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been rightfully suspicious, there was something in his manner that put
her at ease. 
    She
hoped that she would not regret it.  
     

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
THREE
     
    As
Gray had planned, the grand hall of Erith was resplendent with light and fresh
rushes as it had once been when times were more plentiful.  More than the
appearance of the hall, it was the mood of it. Standing in the main entrance to
the hall and clad in the finest surcoat she owned, a faded yellow silk, Gray
stood a moment and absorbed the ghost of the once-great hall; the days when
Simon de Montfort and his beloved Eleanor sat at the dais, or when great nobles
of the north gathered to feast over a victory greatly won.  She could hear
their laughter and feel their spirit.  It was something she’d not felt in a
very long time.
    The
servants had brought all of the precious fat candles in the keep into the hall
so that they would not have to dip into the stores for them. Consequently, the
rest of the keep was in blackness. Gray had dressed by firelight from the
hearth in the old but clean surcoat that had once belonged to her grandmother.
It was sorely out of date but it was the best she had.   With her blond hair
pulled away from her face and secured with another heirloom comb that had once
belonged to the wealthy Grays, she had cleaned up rather well.  And old bronze
mirror in her room told her so.  For a woman who had seen twenty-nine sometimes
difficult years, she was as beautiful and youthful as she had ever been.
    Brooke
was still finishing her dress. It took the girl hours sometimes to dress, a
strange occurrence considering they had nowhere to go. It wasn’t as if she was
fancying herself for a great gala. But Brooke took great pains to brush her
hair just so, or put a precious ribbon on a bodice that had seen better days.
There wasn’t a day that passed that Gray wished she could give her daughter all
of the pretty things she longed for. Even though there was no use in wishing
for what they did not have, still, it did not prevent her from feeling guilt or
sadness for her daughter’s plight.
     A
few of the servants were beginning to bring out the loaves of bread. The rich
smell of the baked goods filled the hall and Gray inhaled deeply.  As she moved
into the room to speak to one of the women about the shortage of wooden cups
that would undoubtedly be facing them, Braxton and his men entered the keep.
She heard their voices before she saw their faces, and a cluster of powerful
men soon came from the entry and spilled into the great hall.
    Braxton
was the first face she recognized. His blue-green eyes focused on her
immediately and, as a good hostess, she went to greet him and his men. Dipping
in a graceful curtsy, she smiled timidly.
    “Welcome,
my lords,” she said to Braxton, to the group. “You may take a seat anywhere.
The meal will be served shortly.”
    The
men thanked her silently. Gray’s gaze moved across the line of men; tall, blond
and handsome Sir Dallas, shorter and stocker Sir Graehm, and very tall and
sinewy Sir Geoffrey.  Slightly behind the knights stood two brown-haired boys,
perhaps a year or two older than Brooke. Their eyes were roving about the room,
wide-eyed and curious of their surroundings. 
    The
knights excused themselves and the young squires with them, drifting towards
the long table and selecting their best spots. Braxton, however, continued to
stand in front of Gray.  She felt somewhat self-conscious, feeling his heady
gaze upon her.
    “Where
do you sit, my lady?” he asked.
    She
gestured towards the worn table. “Usually at the end. There is oft much to do
and I must be able to move from the table freely.”
    He
lifted an eyebrow. Then he extended his arm, indicating for her to take his
elbow. “Tonight you shall sit and enjoy the meal,” he said as she hesitantly
took his arm. “And I shall sit with you.”
    His
softly uttered words caused her cheeks to flame brilliantly. She had no