a wealthy baron.”

  She was coming to feel so very saddened. “But… he is so much older than she is.”

  “He is twenty-six years old. There is only eleven years between them, not a tremendous gap. There is more of an age difference between you and I.”

  “What does he say to all of this? Surely this is not appealing to him.”

  “He considers it an honor to marry into the House of de Montfort and bear the title of Baron Kentmere. Moreover, a dowry of thirty thousand gold marks is very appealing.”

  Gray looked at him, shocked. “Is that what you are giving her as a dowry?”

  He nodded. “Eventually, Dallas will leave my service and find his path in life. It will be a goodly sum of money to support them.”

  She went from astonishment to complete, utter devastation over the thought of her daughter leaving her. “He will take my daughter away?”

  He fought off a smile, watching tears fill her eyes. “I did not mean it the way it sounds,” he shook her gently. “You must get hold of yourself and focus on the issue. Your daughter will marry Dallas, which will end the parade of suitors, and you will marry me.”

  She wasn’t sure she could possibly be more astonished, but she was. “You and I are getting married also?”

  He let his grin break through then. “It makes sense. If the priest is performing one marriage, he can perform another. That way, no one can vie for the hand of either Serroux woman.” He ran a finger over her cheek, tenderly. “And I have been most anxious to call you wife since the moment I met you.”

  The tears were still there, but fading. He was so very sincere and sweet. “This all seems like such a dream to me.” She dared to lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips. “Never did I imagine my life would turn out as it has. Never did I imagine someone like you.”

  His response was to pull her into his arms and kiss her with such force that he ended up cutting his own lip with his teeth. Gray responded with equal passion, the caution and reserve that had filled much of her manner since their introduction unabashedly vanished. She was his and she did not care if the entire world knew about it. In fact, she wanted them to know. Braxton pulled her closer, his right hand instinctively finding her breast again. It was like a moth to the flame. She moaned softly as he gently fondled her.

  In the midst of their heated kiss, it seemed odd when a loud thud suddenly filled the air and Braxton abruptly released his hold on her. One moment, she was in his arms and in the next, he was lying at her feet in a heap. It all happened so fast that she did not have time to process the event. The next she realized, a man with a club of wood in his hand was standing in front of her. Startled, she looked up into eyes of obsidian.

  “So, my lady,” said that deep voice again. “We meet once more.”

  His big gloved hand muffled her scream.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Why does he keep looking at me?” Brooke whispered harshly to Edgar.

  They were sitting in a pitched tent, watching over a sleeping Geoff until Gray returned. But it had been quite some time and neither Gray nor Braxton had returned. Moreover, Sir Dallas was staring at Brooke from his perch several feet away. He had the strangest look on his face, seemingly lost in thought, as the rest of the camp moved busily around him.

  “I do not know,” Edgar wasn’t particularly interested in Sir Dallas at the moment. “Maybe he does not like you.”

  Brooke scowled at him. “Why are you so mean to me all of the time?”

  Edgar had no good answer. He lifted his skinny shoulders. “I do not know,” he fussed with the wrappings on his ankle. “Where is your mother? She was supposed to come back and look at my foot.”

  Brooke eyed the lad, still lingering on the insult he had dealt her. But she looked around, off in the direction she had last seen her mother heading. “She and Sir Braxton are off somewhere,” she sighed. “We’d best wait for them here. I do not think we should go looking for them.”

  “Why not?”

  Brooke gave him a knowing expression, much like her mother’s own. “Because they are probably doing something we should not like to interrupt.”

  “Like what?”

  She frowned. “Do you not know anything about the ways of men and women? Sometimes they like to be alone.”

  Edgar shrugged, fooling with the wrap on his ankle. “I have seen the soldiers grab serving wenches and put their mouths on…”

  Brooke held up a sharp hand. “Shhhhh,” she hissed. “I do not want to hear that.”

  “But I have seen them.”

  “I know you have and I do not care. It’s… it’s unseemly to talk about those things.”

  “I bet your mother and Sir Braxton are doing the same thing!”

  Brooke shrieked. “Do not say such things, you evil boy. I’ll slap you, I will!”

  Edgar liked the reaction he was getting out of her. She was squirming and the corners of his mouth twitched. “What are you so upset about? I’ll wager you don’t even know anything about what men and women do.”

  Brooke scowled and her cheeks turned pink. “I know more than you, Edgar.”

  “Do not!”

  “Do, too!”

  Dallas picked that moment to break from his staring stance and move towards the wagon. “Edgar,” he snapped softly. “What have I told you about harassing Lady Brooke?”

  Edgar looked at Dallas and was immediately quelled, but not entirely. There was still fight left in his expression. “I was not harassing her, my lord. We were… talking.”

  “What about?”

  Both Edgar and Brooke looked mortified. They looked at each other, wide-eyed, and Brooke blurted out: “My mother and Sir Braxton. They’ve been gone a long time.”

  Dallas’ blue eyes moved in the direction he had last seen the pair wander. He had to admit, they were correct. Braxton and the lady had been gone a long while, but he knew the reason for their disappearance and the contents of the subsequent discussion. He suspected that it had taken longer than expected to convince Lady Gray the course of her daughter’s future.

  Dallas, in fact, had spent the last hour coming to grips with just that. He’d always hoped to marry, of course, but he’d not thought on it more than that. Braxton’s request had been a surprisi
ng one. At first, Dallas had been quite shocked. Then his shock had moved to resistance, to contemplation, and finally to resigned acceptance. Though he had not exactly been ordered to marry her, the implication was obvious.

  He’d just spent the past several minutes watching Brooke interact with Edgar, observing every movement, every word. She was certainly a pretty thing, like her mother, but she was also very much a spoiled child. Yet he sensed there was something inherently agreeable in her, like a beautiful wild rose bush that needed some pruning and tending for it to fully blossom. He never thought of himself as a gardener, but that was the position he could very well find himself in. If he was successful, he would have a lovely, well-behaved wife. If not, then….

  “Should we go look for them, Sir Dallas?”

  Brooke’s soft voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked into her luminous blue eyes, the same shape but not the same color as her mother’s. “I shall go and look for them,” he said after a moment. “You stay here with Edgar.”

  They watched him walk off towards the east, the tall knight with the damp blond hair. Though he was slender, he had very broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had fought valiantly at the tournament the day before, falling only to a man nearly twice his size. But he had accepted defeat graciously. Brooke had felt rather sorry for him. When Dallas disappeared into the trees, Brooke and Edgar turned their attention back on each other. Edgar reiterated the fact that Brooke knew nothing about men and women. Brooke punched him in the arm and he fell off the wagon.

  Dallas was oblivious to the fight going on back in the wagon as he wandered deeper into the trees. His knightly senses were highly attuned to the area around him, not wanting to fall across something indiscreet between the lady and Sir Braxton. He knew very well that his liege had set his sights on the lady. They all knew, and no one blamed him. She was a beauty.

  The trees grew denser and more than once a pointy branch caught on his armor. Birds twittered above his head, the waning sunlight filtering through the heavy oak branches. He could see a small clearing up ahead and, oddly, there was something lying in the middle of it. He couldn’t quite tell what it was until it suddenly moved. A hand went up; a gloved one. He recognized the glove.