The Falls of Erith (36 page)

Brooke’s
gaze lingered on Edgar a moment longer before looking to Norman. “You may go,
Norman. But I want Edgar to stay here and help the cooks.”

“What?”
both boys blurted.  Then Norman spoke quickly. “My lady, Edgar has a good deal
of work awaiting him in the stables. It is his duty to feed and water the
chargers.”

Brooke’s
stubborn streak took hold. “I need him here to help in the kitchens. You can
handle the chargers by yourself, Norman. As lady of the keep, I demand it.”

Norman
didn’t know what to say.  God help them, she
was
the lady of the keep.
He looked at his brother, still red in the face.  He did not want to think on
what would happen were he not there to act as a buffer between Brooke and
Edgar.

 “Edgar
is not a kitchen servant, my lady,” he said, hoping she would see his point.
“He’ll probably burn the keep down if you try to force him. He wouldn’t know
what to do.”

“But
I wish it. We need the help. Go away now, Norman.”

He
sighed reluctantly. “Very well, Lady Aston.”

Brooke
watched Norman walk away.  She looked back to Edgar, who had is head down.   A
fiendish sense of pleasure swept her to think that he was now in her power.

“Come
along, Edgar,” she said, turning back into the kitchens.  “You have much work
to do.”

“Like
what?” Edgar blurted. “I am not a kitchen servant. I would not know the first
thing about working in a kitchen.”

She
frowned at him. “You are going to learn.”

“Why?”
“Because I said so.”

Edgar
came to a halt, glaring hatefully at Brooke. “You cannot order me around. I
serve Sir Braxton. In fact, I do not have to listen to you at all.”

Brooke’s
mouth pressed into an angry flat line. “You do too have to listen to me. I am
the Lady of Erith. My husband is Sir Dallas and if you do not do as I tell you,
then I will tell him that you are insubordinate and need to be whipped.”

Edgar
shook his fist at her. “Go ahead. You are nothing but a skinny, ugly girl that
Sir Dallas was forced to marry. I’ll bet he hates you already!”

Brooke’s
mouth popped open in outrage. “How dare you say that to me!”

“It’s
true! Just look at him and see how much he hates being married to you!”

Brooke
charged him; it was inevitable.  Edgar dodged out of the way and she smacked
into the cutting table, bruising her wrist.  But she would not let Edgar get
away.  As he barreled out of the kitchen, she barreled out right on his heels.

Edgar
was well acquainted with running from Brooke. He’d been making a career out of
it over the past few days.  His ankle was sore from his fall in Milnthorpe but
worked well enough.  He would make sure to step in no more rabbit holes. 

Edgar
tore a wild path out of the kitchen yards and out towards the stables.  His
arms and legs were pumping so fast that they were in danger of getting all
tangled up.  Brooke screeched after him, her skirts hiked up around her knees
as she ran.   Edgar looked over his shoulder to see that she was gaining ground
and he ran faster.  Out into the main ward he ran, flying like the wind with
Brooke hot on his tail.  He roared through the destroyed entry as some of
Braxton’s men were working on the crumbling portcullis, heading out to the road
beyond. Brooke roared after him.

The
men working on the crumbling wall and destroyed gate watched curiously. 
Braxton, his head bent over a section of the wall that was particularly
shattered, heard the distant hollering and looked up just in time to see Edgar
shoot from the ward and out onto the road with Brooke right behind him.  He
shook his head and sighed heavily.

“Dallas,”
he called.

Dallas’
dusty blond head suddenly popped up from a mound of rubble; he had been
inspecting the foundation of this particular section of wall.  He looked at
Braxton, who pointed to the two running figures moving down the road.   Dallas’
eyes widened briefly before he muttered a curse.  Then he leapt from the hole
he had been standing in and bellowed for a mount.

Someone
brought about a horse just as Norman ran past.  Dallas vaulted onto the
animal’s bare back.

“Norman,”
he shouted as he gathered the reins. “What is going on?”

