The Falls of Erith (35 page)

He
bolted off the wall with Dallas close behind.  By the time they reached the
keep, they could see Gray with a vicious grip on Constance.  Shocked, Braxton
ran the breadth of the bailey towards the stairs, watching his wife practically
yank her mother’s hair from her scalp.  As he approached the steps, Brooke
suddenly emerged from the keep and began screaming.  Her crying granddaughter
was enough of a distraction that Constance lost her grip on the rail, tumbling
back into Gray.  Gray lost her balance.  Before Braxton could reach them, he
watched with horror as his wife and mother-in-law tumbled down the newly
repaired steps.

They
landed in a heap about the time Braxton got to them.   He felt to his knees,
shoving the old woman off of his wife. 

“Gray,
sweetheart,” Braxton’s voice was shaking as he tried to assess any visible
injuries. “Are you hurt? Speak to me, sweet; where do you hurt?”

Gray
was staring up at the sky, her expression void.  She swallowed hard, her eyes
slowly blinking. “Braxton?” she whispered feebly.

“I
am here, sweet,” he moved so she could see him, his face very close to hers.
“Where are you hurt?”

She
swallowed again and closed her eyes. “My mother,” she murmured. “Remove her
from Erith. Remove her before I kill her.”

He
cast a glance at the disheveled, and unharmed, old woman now in Dallas’ grasp.
“I will,” his told her, his eyes finding Dallas. “Go and get a physic. Hurry!”

Dallas
pulled Constance with him as he stood up.  His attention found Graehm, having
just run upon the group. “Find a physic,” he ordered sharply. “Ride to Milnthorpe
or Leven. Go!”

Graehm
bolted off in the direction he had just come.  By this time, Brooke was at the
bottom of the steps, weeping loudly at the sight of her mother lying on the
ground.  Dallas shoved the old woman at a couple of soldiers for safe keeping
and went to his wife.  He put his arms around her as they both gazed down at
Gray. 

“Mama?”
Brooke wept, trying to move closer but being prevented by Dallas. “Mama, are
you all right?”

Gray
lay there, breathing heavily and not moving. Braxton realized he was as close
to tears as he had ever been in his life.  He touched her face, her arms, not
wanting to move her but wanting to do something. He felt so helpless.

“Gray,”
he murmured, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Can you tell me where you
hurt? Please, sweetheart. Where do you hurt?”

Gray’s
eyes lolled open, the magnificent amber orbs glazed with shock.   She took a
deep breath and shifted slightly, her right leg coming up to bend at the knee.
Then she moved again; her arms and torso flexed.  She lifted her hands to
Braxton and he grasped them tightly.

“I…
I think I am all right,” she whispered. “Just… stunned. Help me to sit up,
please.”

Braxton
was shaking like a leaf.  He helped her to sit, very carefully, making sure to
support her back as she tried to catch her balance.  She blinked, putting a
hand to her head.   Braxton was deeply relieved to see that she was at least
able to sit.

“How
do you feel?” he asked.

She
put her hand to the bloodied side of her head. “A little weak, but I believe I
am all right.”

“Are
you sure?”

“I
think so.”

Braxton
was so relieved that he nearly collapsed with it. But her bloodied head had his
attention and he fingered her silken blond hair, looking for the wound.

“You
have hurt your head,” he said. “The physic may need to put a few stitches in
your scalp.”

Gray
shook her head. “The fall did not do that,” she said quietly. “My mother did.”

Braxton’s
gaze flew to the old woman, now trapped between two seasoned soldiers. His
nostrils flared, indicative of his level of emotion, and the blue-green eyes
blazed.

“She
hurt you?” he asked his wife.

Gray
looked over at her mother; she was finished protecting the woman. “Aye.”

“Is
that why you were fighting with her?”

“I
was bodily removing her from Erith.  She did not want to go.”

Braxton
stood up and snapped his fingers at the soldiers, who immediately grabbed
Constance and began dragging her across the bailey. The old woman began to
scream again, howling an unearthly sound.  Brooke’s loud crying resumed as she
watched her grandmother’s removal.

“Where
is she going?” she begged. “What are you doing with her?”

Gray
was attempting to stand with Braxton’s strong assistance. “She is banished from
Erith,” Gray told her daughter as firmly as she could manage. “Because of her,
we are facing more peril that we can possibly fend off. Everything horrible
that has happened is a direct result of her actions. I will tolerate her no
longer, Brooke. I will not allow her to continue to harm us. To harm you.”

Brooke
was weeping softly against Dallas’ chest. He was trying his best to comfort
her.  Gray was steadier now, leaning heavily against Braxton. Slowly, the two
of them began to walk back to the steps that had almost claimed Gray’s life. 
They passed close to Brooke and Dallas as they did so, one glance at her mother
propelled Brooke from Dallas’ arms and into Gray’s.  She wept dramatically
against her mother as Braxton support them both. 

Dallas
met his father-in-law’s gaze over the two blond heads. “What do we do with Lady
Constance?”

Braxton
was very close to giving a brutal order but he kept himself in check. He had
more important things to contend with.

“Give
her a few coins and have her escorted into Milnthorpe. Pay for a few days of
lodging for her. But beyond that, she gets nothing. My patience with her is at
an end for what she has done. Tell her that I will throw her in the vault if
she ever shows her face here again.”

Dallas
was pleased with the order but did not show it.  Leaving his wife clinging to
her mother, he went to give the command that would send Constance from Erith
forever.

Or
so he hoped.

