Chapter One #2
The subject was changing from marriage to the skirmish at hand, and Patrick came to stand next to him, observing the beating that the younger knights were giving each other. He finally shook his head.
“I’ve no desire to lose teeth,” he said. “But go ahead. They’ll scatter when they see you coming, anyway. They’re already running from Cassius and Titus.”
Markus was laughing again, watching his brothers as they grabbed men by the neck and threw them to the ground.
They were so tall that they looked like beasts among children sometimes.
Patrick de Wolfe had inherited astounding height from some long-dead ancestor and was easily a head taller than his brothers, and all of his sons except for Magnus had inherited that height.
It was a family of giants.
Markus was slightly taller than his father’s seven inches over six feet, while Cassius and Titus were slightly shorter than their father.
Magnus was a few inches shorter than all of them, but he was so powerfully built that it more than made up for the height difference.
No one would tangle with Magnus. He was also the only brother who had been born with blond hair, a fine tribute to his Northman ancestors.
But Magnus had been unable to come to the festivities, so it was Markus and Cassius and Titus using their height advantage to terrify their opponents. At least, Cassius and Titus were. Markus hadn’t made his move yet.
Patrick gave his son a shove on the shoulder.
“Get in there,” he said. “Make short work of this. We already have eleven hostages that we shall ransom for a tidy sum, so go in there and procure nine more. Twenty hostages and we shall be rich.”
Markus flashed his father a grin. The lure of money was always a great motivator. He charged in just as an older knight emerged from the Chillingham group and headed in Patrick’s direction. The knight, whom Markus knew, passed him on the way and the knight chuckled when he saw Markus.
He knew the fight wouldn’t last very long now.
“What have I ever done to you that you would send your beastly sons after me and my men?” the knight shouted at Patrick. “I thought you were my friend?”
Patrick smiled broadly at the approach of his old and dear friend, Sir Kerk le Sander.
He’d known the man for years. Kerk was the captain of the army for Chillingham Castle.
Powerful and muscular, with white-blond hair and eyes the color of the sea, Patrick only laughed when Kerk reached out to slap him affectionately on the shoulder.
“I am your friend,” he told Kerk. “That is why I am not having my men beat yours into the ground. They are simply forcing them to sit the rest of the competition out. They are weary; your men must rest.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“I knew you’d think so.”
“How much is it going to cost me when you ransom my men back to me?”
“I have not decided yet.”
As Patrick grinned and Kerk rolled his eyes, they watched as Markus flattened a Chillingham knight who tried to use a club on him.
Clubs were allowed, as were shields and anything else that could take down a man as long as it didn’t have a sharp edge.
Some mass competitions allowed real weapons, but de Vesci had been adamant that he didn’t want anyone crippled or killed.
That meant brute strength won out.
“Markus is a tribute to you, Atty,” Kerk said quietly, using the nickname for Patrick that he’d had since childhood, one that close friends and family used. “Truly, he is something to be proud of.”
Patrick was watching his sons with great pride, and in particular Markus. “He is,” he said. “I do not know what I ever did in my life to warrant such a gift from God, but there he is. He is my pride and my joy.”
Kerk grinned at the reverence in Patrick’s tone. “I heard about his royal appointment,” he said. “News travels quickly here in the north. When does he take his position with Edward?”
“Next month,” Patrick said proudly. “In fact, Edward is coming north to collect him because he’s heading into Scotland.
And it is not just any position; it is Lord Protector to the King, the exact same position I was offered from Edward’s father, Henry, those years ago.
I was set to take the position when I met and married my wife and decided to remain in the north.
But Markus… he is destined for far greater things than I ever was, Kerk.
To have the prestige of Lord Protector of the King is exactly what he deserves.
Edward knows greatness when he sees it.”
Kerk nodded, imagining the future for the big, young knight.
“Think of the adventures he will have,” he said.
“Traveling with Edward, although I imagine he’ll spend a good deal of time in either Scotland or Wales, but he’ll make a name for himself.
