Chapter Seventeen #2
The question came from the eldest son of the Earl of Berwick, Markus de Wolfe.
He had an outpost to the south of Berwick called Cheswick Castle, and he’d received word of the wedding feast from Peter Summerlin, who had been riding south to Kyloe Castle with a message for the Earl of Northumbria, Thomas de Wolfe.
Cheswick was located between Berwick and Kyloe, so Peter made the stop to inform Markus of the latest news before continuing south.
Markus made it to Berwick in a hurry, and now, Markus and Magnus were on the prowl, waiting for Ansel de Edington to make an appearance.
On behalf of their brother, they felt it their duty.
Perched on the lowest level of the larger gatehouse, they were watching guests arrive, monitoring the activity in the torch-lit bailey.
Berwick was lit up like the halls of heaven on this night, welcoming friends and allies alike for a memorable celebration.
“Nay,” Magnus said, watching a lone man on a horse enter the bailey. “That’s not him.”
“What are you doing?”
They turned to see Krister approach, and Magnus pointed to the crowded bailey. “Looking for Ansel de Edington,” he said. “Didn’t you see him when you chased those reivers away from Thornton Tower?”
Krister nodded. “I did,” he said. “And a more prominent horse’s arse you will never meet.”
Markus and Magnus chuckled. “Then you will stay up here with us and identify him,” Magnus said. “I want a word with Ansel before he goes into the great hall.”
Krister looked at the pair. “Why?”
Magnus cocked an eyebrow. “Because the man is a horse’s arse, and I want him to understand what happens to a horse’s arse when he crosses a de Wolfe.”
“Ah,” Krister said in understanding. “You want to threaten him.”
“We want him to understand.”
“It is the same thing.”
He wasn’t wrong. Magnus merely shrugged and continued to look over the crowd in the bailey, pointing out the arrival of the Earl of Teviot and several cousins from Northwood Castle.
Scott de Wolfe from Castle Questing also arrived on their heels, and the bailey was full of men greeting one another.
Everyone was family, or close to it, and they were happy to see one another as they began to head toward the hall, which was radiating light and warmth through the open doors.
Already, it was a lovely evening.
Except for the de Wolfe welcoming committee waiting to pounce on the bride’s brother.
Titus knew nothing about it, nor did Patrick, but Markus and Magnus were determined to make sure Ansel knew what was expected of him.
Given what Titus had told Magnus and his father about Ansel’s propensity toward violence against his sister, information that had been relayed to Markus, they knew what they were potentially dealing with.
And they were ready.
“Oh… Great Bleeding Christ,” Krister hissed as he watched a party emerge from the gatehouse into the bailey. “That is the de Allery party. I recognize their standards.”
The second part of the evening’s questionable equation had just arrived in the form of the pushy lord and his unmarried daughter who’d tried to wrangle a betrothal with Titus.
Markus and Magnus were jockeying to get a better look at the twenty soldiers and heavy, iron-reinforced carriage that had just entered the bailey.
“Right there?’ Magnus pointed. “The yellow and red?”
Krister nodded. “The yellow and red,” he confirmed. “Christ, Magnus, you should have seen de Allery and his daughter descend on your father and try to force a betrothal down his throat. It was like watching vultures trying to pick at a live carcass.”
“That’s pleasant,” Markus said with distaste. “Peter told me about it when he came to Cheswick. Mayhap de Allery and his daughter thought they were showing their gratitude by foisting a marriage onto Titus.”
“Or mayhap Lord Allery was simply trying to get rid of her.”
“God’s Bones, there’s that ugly woman and her big-mouthed father.” Peter interrupted the conversation and joined them on their vigil, having just come up the steps from the gatehouse entry. “I saw them come in. That pasty cow winked at me as they came through the gatehouse.”
Markus looked at him. “The one who wanted to marry Titus?”
Peter nodded. “That’s the one, unfortunately.”
Magnus leaned forward on the stone windowsill, his eyes riveted to the scene below. “I just had a horrible thought,” he said. “What if she is here to make trouble? She wanted the betrothal, after all. What if she’s here to burn the place over our heads?”
“Go down and talk to her,” Markus said. “Try to soothe her.”
