The Falls of Erith (45 page)

“I
will fight with Braxton, Father,” Robert said decisively. “I have one hundred
and fifty men sworn to me. They are at Braxton’s disposal.”

Thomas
held up a hand to quiet him as Davis, the biggest brother, checked in with his
opinion.

“And
I will fight with him also,” he boomed. “No man will attack my brother and get
away with it. I will kill them all.”

Thomas
waved a hand in Davis’ face as the man began to argue with him.  Robert began
to interject his very strong opinion and soon, the table was filled with men
shouting to be heard.  Gray looked at Braxton with concern, who merely shook
his head at the sight of his father and brothers going at one another.  Some
things never changed.  The only one not shouting was Steven and that was
because his temperament was more like Braxton’s, quieter and calmer.  Like
Braxton, he was watching the explosions until he finally turned to his brother
and shook his head with exasperation.

“Braxton,”
he said in his calm, cool tone. “I believe I have a solution to all of this.”

Braxton,
his arm around his wife, sat forward with interest. “What is that, Steven?”

Steven
ducked when a cup, slammed to the table by Davis, shot up over his head before
clattering to the floor several feet away.

“I
would suspect that Gloucester’s army has spies watching Erith and undoubtedly
saw us arrive,” he said. “But you know that it is Father’s custom not to fly
banners when we travel.  Knowing we are Gilderdale can attract those wanting to
make a name for themselves against our might force.  We therefore arrived with
no fanfare or colors.  Even if Gloucester is watching, they will not know who
we are.”

Braxton
was starting to guess what his brother was suggesting. “For all they know, you
are reinforcements for Erith,” he said. “They do not have to know you are
Gilderdale.”

Steven
lifted an eyebrow. “Exactly,” he said. “Especially if we remove all tunic,
colors or banners that even remotely suggest such a thing.  We will replace our
colors with yours and they will believe we are simply part of your army.”

By
this time, Thomas had stopped shouting at Davis and Robert and was listening
intently to what Steven was suggesting.   He finally smacked at the table,
startling Gray with the noise. 

“A
brilliant suggestion, Steven,” he said, looking to Braxton. “I have brought six
hundred men with me, Braxton. Can you accommodate us?”

Braxton
was coming to feel like he now had a great chance of success against a
Gloucester offensive.   In spite of alliances and lieges, he knew his father
would not abandon him. He felt more relief than he would admit, squeezing Gray
affectionately as he replied to his father.

“With
my one hundred and eighty men, that gives us a sizable force,” he said. “Erith
is a massive beast of a castle; of course we can accommodate you.  Dallas will
see to it immediately.”

Dallas
nodded firmly and rose to his feet.  There was a sense of hopefulness in the
air now, as if they were not about to fight a losing battle.  Dallas’ spirit
was renewed. But there was still the matter of removing Gray and Brooke until
the madness was over.

“Braxton,”
he said. “This is all well and good, but we still must remove the ladies
immediately. I do not want Brooke in a castle under siege.”

Braxton
nodded, hoping he wouldn’t set Gray off with the touchy subject.

“Indeed,”
he agreed. “The sooner the better.  But plans for their destination have
changed.”

Gray
looked at him, surprised and concerned, as Dallas sat back down on the bench
beside him.  The young knight’s expression was somewhat wary.

“Where
are they going?” he asked hesitantly.

Braxton
told him.  Dallas, not surprisingly, agreed.  Gray, not surprisingly, did not.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

Gray
had never been to Creekmere Castle, although Garber had spent some time there
in the past.  Baron Wenvoe was a known gambler, a man who had prospered from
the sport, and his castle reflected that.  It was small but well built and well
maintained, and as the party from Erith entered the main gates, men went running
into the keep to summon the baron.   Astride their two big warmblood mares,
Gray and Brooke inspected their surroundings cautiously. 

