The Falls of Erith (26 page)

“His
involvement is purely by sheer aggressiveness, I assure you,” Constance said.
“We offered him shelter a week ago and he’s not left since. He sticks to my
daughter like a disease and has taken control of Brooke. We’ve been unable to
rid ourselves of him. Even now, he parades them around the countryside against
their will.”

“Is
it your daughter’s pleasure that he stays? Perhaps she is considering marriage
to him.”

“She
is not,” Constance said flatly. “My lord, I beseech you. I very much need your
help if I am to save my daughter and granddaughter from that mercenary. For
your aid, I assure you that your son will marry Brooke and you shall have my
daughter if you deem her suitable. Will you not help me, please?”

Roger
sighed, turning his attention back to his cup as he spun it in slow circles. 
“Did you know that de Nerra’s father is Baron Gilderdale?”

It
was evident from her expression that she had not known. She did not want to
come across looking like a fool.  “He said he was distantly related to Anjou.”

“And
he is. But he is also the son of Thomas de Nerra, fourth Baron Gilderdale. And
Gilderdale is a massive war machine as I am sure you know. Anyone in
Northumberland knows of Gilderdale’s military might. Where do you think Braxton
achieved his connections and knowledge? He is bred from a long line of
warriors. The entire family is full of blood thirsty fiends. The Scots do not
even like to go against them but God knows, they have. And they have lost.”

Constance
was still trying to recover her shock, fighting off the uncertainty now that
she was not in charge of the conversation. “Do you fear that he will call upon
his father if you move against him?”

“He
could. Certainly it would be a risk.”

William
de Clare sat silently next to his father, watching the man fiddle with the
utensils. William may have looked like a pimp-faced lad, but in truth, he was
even-tempered and wise as his mother had been. While most de Clare men were
warriors with a mean streak, William did not possess this trait. True, he was
training as a knight, and a very good one, but he was not mean by character. He
was the opposite.

“Father,”
the lad said. “If Lady de Montfort is asking for our help, perhaps we should.
There is no telling what peril Lady Gray and Lady Brooke might be in. Even if
Gilderdale does support Braxton, they cannot defeat the House of de Clare. We
are greater in number than they are.”

“I’ll
not start a war with someone I have no quarrel with,” Roger said with
irritation. Then he slowed himself; he was beginning to sound like a coward.
“De Nerra’s reputation is well known. He’s as ruthless as they come. 
Obviously, the man saw a fortress without a man to run it and has taken
advantage of the situation. He’s a mercenary. He only sees the value of this
acquisition.”

William
watched his father closely. “Then we will help?”

Roger
pursed his lips, looking at Constance and watching her anxious features.  It
was apparent that he was still weighing his options, struggling not to show his
reluctance and trying to see the larger picture in all of this. He did not want
to provoke Gilderdale, but there was something valuable at the end of all of
this. Perhaps the risk would be worth it.  When he spoke, it was to Constance
alone. “If I do lend aid, have I your vow that Lady Brooke shall wed my son and
Lady Gray shall wed me?”

“Of
course, my lord,” Constance agreed.

“And
Erith shall become William’s holding?”

“Indeed
it shall.”

That
was enough for Roger. He had just acquired a castle for his youngest son and a
wife for himself. He was anxious to have more sons to carry on the de Clare
name; there was no guarantee the three he had would survive to perpetuate the
family. One had to plan for all possibilities of the future and Lady
Constance’s suggestion of marriage to her widowed daughter had been an
attractive one.  Unexpected, but attractive nonetheless.

“Then
we shall send for more troops to reinforce Erith as we search for de Nerra and
his bunch,” he abruptly stood up, startling William. He reached down and yanked
his son to his feet. “Go tell the captain of the guard to send a rider home to
Bronllys Castle to assemble two hundred of our men. Send to Caerphilly Castle
for five hundred more. If we are going against de Nerra, then I would be
prepared. The men will proceed to Erith immediately for further orders.”

“Thank
you, my lord,” Constance said sincerely, perhaps a bit dramatically. “I am sure
my daughter will thank you as well when she is free of this menace.”

Roger
lifted an eyebrow at the woman. For some reason, he was coming not to like her.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something untrustworthy
and intolerable about her.  He hoped he hadn’t just consigned himself to a
nasty fight against Gilderdale.

“We
shall see,” was all he said.

When
the men had left the hall and she was all alone with the dim flicker of the
hearth, Constance sat at the table and smiled.  De Nerra might have been able
to defeat her in her attempt to rid him from Erith, but he would not defeat
Gloucester.  Roger de Clare would squash him and the de Montforts would once
again be in favor with a political marriage.  And Constance would return to the
life of luxury she deserved.

Her
smile grew.

***

To
the south of Milnthorpe near an ancient mound built by the Saxon forefathers,
Graehm located a small church.  It was a dark and boxy structure with few
windows.  Vespers had ended and the two priests that lived at the church were
locking up for the night. It seemed they weren’t very interested in Graehm at
first; in fact, they seemed rather fearful of him and his purpose.  But the
promise of a sizable donation to their cause was enough to prompt the older
priest to ride with Graehm back to Braxton’s encampment.  Even though the man
loaded himself onto the oldest mule Graehm had ever seen, they were still able
to return to Braxton’s camp within an hour.

Once
arrived, there was little time for introductions or niceties. Although it
wasn’t exactly how Gray would have planned a wedding, and it certainly wasn’t
how she would have planned a wedding for her daughter, it really didn’t seem to
matter. She stood next to Braxton as Brooke stood next to Dallas, her daughter
still sobbing intermittently as the priest said the mass.  The ceremony itself
was short, to the point, and before Gray realized it, both she and her daughter
were married women.  Even when Braxton kissed her lips, her cheeks, and both
her hands, it did not seem real.  Even so, she knew in her heart it was the
best thing she had ever done. She felt content, and she felt at peace.