Magnus balked. “Not me,” he said. “When she fostered at Berwick, she used to tell people that she was in love with me. She went back and forth between Titus and me, but she was a gossip who spread rumors. I am, therefore, not going down there to soothe her. Peter, you go.”
Peter scowled. “I will not.”
“You said she winked at you.”
“Aye, she did, and I will have to gouge my eyes out now. It was like looking at Medusa!”
Markus looked at the three of them. “Such big, strong, fearless knights afraid of one small woman,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval. “I’ll go find some veils and shifts that you can wear to the feast. You are shaming the very breeches you wear.”
Magnus and Peter burst into soft laughter. “Trust me, brother,” Magnus said. “When you see her, you will fear her also.”
“Look,” Krister said, stopping their chatter. “She and her father are getting out of the carriage.”
The four of them watched as a tall, older man disembarked the carriage, holding out his hand to a woman who followed.
She had dark hair and was wearing a fur cloak, but that was all they could make out at a distance.
They were talking to Bowen, who was in the bailey coordinating the arrivals, but as they watched, a man in horseback came up behind them.
The man who had gotten out of the carriage caught sight of him and turned away from Bowen, greeting the new arrival.
It was apparent that they knew him. As he dismounted his steed and shouted for a servant to take the animal, Krister sighed heavily.
“That’s him,” he muttered. “That’s de Edington.”
Markus and Magnus zeroed in on the short but muscular knight who turned his fine horse over to a stable servant.
“That’s him?” Markus said. “Talking to de Allery?”
Krister nodded. “He serves de Allery,” he said. “Or, at least, he did. But I notice that he is alone.”
Markus looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean his father is not with him.”
That observation struck a note with Markus and Magnus, who looked at one another in realization.
“He came alone,” Markus said quietly. “He either left his father at Callerton or his father is dead.”
Magnus’ eyebrows lifted. “Then let us talk to the man and find out.”
With that, they started to move, taking the narrow stairs down to the gatehouse passage.
From there, they spilled out into the bailey crowded with soldiers and servants and guests, but their focus was on de Edington, who was still speaking with de Allery.
De Allery’s daughter was standing next to him, but they didn’t notice.
For all of the resistance they’d displayed when it came to Zora de Allery, they didn’t even notice her.
They were solely fixed on Ansel.
And they intended to make their presence known.
“Ansel de Edington?” Markus said as he approached. When Ansel didn’t hear him, he spoke louder. “De Edington!”
That brought Ansel’s attention. He turned to see four very big knights moving swiftly in his direction, and, seeing this also, de Allery quickly moved away, taking his daughter with him. That left Ansel standing alone.
The de Wolfe pack closed in on him.
“You are Ansel, are you not?” Markus asked.
Ansel held his ground, but he was clearly edgy. “Aye,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Markus de Wolfe,” Markus said. “This is my brother, Magnus. We are Titus’ brothers. We’ve been sent to give you an escort into the feast.”
It was a lie, but it put Ansel at ease right away, and that’s what Markus had intended. He didn’t want a fight on his hands at the onset. Ansel removed his helm, propping it under his arm.
“I see,” he said, still eyeing the group. “Where is my sister?”
“Where is your father?” Markus countered.
Ansel looked at him, giving him a once-over as if deciding he was worthy to answer. “Dead,” he finally said. “He died some time ago. My sister was summoned to his bedside, but she did not come. Now I find out why. Where is she?”
Markus tilted his head in the direction of the great hall. “Inside with her husband,” he said. “Come with me.”
With that, he and Magnus led Ansel toward the hall with Peter and Krister bringing up the rear.
It was a four-man escort, with Ansel in the center of it, thinking he was in a position of privilege when the truth was that he was virtually a prisoner.
Only he didn’t know it. There was a main entry to the great hall, but Magnus and Markus took Ansel to the north side of the hall, where there was a secondary servants’ entrance.
Before they reached it, they came to a halt in the shadows and faced Ansel, who was confused that they hadn’t gone in yet.
“Why did you stop?” he demanded.
Markus and Magnus were about a head taller than Ansel, and they boxed him in, pushing him back against the wall of the great hall. Like any good hunter, they had their prey cornered.
Ansel was starting to catch on.
“What is wrong with you?” he said, unhappy. “What are you doing?”