Chapter One
Bamburgh Castle
Northumberland
God, his ears were ringing.
He was on his feet, but everything around him was muffled and strained. He found himself staring up at the sky above Bamburgh Castle. It was a bright summer’s day, but puffy gray clouds were blowing in from the sea, looming above. He wondered fleetingly if it was going to rain before nightfall.
He could hear his father yelling at him.
Markus! Move!
He wasn’t sure he could move. Everything was rocking around him and his knees felt like jelly, but there was no way he was going to fall.
He was the tallest man on that field other than his father, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
Someone had tried; using their helm like a hammer, they’d hit him in the head with it, hoping to topple the mighty Markus de Wolfe.
All they’d managed to do was ring his bell.
But it was only momentary. The blood was suddenly rushing back into his head and his wits soon followed.
He was back.
With a vengeance.
Whoosh!
A massive, armored arm swung out, catching the man next to him and sending him sailing back onto his arse. Fury unleashed, Markus blinked away the lingering stars in his vision and went after the men on the opposing team. Behind him, his father, brothers, and cousins followed.
Markus was always the first man into battle and the last one to leave it.
He was fearless in a way few men were.
But this wasn’t a battle; not really. It was the much-anticipated mêlée that started off the games in celebration of the marriage of Lady Mabel Chestwick to the son of the garrison commander of Bamburgh, Sir Lars de Vesci.
Young Edmund de Vesci, a relation to the Lords of Alnwick Castle, was an arrogant knight but the life of any party, and the celebration of his marriage to the fair Mabel had been going on for three days at his insistence.
People had been drunk for three days, eating and drinking and vomiting as if it were a great Roman orgy.
Everyone who was anyone in the north of England had been invited and the marriage festivities were culminating in a tournament and games.
The House of de Wolfe had come out in force.
It wasn’t often when there were such vibrant and well-attended games this far north, and it wasn’t often the men participating had the chance to do something that didn’t involve fighting Scots and deadly battles.
For a chance like this, to drink and feast and beat down one’s allies in good-natured victory, was something they’d all been greatly anticipating.
It had truly been something to behold.
In fact, it had been so greatly anticipated that the men at each de Wolfe property had drawn lots to see who would attend. They couldn’t empty out the castles and towers of every powerful knight, so a select and unhappy few had to remain behind to maintain security.
From Berwick, Markus had been able to attend along with his father, Patrick, and his brothers, Cassius and Titus.
From Castle Questing, Scott de Wolfe, the Earl of Warenton, had remained behind while his eldest son, William “Will” de Wolfe had been able to attend along with younger brother, Jeremy.
Andreas de Wolfe, son of Troy, was present along with Axel and Christoph Hage.
Lastly, Atreus and Hermes de Norville were in attendance, who were always a formidable team to beat.
If they weren’t trying to kill each other, they were raining hellfire on everyone else.
Fortunately for Markus, his fiery cousins were on his team.
He could hear them behind him, beating on some hapless Alnwick knight until the man caved in and fell to the ground.
They hooted and bellowed with victory, jumping on the man and stealing his daggers, before moving to set in on someone else until Markus called them off.
“Nay,” he boomed. “We move in a team or we will not survive this. Close ranks and we will move to each group. If they divide us, we will fall.”
Atreus and Hermes were excellent knights for all of their wild ways.
They understood. Markus set them, along with his two younger brothers, on a group of knights from Kyloe Castle, seat of his Uncle Thomas, and stood back as the younger knights went to work.
It was like watching flies cover a pile of shite; the younger de Wolfe knights were hungry and ruthless.
Markus and his cousin, Will, covered their backs along with Patrick, laughing as Atreus and Hermes kissed their fallen prey and then yelled like barbarians.
They were pure entertainment.
“God, that pair,” Will muttered. “How is it we were stuck with them?”
Markus lifted an eyebrow. “We are always stuck with them. They haven’t seen each other in a couple of months and now that they are together, they are invincible.”
Will knew that. As the eldest of the grandchildren of William de Wolfe, Markus and Will and their cousin, Andreas, always seemed to be in charge of the youngers in situations like this, and Atreus and Hermes were at the head of that pack.