I envy him, really. I wish I was young enough for that kind of adventure. ”
Patrick gave him a lopsided smile. “Don’t we all?”
As they grinned at each other, another Chillingham knight went down and the remaining Chillingham knights banded together to go after Atreus and Hermes, who had felled at least three men between them.
It wasn’t simply dropping the men; it was the way they’d dropped them.
Standing on their backs and declaring themselves invincible.
The arrogance was no longer tolerable, so with Atreus and Hermes now being set upon, Markus and Cassius went to help and a full-scale brawl resulted.
Punches were thrown and men went down in the muddy grass of the field.
Wiping blood from his mouth, Markus helped his brothers take down a big knight with a club and a shield who had been swinging both around and clipping men in their faces or necks.
As Kerk surrendered to the inevitable and headed back into the fray to help his men surrender honorably, Patrick stood out of the fight, watching with pride and amusement as his sons and nephews managed to take down the rest of the Chillingham gang.
He was preparing to move in and help them drag men away so they could ransom them later when he caught sight of something on the edge of the field.
Someone was trying to get his attention.
“Papa, Kieran is here,” Markus was suddenly by his side, pointing to the north side of the field. “What in the hell is he doing here?”
They were referring to Kieran Hage, a young knight from Berwick who had been left behind to help man the fortress.
Named after his grandfather who had died about thirteen years earlier, he looked exactly like his namesake – enormous shoulders, vast brute strength, with dark blond hair and brown eyes.
He was the son of Alec and Katheryn de Wolfe Hage, making him Patrick’s nephew.
And his presence here wasn’t a good thing.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said after a moment. “But I am certainly going to find out.”
As Patrick headed off, Markus followed. They pushed their way through the pockets of fighting, finally coming to the edge of the field where Kieran was standing.
Patrick didn’t give the man a chance to speak.
“What’s happened, Kieran?” he asked. “Is Berwick standing?”
“Aye, Uncle Atty,” Kieran replied. “Berwick is fine.”
That brought Patrick a good deal of relief, but he was still concerned. “Then why have you come?”
Kieran had to dodge out of the way when a competitor from the mass competition came hurtling off the field, narrowly missing him.
“Can we step away from the field of battle?” Kieran asked. “I bear concerning news, enough that Eddie believed I should bring it to you personally.”
He was referring to Edward Hage, his eldest brother, who was in command of Berwick at the moment.
Patrick nodded, already moving away from the field as Markus followed.
They pushed through the crowds encircling the field until they broke free into the open area between the field and the visitor’s encampment.
That was when Patrick came to a halt and faced Kieran again.
“We are away from the noise,” he said. “Now, tell me what has happened. Why did Eddie send you?”
Kieran nodded. “Concerning news that he wanted you to know,” he said. “Early this morning, we received word from Trastamara Castle. Roget de Sauque has been killed.”
Patrick’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What happened?”
Kieran’s gaze moved back and forth between Patrick and Markus.
“Apparently, he was going to visit one of his properties and was set upon by outlaws,” he said.
“You know that entire area north of the border where Trastamara sits is filled with outlaws and murderers. He was robbed and then burned alive.”
Patrick’s eyes widened “What of the men he brought with him? Was there a battle?”
“He was traveling alone, we were told.”
“Christ,” Markus hissed. “The forests in that area are full of such cutthroats. De Sauque should have known better than to travel alone. Who sent you this news?”
Kieran held up a hand. “That is the strange part,” he said.
“It did not come from de Sauque’s soldiers.
We received the news from a servant of Lady de Sauque.
She says that Roget is dead and the army is under the command of his knight, Sir Shand Bexwell.
She has no control over anything. Lady de Sauque is fearful of what that will mean for her and her children.
She asks that we send help to supersede Bexwell and help her regain control of Trastamara Castle for her son and heir, Atlas. ”
Patrick stared at him a moment before sighing heavily. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “Atlas de Sauque is fostering at Castle Questing. Does he know of his father’s death?”
“Eddie sent word to Uncle Scott about it. He should know by now.”