Norman
paused long enough to look at the knight. “Last I heard, Lady Brooke was
ordering Edgar to work in the kitchens. He must have disobeyed her.”

Dallas
cursed again and spurred the horse after his wife. Norman, without a horse, was
much slower. Galloping down the road, Dallas caught up to Brooke about a half
mile from the castle. She was still running as fast as she could.  Edgar, however,
had slowed considerably.  Dallas reached his wife about the time she was nearly
on Edgar.  He grabbed her by an arm.

“Stop,”
he shouted, sliding from the horse before it even came to a halt. He had Brooke
with both hands. “What in the world are you doing?”

Brooke’s
pretty face was flushed and she was panting heavily. “He… he called me ugly and
skinny.  He must be punished!”

Dallas
still had hold of his wife as he turned to Edgar, now lying in an exhausted
heap in the grass several feet away. “Edgar!” he bellowed.

The
lad shot to his feet and weaved a weary path back towards the knight.  He, too,
was flushed and panting. “My lord?”

Dallas’
expression was hard. “Did you call my wife ugly and skinny?”

Edgar’s
weary expression was replaced by a fearful one. “I…I….”

“Speak
up, boy.”

Edgar’s
gaze moved between Dallas and Brooke. He finally lowered his head. “Aye, my
lord, I did.”

“He
said that you were miserable because you had married me,” Brooke wanted to get
Edgar in trouble.  But half way through her statement, she burst into tears.
“He said you hated me.”

Dallas
looked at his wife with some concern before turning back to Edgar. “Is this
true?”

“Aye,
my lord,” Edgar mumbled.

“I
see,” Dallas’ eyes narrowed. “Have you anything to say in your defense before I
dispense your punishment?”

Edgar
was still looking at the ground. “She… she wanted to make me a kitchen servant,
my lord, even though I had to tend to the chargers. That is my job.  She told
me that she was the Lady of Erith now and I had to do what she said. But Sir
Braxton is my liege.  I only do what Sir Braxton tells me.”

Dallas
looked at Brooke, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Did you order him to tend the
kitchens?”

After
a brief hesitation, she nodded.  Dallas’ grip loosened and he let her go, his
attention moving back and forth between his wife and the young squire. He
sighed heavily and scratched his dusty head.

“I
am not entirely sure why you two seem so intent on harassing each other, but it
is going to stop here and now,” his voice was low, threatening. “Brooke, Edgar
is indeed Braxton’s squire and you may not order him about. He answers to
Braxton alone. Is that clear?”

Rebuked,
she kept her gaze averted but nodded her head.  Dallas looked at Edgar.  “And
you,” he addressed him. “I will hear of no more insults dealt to Lady Aston.
She is my wife and your words are slanderous.  She is neither skinny nor even
remotely ugly, and as for my being unhappy that I married her, I will tell you
now that I am quite satisfied.  If I hear of you calling her any more names or
harassing her in any way, I will blister your backside. Is that understood?”

Edgar’s
head was also still lowered but he nodded firmly.  Dallas put his hands on his
hips. “Now go,” he ordered quietly. “Take this horse with you. Tend all of the
chargers and when you are done, you can clean out their stalls and make sure
they have fresh bedding. Then you can clean my armor and Sir Braxton’s armor
until it shines. I want to see my face in it come morning.”

“Aye,
my lord.”

Edgar
fled back towards the castle under Norman’s silent escort.  Dallas and Brooke
were left standing alone, Brooke wiping at the remainder of her tears as Dallas
turned his attention to her.  His expression softened.

“You
will leave Edgar alone,” he said quietly. “No more fighting with him. It is
beneath you.”

She
nodded, wiping daintily at her nose. Dallas took pity on her and took her hand,
gently tucking it into the crook of his elbow as they began their walk back to
the castle.   Brooke remained silent but for an occasional sniffle.

“Did
you hear what I told him?” Dallas asked quietly.

She
looked at him, her expression guarded. “What do you mean?”

He
met her gaze. “That I am satisfied with this marriage.”

