Chapter Seventeen #3
“We want to talk to you before you go in,” Magnus said, his voice a growl.
“I want you to listen to me and listen well—I am a knight of the highest order. I was the Lord Protector of the king for years. I’ve trained in places that only the elite train, places where my breeding and skill have been refined into a concise killing machine.
I am wealthy, handsome, and powerful, three things you don’t have in your favor.
I know about you, de Edington. I know you disobeyed my father after the battle at Thornton Tower those weeks ago when he told you not to burn the dead Scots.
I also know that you habitually beat your sister when you were both young.
I’ve heard rumors about your despicable behavior, and I am here to tell you that you will display none of that here.
You will behave yourself. Misbehave and things will go badly.
That includes any actions toward your sister.
Move against her and she has ten highly trained knights at her disposal that will defend her to the death—yours.
This is your only warning. Do you understand what I have told you so far? ”
It was difficult to see Ansel’s color in the shadows, but if they could have seen it, they would have seen that he’d gone pale.
He wasn’t used to be ganged up on because in his world, as small as it was, he was the hunter.
He was never the prey. But he could see, fairly quickly, that the dynamics had changed.
He wasn’t the alpha predator anymore.
But he was a man with enormous pride. That was the tough part—he had his pride.
He dominated wherever he went, and when he didn’t, that enormous pride he carried was fragile and petulant.
In this instance, he knew he couldn’t fight back.
He couldn’t argue or try to bark his way out of this one.
He was trapped and he knew it, but something occurred to him that he hadn’t realized before—his sister now had defenders.
She was married to a knight, a de Wolfe, and de Wolfe knights all had brothers and cousins and uncles and fathers.
Any one of them was an elite knight, something Ansel couldn’t claim, so in this instance, he was no longer at the top of the food chain.
That was the hardest pill of all to swallow.
Humiliated that he had to surrender, it was a struggle. It went against his natural character. But looking into the faces of men bigger and better armed than he was, he knew he had no choice.
He put up his hands to show he was no threat.
“Is that what you think?” he said. “That I’ve come here to make trouble? I assure you, I’ve not come to make trouble.”
Markus’ gaze lingered on him. “Given your past behavior that I’ve been made aware of, you will forgive me if I do not believe you.”
Ansel shook his head. “It would be a foolish man to enter a de Wolfe demesne and try to cause trouble,” he said.
“A lone man at that. Nay, good knights, I am sorry to disappoint you. I’ve not come to cause trouble.
I’ve come to inform my sister of our father’s passing and meet her husband. And that is all.”
Markus still didn’t believe him. He’d seen the man when he’d come in through the gates, the way he shouted at the servants, and the general way he carried himself.
Even in the past few minutes, when he thought he’d had an escort into the hall, he’d behaved like a spoiled king.
Markus had been around enough of them to know.
But he backed off.
“Excellent,” he said. “Then we have an understanding.”
Ansel nodded. “I have no quarrel with anyone, despite the fact that my sister married without permission,” he said. “I would like to see my sister and her husband, if that would not be too much trouble.”
Markus’ brow furrowed briefly because now, Ansel was being far too amiable. “No trouble at all,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
They did. All four of the knights brought Ansel inside, where the guests were finding their seats and minstrels played in the gallery above.
It was warm and fragrant in the hall, smelling of fresh bread and rushes, and standing near the dais with Titus and Patrick stood Katiana, lush and beautiful in her borrowed silk dress.
It wasn’t difficult to see her, glowing like a beacon among the men surrounding her.
“Ah,” Ansel said. “There is my sister. I must go to her.”
The four knights never left his side as he headed toward Katiana, who caught sight of her brother and went as white as ash.
She started to move away from Titus, trying to run away from her approaching brother, but Titus caught on quickly to what was happening and put his arm around her, stilling her.
Still, she cowered as Ansel came closer.
She looked as if she was ready to panic, but Titus whispered in her ear and she seemed to calm.
