Chapter Two #2
“Then plan to proceed to Warwick Castle,” he said. “But first, I want you to go to Westminster Palace and see Denys de Winter. He’s the head of the king’s guard, and he’ll know what is happening with Edward right now. I want to know what Edward knows.”
Titus gave up longing for the wine. If Morgen wasn’t going to offer it to him, he was going to take it. He went over to the table with the pitcher and poured himself a cup.
“Isn’t Denys in the north with the king?” he asked.
Morgen shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I prefer he remain at Westminster, so he feigned illness so Edward would not insist he accompany him north. Denys should be able to tell you something, but you, of course, must tell him what you told me. He will need to know.”
“Aye, my lord,” Titus said. “Is there anything else?”
Morgen didn’t care that Titus was drinking up all of his good wine. After what the man had been through over the past few months, he’d earned it.
“Aye,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Did you win the tournament?”
Titus smiled weakly. “Of course I did,” he said. “I have long been a tournament champion before I was ever involved with you and your network of spies. I have longer arms and a longer reach, something most men lack. These gangly arms serve me well.”
Morgen cracked a smile, watching Titus hold out his arms. They were quite big, as was the rest of him. The de Wolfe men were all quite large, but Titus more so because his father was a giant. Patrick de Wolfe was the tallest man Morgen had ever seen.
“And the purse was pleasing?” Morgen asked.
Titus nodded. “Very pleasing,” he said. “I’ve long earned enough money to be richer than my brothers. As the youngest of four sons, I must earn my way, and I’ve done well at it. Well enough to purchase my own property someday.”
“What does your father say about it?”
Titus shrugged. “He wishes for me to remain at Berwick,” he said.
“As you know, my eldest brother, Markus, will inherit the earldom of Berwick and Berwick Castle is the seat, but Markus already has two very wealthy properties. Cassius, the next eldest, is the Duke of Doncaster, so he does not need or want Berwick. That leaves Magnus, who is captain of the royal knights, and finally me. My father worries about Magnus and me. He wants us both to marry heiresses.”
A smile played on Morgen’s lips. “And what do you want?”
Titus grinned, a very easy smile that was frequent.
He wasn’t the brooding sort, or the serious sort, but the sort that could be quite lively.
He was the center of attention in any given situation simply because he was so amiable.
It was something all of the horrors of war or the dirty dealings of the Executioner Knights couldn’t beat or push or bleed out of him.
Even now, delivering such terrible news to Morgen, Titus’ warmth wasn’t far from the surface.
It was always there, waiting to be unleashed.
“I want a beautiful wife with big, soft breasts, plenty of money, and the sense to let me do as I please,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely serious.
“I want a big castle with hordes of sheep and cattle, one that is self-sufficient and prosperous, and I want to be left in peace. Do you happen to know an heiress with those qualifications?”
Morgen snorted, shaking his head as he went back for more wine. “I do not,” he said. “If I did, I would not tell you. I have my own sons to find brides for.”
Titus held out his cup as Morgen poured the wine. “Christie and Kurtis are already married,” he pointed out. “Blake and Bing are already two of the most sought-after knights in England, and Myles and Tevin are too young to be pledged still.”
Morgen cocked an eyebrow. “They are twenty-four and twenty-two years of age, respectively,” he said. “They are not too young.”
“They are,” Titus insisted. “They do not wish to be tied down at such a young age. Let them live a little before they are bound by the harness of matrimony.”
Morgen was trying hard not to laugh, because Titus was quite animated about it.
“You do not know what you are talking about,” he said, pouring the man some more of his fine wine.
“You have no children of your own, so you do not know the struggle. In fact, you are far too old to not have been married already.”
Titus gulped the wine. “That is what my mother says.”
“What does your father say?”
“He tells her that I am too young.”
Morgen couldn’t help but laugh as he turned away from the wine table and headed back to his chair. “You are going to be an old maid, Titus,” he said. “And before you get any ideas, my daughters are already spoken for.”
The grin on Titus’ face broadened. “Abbie and I have been in love for years,” he said, speaking of Morgen’s eldest daughter. “We wish to marry desperately.”
“Shut your lips. She hates the sight of you.”
