Prologue
Roxburgh Castle
Scottish Borders
He’d heard him being nasty to his sister before.
They all had. Roxburgh Castle might have been a large and strategic bastion sitting upon the border between Scotland and England like a lion preparing to pounce, but it was also full of gossip, social standings, and politics.
It was part of the de Wolfe empire in the north, but it was also a royal garrison, making it a target for every spoiled lord who wanted his equally spoiled children to foster within its thick stone walls of royal glory.
That’s where the de Edington children came in.
Their father was a royalist at all costs.
Loyal to the Crown and the prestige more than to the man who sat upon the throne.
He worshipped at the altar of the institution of the monarchy, so the fact that Roxburgh was garrisoned by the de Wolfe family, but owned by the Crown, made it a paradox in Paulus de Edington’s book.
He didn’t really view the enormous and powerful House of de Wolfe as part of the equation when it came to Roxburgh.
It was all royal, no matter who commanded it.
That meant it was imperative his children foster there.
And so, they came.
Ansel de Edington was the eldest. Arrogant, snot-nosed, mean-spirited, but very bright, he had the same attitude his father had when it came to the House of de Wolfe versus the royal troops that were stationed at Roxburgh.
He’d do anything for those royal soldiers, but when a de Wolfe knight gave him a command, it was with misgivings that he would follow it.
That had resulted in several beatings, something that never broke his arrogant spirit but at least made him more willing to do as he was told, and more quickly than he would usually do it.
Ansel, in the six years he’d been at Roxburgh, had been a boil on the butt of almost everyone there, the garrison commander included.
Blayth de Wolfe was fourth son of one of England’s greatest knights, William de Wolfe, and command of Roxburgh belonged to him.
Blayth was part politician but all soldier, and he’d had many dealings with many entitled fathers and sons over the years, so he knew how to deal with them, but Ansel had proven a particular challenge.
The young man simply didn’t understand when things went against his wishes or when someone else might have more privilege than he had because they’d earned it.
Roxburgh ran very much on a merit system when it came to wards, pages, and squires because Blayth believed that men should work for what they wanted and be rewarded for it.
Not simply because they were born into it.
But Ansel didn’t agree with that at all.
That’s where the sister came into play. Her name was Katiana de Edington, and she was the sweetest, prettiest, most angelic non-de Wolfe child in all of England.
At least, Blayth’s wife thought so. Lady Asmara de Wolfe was in charge of the female wards, young ladies who came to Roxburgh to be educated.
Asmara herself had come from a Welsh warring family, and, truthfully, she was more comfortable with a sword than with a needle and thread, but she had ladies around her that were some of the finest women in England.
One such lady was a former beguine, a widow who had lived in a nunnery after her husband died, but she came to Roxburgh to help train young ladies as a way of earning a living and imparting her knowledge, which was extensive.
They called her Ma dame Lesparré, or Madam Lesparré, and she was an excellent tutor.
She had taken Katiana under her wing, an eager but very young child, yet even the intimidating Madam Lesparré couldn’t save little Katiana from her brother’s spoiled rages whenever the situation didn’t go his way.
And that’s exactly what was going on now.
Titus de Wolfe was a nephew of Blayth and Asmara, the youngest son of Patrick de Wolfe, Earl of Berwick, who was one of Blayth’s older brothers.
He happened to be fostering at Roxburgh, away from his home of Berwick Castle, because his father wanted him to have a perspective from a different border castle.
God only knew how many times Berwick had been threatened, but usually it was from the same clans.
Roxburgh was also quite volatile, from different clans with different reasons, different tactics.
That was something Titus needed to learn.
But what he’d been educated on, aside from the Scots, was the nature of man.
In this case, it was the nature of a young lad who was simply a bad seed.
Titus had heard the knights muttering about Ansel, and that was what they called him—a bad seed.
Innately given tendencies for bad and immoral behavior.
No self-control. Selfish and demanding. All of these things covered Ansel de Edington, who took out his rages on his younger sister when he could get away with it.
But not today.
Titus wasn’t going to let him.
Titus was in the stables to prepare his grandfather’s horse, a man who happened to be visiting Roxburgh this day, when he heard the beating.