They were very close in age, and brothers, but they served in separate castles – Atreus at Northwood Castle and Hermes at Castle Questing.
Therefore, opportunities like this were a chance for them to reaffirm brotherly bonds.
No matter how violent.
Will finally shook his head.
“Uncle Hector is a coward,” he said. “As their father, he should be here to manage his wild sons. I’m afraid they are going to kill someone someday and we shall be to blame.”
Markus snorted in agreement. When he wasn’t watching Atreus and Hermes, he was watching the giant field around them. It was so huge that there had to be two hundred men on it, all competing for the top prize. There was much yelling and beating going on.
“Hector had to stay at Northwood Castle.” Patrick spoke up. “He has a conference with Clan Gordon and he could not break away.”
“I know,” Will said. “I simply find it ironic that Uncle Hector sends his unruly boys with us so they can run wild in a mass competition.”
He said it with disapproval, but Markus grinned. “When I go into battle, I will always want that pair with me,” he said. “They are wild, but their courage is limitless.”
As Will reluctantly agreed, Patrick kicked back a roaming knight who came too close. As the man stumbled away, he glanced at Markus.
“Speaking of courage,” he said. “Did you see Lars de Vesci’s daughter? She was in the lists earlier when the teams were announced. Lovely girl with brown hair.”
Markus instantly knew where this subject was going and he eyed his father. “What took you so long to bring her up?” he said wryly. “That’s the entire reason you brought me here, isn’t it? To get a good look at Emmalina de Vesci?”
Patrick pretended like he didn’t know what his son was talking about as Will, having been married for several years, snickered annoyingly. Markus’ resistance to marriage was well-known in the family.
“She is an eligible young woman from a fine family,” Patrick said casually. “Your mother knows her mother. They are friends.”
“And that naturally makes her an excellent prospect, eh?”
Patrick watched Markus fend off another roaming knight by lashing out a massive fist, sending the man to the ground.
“It simply makes her a prospect,” Patrick said.
“Markus, you know I hate to bring this up, but you are my eldest and heir. As the son of an earl, you have enjoyed the courtesy title of Viscount Ravensdowne and you have seen over thirty years. That makes you prime marriageable material. It is time for you to think about taking a wife and you know it. Just… look at Emmalina. She is a pretty girl.”
Now, the well-known subject was being openly discussed and Will, with a sympathetic glance to his cousin, thought it was better to leave this conversation between father and son. As he headed over to the rumble to give the pair some space, Markus grew increasingly frustrated.
“Papa, I do not want to have this conversation with you right now,” he said. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I simply do not want to discuss it at the moment.”
“You either discuss it with me or you will discuss it with your grandfather,” he said.
“You know that Magnus has ten women from his village picked out for you to look at. Unless you pick a woman yourself, you are going to have to marry one of his. He’s going to bring them in longships across the sea and, like it or not, you’ll have to marry one of them.
So… it is better if you select your bride and not your grandfather. ”
Patrick was speaking of his wife’s father.
Magnus Haakonsson was the King of the Northmen, a man known as the Law-Mender.
He was a great man, benevolent and generous, but he was also a ruthless warlord and a spectacular ally for the House of de Wolfe.
He was loving, kind, demanding, and invasive when it came to his grandchildren, much to Patrick’s distress, and Patrick wasn’t jesting when he said the man would bring ten women for Markus to choose from.
Markus knew it, too.
“I am not marrying a woman who does not even speak my language,” Markus said flatly. “I do not care how much he bullies me. I will not do it.”
Patrick’s attention was on the next group of knights that Atreus and Hermes and the rest of the younger knights seemed to be focused on. “Then you had better pick one yourself,” he said. “Emmalina de Vesci isn’t looking so bad now, is she?”
Markus started laughing. He simply couldn’t help it.
His father was trying to bully him and help him all at the same time.
But his attention, too, was on the younger knights as they entered into a fist fight with a group of knights from Chillingham Castle.
It was one of the bigger group of knights, like the de Wolfe group, and no one wanted to be an easy target.
The blows were flying.
“Should we enter that?” Markus asked his father.