But it was a struggle.
“Good evening, dear sister,” Ansel said as he came near. “Greet your brother. It has been years since we’ve seen one another.”
He held out his hands to her, but Katiana refused to accept them. Or him. She kept trying to back away as Titus held her firm.
“Welcome to Berwick,” Titus said, decidedly unfriendly in spite of his words. “Do you remember me?”
Ansel’s gaze moved from his shockingly beautiful sister to the enormous knight standing next to her.
Aye, he knew him. He’d long dreamed of running that bastard through after the humiliation he suffered at his hands those years ago in Roxburgh.
He’d never forgiven Titus for having him exiled from Roxburgh.
He’d never forgiven the entire de Wolfe clan for his treatment.
“Of course I remember you,” he said, forcing what might have been a smile. “It has been a long time. I hope you do not hold a grudge for the last time we met. I will admit that I am ashamed for it.”
Shocking words. Titus looked rather confused at the amiable manner of a man he’d learned to hate. In fact, he was caught off guard, unable to reply as he tugged on his father’s arm to get the man’s attention.
“You remember my father, the Earl of Berwick,” Titus said. “Papa, you have met Katia’s brother.”
Patrick had been speaking to a knight from Northwood and he turned his attention to find Ansel standing there. Much as his sons had felt, a wave of unfriendliness washed over him.
“De Edington,” he greeted Ansel. “Where is your father? I invited both of you to feast with us.”
Ansel could sense the hostility. In fact, he was sensing it from everyone around him, including his sister, who was cowering behind her husband and verging on tears.
At first, his act of amenability was self-serving, but now it was self-preservation.
He was a lone man among a forest of armed knights, so any hostility on his part would not be well met.
Nor would it serve his purpose. For his sake, he had to back down.
Or he’d never make it out alive.
“That is something I’ve come to discuss with my sister in private, but now that we are family, I will tell you all personally,” he said.
“My father passed away several days ago. His passing was peaceful. He never knew that his daughter married into the de Wolfe family. More importantly, I am now Lord Callerton, and I am grateful for our alliance.”
His information had been politely delivered, but his arrogance had reared its head when he spoke of the fact that he was the new Lord Callerton.
Yet even that was tempered with supplication.
It was an odd combination. Tucked into Titus’ torso, Katiana listened to the news without surprise or emotion, but most of all, she was watching her brother for any signs of that bully she’d known those years ago.
He was still there.
She could see it.
“Has he been buried?” she asked.
Ansel turned his attention to her. “He has,” he said.
“He is buried with our mother in the church in the village. I’m sorry, but I could not wait for you to come.
It was done hastily, and, to be truthful, I would like to have a more appropriate service for him, one I hope you will attend.
He never stopped talking about you, Katia, right until the end. He was thinking about you at the last.”
It all sounded quite polite. Too polite.
And Katiana didn’t believe a word of it.
There was something in Ansel’s eyes that was still edgy and dangerous.
She sensed that from him. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, momentarily stumped, when Patrick took pity on the fact that she seemed to be tongue-tied.
“I am sorry for his passing,” he said. “What was his affliction?”
Ansel’s attention returned to Patrick. “An infection of the chest, my lord.”
“It is a pity you did not serve at Callerton,” Patrick said. “A son should serve his father, I think, yet you serve de Allery.”
That brought up a touchy situation, one that Patrick knew full well about because Titus had told him that de Edington couldn’t stand to be around his son and sent him away.
He wasn’t usually a spiteful man, but he was curious to see how Ansel would react to the comment.
Would his true nature show? Or would he maintain this facade of pleasantness?
Carefully, he watched as Ansel forced a smile that didn’t look natural on his angular face.
“I do, my lord,” he said. “Lord Allery offers good wages, and I wanted to earn my own money, not depend on my father for my fortune. But that is all over now that my father is gone. I am Lord Callerton, and the castle, and the lands, are mine.”