She
hiccupped. “Are you really?”

His
lips twitched with a smile. “I am. So do not let his words upset you so. He
couldn’t be more wrong.”

She
smiled timidly. “Are you sure?”

Dallas
returned her smile and took her in his arms, gazing down into her lovely young
face.  His eyes were intense as he studied her, thinking her to be a beautiful
creature indeed.  His soft kiss was met by a powerful response as Brooke threw
her arms around his neck.  He reacted by squeezing her so hard that she
gasped.  He laughed low in his throat.

“I
hope this means that you are growing to like my kiss,” he said as he released
her.

She
nodded, breathless. “Do it again.”

He
did, with pleasure. When Braxton looked out to the road to see what was keeping
Dallas, he saw the passionate embrace in the distance.  With a grin, he turned
back to the crumbling wall.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Unfortunately
for Constance, she had spent most of the money Braxton had given her for food
and lodgings in the town of Levens.  The town was small but had several well
known inns, and Constance set herself up in the finest tavern in town, the
Dixon Arms, and lived like a queen until she realized that she was very nearly
out of coin.

Her
plan had always been to return to the seat of the mighty Grays with a grand
story of abduction and exile.  It was not in her nature to admit the truth; in
fact, the truth had long since become amalgamated with the fiction created in
her mind into a story that she was truly coming to believe herself.  In her
mind, Braxton had taken over Erith and forced Gray into marriage. Worse, he had
forced Brooke into an unsuitable marriage with one of his knights. Then, he had
exiled Constance, the last line of defense between her daughter and
granddaughter and the mercenaries knights. Constance considered herself the
victim in all of this.

The
other details were conveniently forgotten, those that pointed out Constance’s
foul actions. In her mind, she could do no wrong. She did what she had to do,
in all things. And a mercenary knight bannerette was not going to best
generations of breeding and intelligence.  She was going to punish the knight
and emerge the victor no matter what the cost.

So
she hired two men to take her to Thirlwall Castle, the Gray stronghold in
Northumbria where she had been born.   It was at least a four day ride from
Levens.  Unfortunately, she had agreed to pay the men by the day and by the
third day, her funds had run out and they left her in the small town of
Rosehill, just to the east of Carlisle.  On a very expensive palfrey that she
had purchased in Levens, Constance was forced to travel the last fourteen miles
alone, arriving at Thirlwall Castle just after sunset on the fourth day.

Thirlwell
was a small castle with an all-inclusive keep that contained stables on the
bottom floor and the hall, kitchens and bed chambers above. The castle itself
was heavily fortified with soldiers, being so close to the Scots border, but
the only remains of Constance’s family were a distant nephew and his son. 

Nonetheless,
they were family and they listened to Constance’s tale with great concern.  She
came across as intelligent and victimized, not a conniving shrew who would stop
at nothing to obtain a victory.  And she made sure to throw Braxton de Nerra’s
name into the story at every opportunity.  She wanted the name ingrained into
their brains as a man of great evil. She wanted Braxton to pay.

Her
nephew immediately sent word to the Earl of Northumberland, Yves de Vesci,
asking that men be sent to Erith Castle to save Lady Constance’s daughter and
granddaughter from the wicked mercenary de Nerra.   De Vesci, recognizing the
de Nerra name as the Lords of Gilderdale, his vassals, sent word to Thomas de
Nerra forthwith to seek out his son and rescue Lady Constance’s family.   And
with that, victory, for Constance, was guaranteed.  She would finally have the
last word.

But
her assured victory was not to be.  Weary from travel and stress, Constance
went to bed that night with dreams of success over Braxton de Nerra on her
mind.  But those dreams soon faded and she began to dream of a great knife
stabbing her in the chest.  The pain was tremendous and in her dreams, she
struggled to get away from the knife but it remained firmly lodged in her
sternum, creating waves of anguish. And that was the last thing she remembered,
for one of the servants found her stiff and cold in the morning, having died
sometime during the night in her sleep.