It was indeed troubling information, all of it. An ally was dead and the army was under the control of the man’s captain, not his son and heir, who was a squire at Castle Questing. Trastamara Castle protected an important bridge over the River Tweed, a strategic location and one that was important.
One the Scots would love to get their hands on.
No wonder Kieran had come all the way to Bamburgh.
“This is a situation that involves the House of de Wolfe quite unquestionably,” Patrick said quietly.
“In truth, I am not surprised to hear that Bexwell has taken control. It’s Roget’s fault, really…
I always thought the de Sauque marriage was an odd arrangement.
Roget married Lady Amabella and gained Trastamara from her father when he died, but the man took it over and treated his wife like a possession.
He provided well for her and the children, but the woman had less rights than his soldiers.
It makes perfect sense that Roget’s captain would take command and disregard her. ”
Markus was nodding to his father’s assessment. “And now, she wants our help to wrest control from Bexwell.”
Patrick looked at him. “Bexwell is not in command,” he said. “If he ignores that fact, then we shall have to remind him. It is Atlas’ castle even though the lad has only seen seventeen years. He is his father’s heir.”
“And what if Bexwell will not relinquish it to the boy?”
“He’ll have no choice,” Patrick pointed out.
“Roget swore Trastamara’s allegiance to me about ten years ago when we helped him fend off a series of attacks from Clan Gordon.
We even had de Wolfe troops stationed at Trastamara for a couple of years after that.
You were newly knighted at the time, Markus. Do you recall this?”
“I do,” Markus recalled. “I’ve had limited contact with Trastamara since, however. I’ve only met Roget once or twice in all the time I’ve served at Berwick, but I know he has been a loyal vassal. But now…”
He trailed off, implying the obvious, and Patrick simply wriggled his eyebrows.
“Now, we may have a situation on our hands if Bexwell does not relinquish control peacefully,” Patrick said.
“Even if Lady de Sauque had not asked, I would still take men to Trastamara to bolster her ranks and secure the castle. When the Scots hear about Roget’s death, they could very well try to move on the fortress because they will consider it vulnerable.
Trastamara is important and strategic, so I do not want it to give the illusion that it is weakened.
Markus, you and Kieran ride back to Berwick now and begin preparations.
I will make apologies to de Vesci and have the men break down our camp.
I think we can make it back before nightfall. ”
All three of them glanced up at the sky, noting that the puffy gray clouds were growing heavier. The smell of damp was in the air.
“It might rain,” Markus said. “I will return with Kieran and begin the preparations, but why don’t you spend the night here and return early tomorrow morning? Avoid the bad weather if you can.”
Patrick glanced up again, scratching his cheek where the mail was chaffing him. “Possibly,” he said. “Muster five hundred men and have them ready to move by noon tomorrow. Even with all of those men, it will take us an hour at most to make it to Trastamara.”
“Aye, Papa,” Markus said. “Anything else?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “But I want Atlas to meet us at Trastamara, so send Hermes back to Castle Questing and have him escort Atlas to Trastamara. Now, off with you both. And, Markus – wave to Lady Emmalina as you leave the area.”
Markus cast him a long look as the conversation veered back to a distasteful subject. “I will not.”
“Do it or I will be forced to make apologies for my rude son.”
Markus made an unhappy face at him. “Then make those apologies,” he said, grabbing Kieran by the arm and dragging the man along. “If I am rude, it is your fault. You raised me that way.”
Patrick sighed with exasperation as Markus and Kieran took off running for the de Wolfe encampment to collect Markus’ belongings and, as it turned out, Lady Emmalina never even saw him.
By the time Patrick made his way over to her father to make his apologies for departing early, Lady Emmalina was surrounded by at least three young beaux who had her full attention.
Patrick found himself frustrated that Markus wasn’t one of them, but that frustration quickly faded. He had enough on his mind with a dead ally and a vulnerable fortress without the added burden of an heir who had no intention of finding a wife any time soon.
But not if Patrick had anything to say about it.
One problem at a time.