Up
in Gray’s poorly furnished chamber, Braxton inspected her from head to toe for
any injuries related to the fall. She had perked up a great deal, now seemingly
just exhausted more than anything else. Satisfied that she was moderately
intact, Braxton proceeded to put three neat stitches in her ear. Since Gray was
feeling better, he called off the hunt for a local physic and decided to take
care of her himself.  Brooke sat with Gray the entire time; she even helped the
Braxton when the man put the small stitches in her mother’s skin, a big step
for the normally squeamish young lady.  When the stitches were in, he gave her
a brewed willow bark potion for her throbbing headache. 

“Are
you hungry, Mama?” Brooke asked as she put away the bowl that Braxton had used.
“The cook made some wonderful bread with the last of Braxton’s white flour.”

Gray
was lying on her small, sparse bed and immediately tried to rise. “I will
attend the meal downstairs. No need to cater to me, for I am well enough.”

Braxton
sat on a stool next to the bed, eyeing his wife as she tried to stand. “The
physic said you should rest,” he told her. “Perhaps you and I could take our
meal in our chamber tonight.”

Gray
gave him a blank expression. “But who will see to the meal? I must go down
and.…”

He
stood up, putting his hands on her gently. “You have a grown daughter who is
now lady of this keep. She will see to the meal.”

Gray
turned astonished eyes to Brooke. Brooke, in fact, looked rather surprised by
Braxton’s suggestion. But in the same breath, she was aware that her new father
was correct.  In the face of her mother’s reluctance, Brooke summoned her
courage.

“Aye,
Mama, I will see to it,” she said eagerly. “I will go right now.”

“But.…”

“I
will do a good job. You’ll see.”

Gray
watched Brooke bolt from the room, much to Braxton’s amusement.  Then she
looked at her husband in shock; her daughter was indeed growing up and she
wasn’t so sure she liked it.  Braxton put his arms around his wife, careful of
her bumps and bruises.

“You
see?” he murmured into her temple. “She is capable of the duty. Have some faith
in her.”

Gray
was torn between doubt and agreement. “I do,” she said, though she wasn’t sure
she meant it.  “But she has never supervised a full meal before.”

“Yet
you have taught her what you know.”

“I
have tried.”

“Then
there is always a first time for everything.”

Gray
was forced to agree with him. Either Brooke would succeed or she would fail.
But she must be given the chance. 

Brooke
never gave failure another thought. She bound down the stairs to the great
hall, nearly plowing into Graehm as he went to tend Geoff. The red-haired
knight was stuffed into an inconspicuous corner of the great hall and Brooke
went over to him, peering over the Graehm’s shoulder as the man checked his
bandages.

“I
am supervising the meal tonight, Sir Geoff,” she said, sounding rather proud of
herself. “Is there anything special you would like to eat?”

Geoff
was pale but lucid. He looked up at Brooke as much as his restrictive bandages
would allow. “Nothing comes to mind, Lady Aston.”

She
smiled at his use of her title and Graehm interrupted. “The physic in
Milnthorpe said he is to eat soft foods, my lady,” he instructed. “Soup or
porridge only.”

“But
he may want something else.”

“Nothing
else for him. Soup or porridge
only
.”

Brooke
made a face, causing Geoff to smile weakly.  She stuck her tongue out at the
back of Graehm’s head even as she answered affirmatively.

“As
you say,” she turned back for the kitchens.

Somehow,
she felt different this night. Usually, she was in the kitchens helping the
cook while her mother was doing everything else. But tonight, she was actually
doing the managing.  She went into the kitchens and told the cook that Geoff
must only have soft foods; the cook barked like a dog in response.  Brooke was
used to the strange behavior.  Then she walked around the kitchens like an
inspector, noting what food was being prepared and how they were doing it. She
missed nothing and was feeling quite important.

Edgar
and Norman entered the kitchens through the open back door.  They had sacks of
grain in their arms, looking for a place to drop them.  Norman spied Brooke
first, standing across the kitchen by the great hearth.

“Where
would you have us put this, Lady Aston?” he asked her.

Brooke
went over to them. “What is it that you have?”

“White
milled flour,” Norman told her. “Sir Braxton and the knights like white bread. 
They will wish it for their meal.”

Brooke
looked thoughtful. “Why not put it here, by this cutting table.  Prop it up so
that it is out of the way.”

Norman
looked at the table shoved up against the stone wall. “If I can make a
suggestion, my lady, perhaps we should put the sack on the top of the table so
that they are off the floor.”

“Why?”

“So
the mice can’t get at them,” Edgar said as if she was the stupidest creature on
the face of the earth.

Norman
cast his brother a quelling glance. “The mice like the flour,” he said nicely,
hoping Brooke would not react to his brother. “We should put it somewhere off
the floor.”

Brooke
was still eyeing Edgar. “Very well,” she told Norman. “Put them somewhere
safe.”

Norman
heaved the sack onto the table top, helping Edgar do the same.  Brooke was
still glaring at the younger boy, watching him follow his brother from the
room.  She called to him before they could reach the door.

“Edgar,”
she called.

Both
boys came to a halt; Norman’s expression was wary while Edgar’s was downright
hostile.

“Aye,
Lady Aston?” Edgar emphasized ‘lady’.

Brooke
approached. “You cannot be disrespectful to me any longer,” she came to a halt
in front of the younger brother. “My husband would be most displeased if he
knew how mean you were to me.”

Edgar’s
face turned red. “I wasn’t mean to you.”

She
put her hands on her hips. “You will address me as Lady Aston. That’s my name.”

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.”