Brooke,
however, was a completely different story.  She was terrified of the tall blond
knight eleven years her senior who was now her husband. He had hardly said a
word to her but had shown an inordinate amount of courtesy and patience.  When
the priest blessed their union, he leaned down and, very properly, kissed her
cheek.  He came away with tears on his lips.

Graehm,
Norman and Edgar had witnessed the ceremony. The priest scribed marriage
certificates on pieces of vellum he brought with him and had each man sign
their name. In Norman and Edgar’s case, writing their name was the only thing
they knew, as neither of them had acquired the skills of reading or writing. 
Then the priest sanded the documents and handed them over to the respective
grooms, whereupon Braxton paid the man more money than he had earned the entire
previous year. It was a tidy sum.

And
with that, Lady Gray de Montfort Serroux became the Lady Gray de Montfort
Serroux de Nerra, and her daughter became the Lady Brooke Serroux Aston.

It
was nearly midnight by the time everything was said and done.  The priest would
spend the night with them because traveling the roads in the dark was not safe,
even for armed men.  They gave him a bedroll and plied him with food and drink.
Braxton’s men were spread out and several campfires burned throughout the dark,
eerie oaks.  Gray stood with her arms around her daughter, comforting her as
they watched Dallas and Norman pitch another tent under the half-moon sky.

Braxton
had walked the perimeter to make sure the posts were set for the night. He
couldn’t remember ever feeling lighter of heart. For the first time in his
life, he was actually happy.  When he returned, it was to stand behind his new
wife and daughter, watching as Gray gently stroked her daughter’s arms,
whispering soft words to the girl. He felt rather guilty, knowing Brooke was
frightened and upset by the turn of the day’s events.  But it had been in her
best interest. And he knew Dallas, and the man’s character, better than she
did. She had nothing to fear.

He
moved from behind them and stood alongside. He cast a sidelong glance at
Brooke, intermittently sobbing with her head on her mother’s shoulder.

“Brooke,”
he said quietly. “May I express my pleasure at becoming your father?”

Both
Gray and Brooke looked over at him; Gray was smiling faintly and Brooke was
hiccupping with a finger in between her teeth.  She blinked her luminous brown
eyes at him.

“T-thank
you,” she replied only after her mother gave her an encouraging squeeze.

Braxton
smiled at her. “May I tell you something?”  She nodded and he continued. “I
realize this night has been upsetting and surprising to you. I know you were
not prepared for this.  But you must realize that Dallas was not prepared,
either.  This is as much a life change to him as it is to you.  And I promise
you that I would have never suggested this to either of you if I did not, for
one moment, believe it was the right thing to do. Do you believe that?”

Brooke’s
sniffles were fading and she removed the finger from her mouth to wipe the
tears from her eyes. “A-aye,” she said quietly.

“Good.”
He reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it
behind her ear. It was a gentle, fatherly gesture. “Dallas is a very fine man.
I have known him many years and he has never once shown me that he is anything
other than chivalrous, kind and wise. If you searched your entire life for such
a man, you could not have found a better one.  I know he will make a fine
husband and you must give him that chance.  Will you do this?”

Brooke
slowly lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder, her gaze moving to the tall
man tying off the last of the tent lines.  She sniffled again, but it was only
remnants. Her tears, for the most part, were gone.

“Aye,”
she said, her eyes still on him. “But… but I do not even know him.”

“Nor
he, you. All he knows of you is a scrapper who fights with boys. Now show him a
wife he would be proud to have.”

She
looked at him, her big eyes blinking thoughtfully.  “How do I do that?”

Braxton’s
smile broadened. “Ask your mother. She is far more knowledgeable in these areas
than I.”

Brooke
turned to her mother, who wriggled her eyebrows in response. “I am not sure if
I am more knowledgeable, but I have had some experience. All I can tell you is
to be kind, patient and obedient. The rest you must learn on your own.” She
gave her daughter a squeeze. “I like Dallas. I believe he will be a fine
husband for you.”

By
this time, Dallas had finished the tent and was half way over to them. Brooke
saw him coming and her eyes widened.  But she admirably controlled herself and
settled down as he came upon them.  It would seem that Braxton’s words had some
impact on her.

“Norman
and Edgar are going to bed with Graehm tonight, my lord,” Dallas said to
Braxton.  “Lady Brooke and I shall have the smaller tent while you and your
lady wife share the larger one.”

Braxton
nodded his acknowledgement, thinking it would perhaps not be much of a wedding
night with Geoff a few feet away. But he said nothing to that effect; impatient
as a bridegroom though he may feel, he was well aware of the logistics of their
sleeping arrangements.

“It
has been a long day,” he said. “I would suggest that we all retire and take
what sleep we can. We will leave for Erith before dawn.”

He
took a step back in the direction of the larger tent, noticing that Gray hadn’t
moved. She was still standing with her arm around her daughter. Dallas was
standing there, looking between Brooke and her mother, and the mood was
becoming awkward.  Though not unfeeling, Braxton could see Gray’s reluctance
and he understood. Yet he would do what needed to be done; moving to the women,
he took Gray’s hand and gently pulled her away from her child.

“Let
us retire, Lady de Nerra.” God, how he loved using that title for the first
time. “I am sure Brooke is exhausted and wishes to sleep. Bid her a good night
and we shall see her on the morrow.”

In
control for most of the evening, Gray suddenly looked as if she was about to
burst into tears. She reluctantly let Braxton lead her away, her gaze lingering
on her daughter as the distance between them grew. Brooke just stood there with
her head down, looking at her feet.  When Gray and Braxton finally disappeared
into the tent, Dallas spoke.