“Andrina does not,” Titus teased. “She worships me.”
“She would burn you at the stake if she could.”
“What about Camberley?”
“I will let her go into a convent before I would agree to a marriage.”
“Jennet?”
“She is only thirteen years of age, you swine!”
Titus burst out laughing. It was always great fun to tease Morgen when the mood was right, like it was now.
Morgen was facing something unimaginably difficult, and Titus had been around him long enough to know that when the mood was as heady as the one they’d just tasted, when the entire world was turning asunder, a little humor helped Morgen.
Some men were annoyed by it, but Morgen wasn’t.
He was a good man, with a good heart and the weight of a country upon his shoulders.
Cup in hand, Titus went to sit in front of Morgen on a stool, looking up at the man as Morgen tried not to make eye contact and grin. But he eventually gave up the fight.
“Get out of my sight and go to Westminster,” he told him, a smile playing on his lips.
“See your brother and tell him everything. When you are finished, report back to me, and then you shall go north to Warwick. I think you are right when you suggested going as a de Wolfe envoy and not a Pembroke knight. It would get you in to see Bax, at the very least, and you simply need a few minutes with him. You can leave as soon as he tells you what he can, and then I want you to make it back to Lioncross Abbey with all due haste.”
Titus cocked his head curiously. “Lioncross, my lord?” he said. “Are you going home?”
Morgen nodded wearily. “I am,” he said. “Warwick is close to Lioncross, as is Gloucester, and if we are to head into civil war, then I must be at my seat. And we must prepare. However, I am not leaving for at least a week, time enough for you to speak to Magnus and return to me one last time before heading north.”
Titus understood. He downed the last of the wine in his cup and set it down on the table before collecting his helm from the chair he’d set it in.
“Where are Christie and Kurtis, my lord?” he asked. “I’ve not seen either of them in quite some time.”
Morgen thought on his eldest sons. Christopher, or Christie as he was known to the family, was the future Earl of Hereford and Worcester and utterly worthy of the title.
Kurtis, however, was the beast—a brutal, raw, deadly knight who had been part of the Executioner Knights for the past three years.
He was more of a follower than a leader, a man who would carry out orders and kill anyone who stood in his way.
Truthfully, Morgen worried about him sometimes because he seemed to lack a soul, but he was never unfair, never immoral. Simply a killing machine.
As if they all hadn’t been reduced to that these days.
“Christie is at Lioncross,” Morgen said. “Kurtis was at Trelystan Castle the last I heard because the House of de Lara was having trouble with a local lord, and Christie sent his brother up there to scare them into submission. That is what Kurtis is good for.”
Titus smiled faintly, picturing the monstrous de Lohr and the last time he saw the man. The House of de Lohr was known for its big, blond, fully capable and rather dignified warriors, but Kurtis the Barbarian was something of an anomaly.
“I think that Kurtis is secretly a de Velt,” Titus said. “Are you sure he was not born to the family and you stole him away?”
Morgen chuckled as Titus referred to perhaps the most frightening, intimidating house in all of England.
The de Velt family was born from blood and conquest and still, to this day, provoked fear in the hearts of men all through England with a mere mention of the name. But Morgen eventually shook his head.
“I do not think so,” he said. “Kurt looks like me too much, but he did foster with de Velt.”
“It shows.”
“Thankfully for us, it does. No one will dare tangle with Kurtis.”
“True,” Titus said as he donned his helm. “If there is nothing else, my lord, I am off for Westminster.”
Morgen stood up from the chair he’d been seated in, moving in Titus’ direction. “Nothing more,” he said. “You have your orders. I will see you in a day or two.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With that, Titus quit the solar, a rich and lavish chamber, and headed into the vast entry of Lonsdale, where there was usually a small boy or two waiting to jump out of the shadows and rob him.
More knights had been robbed at Lonsdale, victims of de Lohr children, than perhaps any location in England.
But the de Lohr boys were men now, and their children, what there were of them, were too young to rob anyone these days. For now.
Titus considered himself fortunate.
The major-domo, a friendly man named Raimond, was there to open the entry door for him, an elaborately constructed panel, and Titus went on into the bailey of the enormous manse in search of his horse.
He had a man to see.