He had no idea what was happening until he heard the voice of Ansel and the pleas for mercy from his five-year-old sister.
Titus had a rope in his hand for the horse, but the sounds drew him.
He followed them, his footfalls muffled by the dirt and straw floor, until he came to the last stall in the stable.
There, he saw it.
The sister, Katiana, was on her side, curled up in a ball, as Ansel used something in his right hand to whip her.
Titus couldn’t tell what it was because it was moving too quickly as Ansel brought it down on his sister, again and again.
Whatever it was seemed to be painful, because she was crying out, begging him to stop.
Having two younger sisters of his own, sisters he loved, Titus began to see red.
He didn’t like Ansel Edington as it was, but this… this sealed his opinion of the boy.
He had to act.
Thinking fast, he dropped the rope and grabbed Ansel by the hair.
Yanking hard, he pulled the boy backward, toward him, and in the same motion grabbed whatever he was using to beat his sister with.
It happened to be a branch of some kind, green and soft, which meant it hurt a great deal upon tender skin.
With the branch in his hand, he threw Ansel onto the ground and began beating on him, whipping him, and then kicking him when he tried to get up.
“See how you like it,” Titus said as he struck him about the head. “How does it feel, you bastard? Do you like it? Do you?”
“Titus!”
Titus stopped mid-strike, looking up to see his Uncle Blayth and his grandfather standing in the mouth of the stable, looking at him in shock. Startled, and realizing he was probably in a good deal of trouble, he stepped away from Ansel.
But the switch was still raised.
“I… I was punishing him,” he said, stammering. “He was… I found him…”
“Save me, my lords!” Ansel screamed, struggling to his feet, his hand over the right side of his head where his ear was bleeding badly from the whipping. “Titus attacked me! He means to kill me!”
Titus looked at Ansel in shock and outrage. “If I could, I would!” he fired back angrily. “Tell them what happened, de Edington. Tell them that I caught you beating your sister again and I came to her defense. Tell them!”
Ansel’s eyes widened as the tables turned on him. “He is lying,” Ansel said. “Look at me! He was beating my sister, and when I tried to stop him, he turned on me! You must save me!”
“It was Ansel, my lord. Do not believe what he tells you.”
Katiana was on her feet, the entire right side of her body bloodied from the beating she’d taken with the soft switch. The four of them turned to her as she stood at the edge of the stall, her left hand over her right arm, which was marred with injury.
A tiny little girl who had clearly been damaged.
That was what William de Wolfe saw. As the father of eight children and, at this point in his life, nearly forty grandchildren, he knew a little something about children in general.
He knew about their behaviors, their loves, their dreams. Being a man of solid moral character and a decent nature, what he saw before him hurt his heart.
All he could see was a little girl who had been badly treated, and he would stake his life on the fact that Titus hadn’t done it.
He knew his grandson—he was a kind, generous lad.
A little passionate about things, and, at times, he could be silly and a bit wild, but he didn’t have a bad bone in his body.
William hadn’t, however, heard the same for Ansel de Edington.
Pushing between the boys, he went to the little girl.
“Your name, my lady?” he asked kindly.
The little girl had the hiccups from weeping. Tears and dirt and blood were streaked all over her face. “Ka-Katiana de Edington,” she said, eyeing William with enormous eyes that were the color of bronze. “Ansel is my brother.”
William was a very tall man, and quite big, so he crouched down in front of her to be a little less intimidating. “I see,” he said. “And he did this to you?”
Katiana nodded, now looking at her brother and breaking down into tears again. William, taking pity, put a big hand on her head to comfort her.
“He will not do it again,” he said. “You are safe, I promise. Why do you weep?”
She wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand. “Because… because I am afraid of him,” she whispered.
William’s jaw twitched faintly. “I assume he has done this before?”
She nodded, once, and tried to stop crying. William sighed, disgusted with the entire situation, and patted her gently on the cheek.
“Where does Titus come into this?” he asked. “Did he hurt you, too?”
The little girl shook her head fervently. “Nay, my lord,” she said. “Titus pulled Ansel away and punished him. He stopped him from hurting me.”