A
wagon, ten men at arms and Edgar had accompanied the women from Erith on the
morning following the arrival of Gilderdale.   Gray had known of a way north
that kept them out of the line of sight of Gloucester or her spies, so the
party had stayed to a small, less-traveled road to the northeast that kept them
shielded by forests and dales.  It took just a few hours to reach Creekmere,
now as clouds were beginning to waft in from the sea and gather ominously
overhead.  As the portcullis dropped in behind them with a resounding boom,
Gray was coming to feel as if she was a prisoner in this tiny castle.

Edgar,
riding at the head of the column quite proudly on a fluffy brown destrier that
was too old to do much fighting or competing, dismounted his steed and very
impressively announced Lady de Nerra and Lady Aston to Baron Wenvoe’s
servants.  

Even
now, he stood at the head of the group, waiting expectantly for the baron to
appear.  Braxton had put him in charge of the ladies even though a senior
sergeant was in charge of the soldiers, but still, Edgar was coming to feel as
if he was finally being appreciated.  Norman so often overshadowed him that it
was rare when he had such opportunity to prove himself.  As he turned back to
look at Gray and Brooke, just to make sure they were looking at how officious
he was,  Brooke made a face at him.   So much for being officious; he stuck his
tongue out at her.

Baron
Wenvoe emerged from the small keep several minutes later, looking rather
flustered, as if he had just been awakened in his bed.  His white hair was
standing up and he had a crease on one side of his face as he stumbled down the
stairs from the keep, his fat face fixed on the small party from Erith.   He
approached Gray somewhat timidly.

“My
lady,” he semi-bowed, not an entirely mannerly man. “To what do I owe the honor
of your visit?”

Gray
dismounted the mare as a soldier grasped the reins to steady the beast.  She
approached Baron Wenvoe, struggling against the memories that the man
provoked.  Garber and Baron Wenvoe had been as thick as thieves with their
gambling habits and she had tried to explain that to Braxton, but he was less
concerned about old memories than he was about getting his wife and daughter to
safety.  She didn’t agree with him but she respected him enough to do as he
asked.

Facing
Wenvoe, however, she was coming to feel some disgust.  She simply didn’t like the
man.

“Greetings,
baron,” she said with more pleasantness than she felt. “My daughter and I must
beg refuge from you for a few days, at least until my husband sends for me.”

Wenvoe
peered at her curiously. “Husband?” he repeated, well aware that Garber Serroux
had been dead for years.  But then it occurred to him that she had been
announced by another name. “Are you… are you now Lady de Nerra?”

Gray
nodded. “Braxton and I were married last month,” she said. “I am now Lady de
Nerra and my daughter, Brooke, is now Lady Aston. She married one of Braxton’s
knights.”

Shocked,
Wenvoe looked between Gray and her lovely daughter.  His jowls quivered as he
attempted to straighten out his line of thought.

“I
see,” was all he could manage to say. “You said you are seeking refuge? What
has happened to Erith?”

Gray’s
pleasant expression faded. “Erith is under threat of attack from Gloucester at
the moment,” she said evenly. “My husband wishes for Brooke and I to be away
from the compromised fortress until the matter is settled. I hope you will be
able to accommodate us.”

“Accommodate
you?” he scratched his head, looking back at his tiny keep before nodding. “Of
course I will show you hospitality.  An attack, did you say?”

“Aye.”

“But…
but Erith is already a crumbling wreck. Surely Gloucester and all of its might
will have no problem breaching the castle.”

Gray
smiled thinly. “You have not see Erith recently,” she replied. “The fortress
has been rebuilt. She is back to her former glory, make no mistake.  She will
hold.”

“Is
that so?” Wenvoe was genuinely surprised. “Erith has been derelict for years.”

Gray
thought of Braxton and his massive rebuilding project, trying not to let the
depression of their separation swamp her. “My husband has virtually rebuilt the
castle,” she said. “It is truly remarkable. Hopefully you will have the
opportunity to see what he has accomplished when this difficulty with
Gloucester is over.”

