The Falls of Erith by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

as
well trust me, for you have little choice.”
    Her
silence confirmed what she already knew.  Braxton watched her as she averted
her focus and looked back to her food. 
    “What
happened to your husband?” he asked, somewhat gently, somewhat seriously.
    She
picked up another bit of venison and put it to her lips, chewing slowly as she
spoke. “He is dead.”
    “So
I was told. But what happened to him?”
    Gray
couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She didn’t know why she was about to
tell him, but she was. “He was murdered,” she whispered. “Over a gambling
debt.”
    “I
see.” He drew in a long breath, gazing up at the stars over head. “Has he been
gone long?”
    “Four
years.”
    He
looked back at her. “And you have not considered remarrying?”
    She
met his gaze, then. “Who would have me, my lord?” The strength was returning to
her voice. “I have nothing to offer but a broken fortress. No man of standing
or decency would want to marry a woman with nothing to offer but poverty.”
    He
lifted an eyebrow. “You underestimate your worth, madam.”
    She
stared at him a long moment before shoving her trencher to the ground and
rising on unsteady legs. She had barely turned to walk away before he was up
and standing in front of her. She tried to move around him but he blocked her.
    “What
have I said to make you run away from me again?” he demanded quietly.
    Irritated,
frustrated, she tried to push through him but he would not budge.  She threw
both hands out as if to shove him out of the way, but it was like shoving a
wall. He was immovable.  He grasped her arms and held her fast.
    “Answer
me,” he rumbled. “What did I say?”
    The
frustration was turning to angry tears.  “Let me go.”
    “Not
until you answer me.”
    She
wrestled with him but he only held her tighter. “Let me go, I say.”
    “Answer
me and I shall.”
    She
very nearly exploded. “I told you not to toy with me. Save your sweet words for
someone who appreciates empty compliments and stale flattery, for I do not.”
    His
brow furrowed. “Is that it?” He couldn’t believe she was upset with him over
that. “God’s truth, madam, I mean every word. In spite of your broken fortress
and destitute situation, you have the beauty of an angel.  A wise man would
look beyond your situation to see that the true treasure lies with you, not
with your lack of a dowry.”
    She
stopped fighting him, looking at him as if he was mad.  “How… how can you say
such things?” she wanted to know. “Men marry for wealth and status, not
beauty.”
    “I
would marry for beauty.”
    The
blue-green eyes were intense on her. Gray suddenly felt warm and confused. The
frustration and anger from moments earlier was gone, replaced by a strange
sense of euphoria.
    “Then
you are a unique soul,” she was calming, “for most men would not.”
    His
grip on her arms lessened but he did not let go.  “They are fools.”
    Even
in the moonlight, he swore he could see a faint blush to her cheeks. It was
enchanting.  He took the opportunity to gently take her hand, turning her back
around towards the fire. 
    Gray
allowed him to sit her back down on the bedroll that served as her chair.  He
picked up her half-eaten trencher and put it back in her hands.  He sat close
to her as he reclaimed his own trencher.
    “Is
the venison to your liking?” he wanted to keep the conversation going but stay
away from the heady subjects, of which there were apparently many. “This was a
big buck. Sometimes if they are too big and too old, their flesh is tough.”
    “This
is delicious.” She chewed slowly, watching him from the corner of her eye. “Did
you kill it yourself?”
    He
took a drink of the nasty wine. “Nay,” he shook his head. “I leave the sport to
my men, though when I was younger, I was quite a good marksman.”
    “Surely
you still are.”
    His
eyes twinkled. “Perhaps you would like to go hunting with me to see just how
good I