Wenvoe
couldn’t decide how he felt about that. Once, the fortress had been promised to
him.  Then de Nerra came along and basically threatened him into selling his
rights.  Now de Nerra had it and had stirred up problems with, of all people,
the mighty force of Gloucester.  Wenvoe didn’t understand any of it, but he was
coming to think some evil thoughts about the situation.  It was simply his
nature.

Lazy
and slovenly, Wenvoe was no fool.  Money and greed were his livelihood. As he
looked at the two women, he could suddenly see how he would be able to
capitalize on the situation.  Damn de Nerra for forcing him to sell his rights
to the young Serroux girl and the castle along with her; Wenvoe wanted it
back.  He couldn’t do anything about the girl, but perhaps he could do
something about the fortress. And with that, his mind began to work.

As
he called his servants to collect Lady de Nerra’s belongings, he began to think
very wicked and calculating thoughts. He was a gambler, after all; with his
very precious guests, he began to see monetary possibilities in all of this.
Gloucester was mad enough at de Nerra to attack Erith; de Nerra was trusting
enough to send his wife and daughter to Wenvoe, who had had claimed as an ally
those weeks ago when he had purchased Wenvoe’s rights to Erith. 

Wenvoe
wondered how much Gloucester would pay him for Lady de Nerra and her daughter. 
It would make them extremely valuable hostages and de Nerra, for whatever he
had done to Gloucester, would be at their mercy.  But best of all, Wenvoe would
make an ally of Gloucester, giving de Nerra pause should he consider vengeance
for the betrayal. The man would be foolish to tangle with Gloucester, and
Wenvoe. Retribution was a sweet and awful thing.

As
Wenvoe watched the women mount the stairs into the keep, he grabbed one of his
trusted male servants and whispered words of treachery into the man’s ear.  The
servant, stupid and strong, slithered off to accomplish his lord’s bidding with
the promise of a great reward when all was said and done.  

As
Gray and Brooke settled in to the tiny keep at Creekmere, they had no idea that
the man who had humiliated Garber Serroux was about to do the same thing to
them.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Nine
days later

The
night was cold, clear and crisp.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the
brilliant white moon bathed the landscape in an eerie silver glow.  Upon the
rebuilt battlements of Erith, Dallas and Norman made their rounds, checking on
the sentries, looking out for any activity to the east where Gloucester’s army
had once been encamped.

Oddly
enough, they hadn’t seen any sign of the army for a couple of days.  Scouts had
been sent out but they had returned with the news that Gloucester’s army was
nowhere to be seen.  Braxton had assumed they had moved simply to throw them
off their guard but the past two days of searching failed to show up any Gloucester
encampment in the immediate area.  Braxton was coming to think they had simply
gone home, but Thomas and Robert were convinced that it was a ruse.  Based on
their opinion, Erith remained on high alert until the oddity could be sorted
out.

The
night around them was still; too still. Not a dog or night hawk filled the
sky.  Dallas couldn’t decide how he felt about it, if it was simply peaceful or
a prelude to something ominous.  He remained away from the parapet, out of the
range of any archers that might be lingering in the trees, going about his
rounds but thinking on his wife.  She filled his every moment, awake or asleep.
He never knew it was possible to miss anyone as much as he missed her, but he
did.  He missed her so badly that it hurt.

While
Dallas was in physical pain from his longing, Braxton was worse.  Although he
didn’t show it, his pining for his wife had manifested itself into a dull ache
that throbbed more painfully with each passing day.  He would sleep a few hours
when he had the chance, clutching her pillow and smelling her upon it.  It was
both comforting and painful, awaking in the morning only to realize she was not
by his side.

He
knew she had arrived at Creekmere safely because a soldier had returned the
same day they had departed for the castle to tell him that Lady de Nerra was
safely inside the fortress. That should have brought it comfort but it only
made him miss her more. He took to carrying around a fragment from one of her
old surcoats, one she had worn the day he had met her, because it was the one
thing that kept his sanity intact.  Without the faded scrap of yellow linen, he
would surely wither away and die.