Prologue #2
Those simple words were like daggers through William’s heart.
They also managed to shred any irritation he had at the young man who was clearly trying to take over where his father had left off.
He looked at Kieran, who was gazing back at him with a rather compassionate expression and, in that moment, William knew any anger was futile.
He sighed again. But this time, it was without much force.
“Come here,” he said softly, motioning to Ronan. “Come to me.”
Ronan did, still wiping his eyes, and William grunted as he took a knee beside the lad. Kneeling wasn’t as easy as it used to be with his old body these days and most especially after the beating he had just taken. He was fortunate that he could walk at all.
“Your intentions were honorable,” he said, a big hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“It is noble to want to fill your father’s shoes.
But right now, it is a little too early for you to do so.
You still have much to learn when it comes to battle and I fear you may be hurt or even killed if you try to fight before you are ready.
Ronan, it would destroy me if something happened to you.
I lost your father. I cannot lose you, too. Do you understand that?”
Ronan’s lower lip was still trembling. “Please do not be angry with me.”
“I am not angry. But I am concerned.”
Ronan looked up at Kieran. “Are you angry?”
Kieran shook his head. “Nay, lad,” he said. “But your mother and grandmother and I would be very sad if something happened to you.”
Ronan sniffled, trying not to sob, as he returned his attention to William. “I only wanted to do what my father would do,” he said. “He taught me to fight. He showed me how to use a sword and I know how.”
With that, he lifted the small blade he was carrying and it took William a moment to realize that it was the same blade he’d given his son, James, when he’d been a young lad. Many years ago, his Jamie had learned to fight with that very weapon.
More daggers sliced through William’s heart.
“As I said, your intentions were noble,” he said, taking the sword from Ronan and holding it up to look at it. He smiled faintly. “I remember when I gave your father this sword. Would you like to hear the story?”
Ronan nodded. “He said he had to fight for it.”
William chuckled, standing up wearily, the little sword still in his hand.
“Fight, indeed,” he said. “Your father has three older brothers in Uncle Scott, Uncle Troy, and Uncle Atty. When your father was about five years of age, he decided that he very much wanted his own sword even though I told him he was too young. Uncle Atty was around eight years of age and your uncles, Scott and Troy, were nearly ten years of age. They already had swords that I had given them and your father decided to steal all of them, which was a mistake. They ganged up on him.”
Ronan’s lower lip was no longer trembling as he listened. He very much admired his uncles, Scott and Troy and Patrick, the latter who went by the family nickname of Atty.
“What happened?” he asked with concern.
William looked at Kieran, a smile playing on his lips, and Kieran took the hint.
He’d actually been the one to see the situation unfold.
“Your father was everyone’s favorite child,” he said.
“He was happy and kind and brilliant and everyone loved him. He was also manipulative when he wanted something. Your three uncles were in the stable yard practicing with their swords when your father ran out to tell them that your grandfather had summoned them. Without question, your uncles went to find your grandfather and when they were gone, your father picked up their three swords where they had left them and ran off with them.”
Ronan’s eyes widened. “What did they do?”
Kieran grinned, glancing at William as he spoke.
“I was in the stables with a lame horse when your father came running in with three small swords clutched against his breast,” he said.
“He ran into one of the stalls and hid. I did not speak to him or ask him why, but not long after, your uncles came looking for him. Not knowing why, I told them where he was and they ambushed him in the stall.”
“Did they hurt my father?”
Kieran scratched his neck, his eyes taking on a distant cast as he remembered the situation.
“Your father was, if nothing else, a fighter,” he said.
“He knew they would come for him, so he was ready. He threw horse dung at them, hitting Atty in the mouth with it, so as Atty is off spitting out horse dung and vomiting, your father whacked Scott on the shins with a piece of kindling, so hard that Scott fell over and lay there, moaning and holding his leg. That left Troy, who wasn’t so apt to get close to James now that two of his brothers were down. ”
Ronan was hanging on every word. “What happened?”
Kieran’s grin returned. “Your father was able to negotiate a truce,” he said.
“He would get to use Troy’s sword for an hour every day.
Troy agreed, but when James lowered his guard to hand back the swords, Troy grabbed him and hauled him out of the stall.
He was preparing to tie your father to a post but I had heard the entire thing.
I heard Troy make a deal for peace and I saw him break it.
I gathered up all four brothers and made them march into your father’s solar and tell them what happened. ”
Attention shifted to William. “What did you do, Poppy?” Ronan asked.
William, too, was remembering that day long ago. He remembered furious Troy, injured Scott, and pale Patrick. And he remembered James, the littlest, firm and resolute that he’d made a deal his brother had tried to break.
“I listened to each lad’s story and I listened to Kieran’s version of events,” he said.
“In the end, I agreed that James had been unfairly treated. But I also sided with his brothers in that James had stolen the swords under deception in the first place, but that did not mitigate the fact that Troy had broken a treaty. I declared that James was to be punished, as were Troy and Scott and Atty, and their penance was to clean out the stables, every stall, for an entire week.”
Ronan pointed to the sword. “But how did my father finally get his sword?”
William looked at the little sword still in his hand and chuckled.
“Because Scott and Troy and Atty made sure that week was horrible for James,” he said.
“They made him do the bulk of the work when no one was supervising them and they even rubbed the horse shite into his hair. They tortured him for the entire week and thought I did not know it, so at the end of the week and in full view of your uncles, I presented your father with this sword. He received a new one, whereas your uncles had ones that others had used. They were quite furious. But after that, they did not torture your father again. I think they learned their lesson.”
Kieran snorted. “They learned their lesson when James took after them with that sword,” he said. “Every time they turned around, there he was, attacking them with the weapon. I think Scott still bears the scars.”
William started laughing. “It was no less than they deserved,” he said.
Then, he handed the sword back to Ronan, hilt-first. “You are very much like your father, Ronan. You are eager and bright and determined to fulfill your destiny as a de Wolfe. But now is not your time, lad. Someday, but not now.”
Ronan took the sword back, looking at the blade, now colored with age. “My father is dead,” he said quietly. “I must fight in his stead, Poppy. I can fight. I am strong, I swear it. I will stand by your side and I will never leave you.”
William put a trencher-sized hand on Ronan’s head.
“You will never leave me regardless,” he said.
“You are James’ son. I look into your face and I see him.
I see that boy who wanted to fight so badly and I see the man who was a brilliant knight, and I miss him every single day.
I want you to fight with me, but I also want you to grow up first and learn how to fight like your father did.
You are his legacy, Ronan, and it is a great legacy you carry.
You do him justice by following the army and fighting the Scots, but you will do him greater justice by learning to be smart in battle.
You cannot always outfight an enemy, but you can outwit him. That is what you must learn.”
Ronan was back to trembling lips as he realized his grandfather wasn’t going to let him fight at his young age. He wiped at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.
“But you will let me fight at your side, someday?” he asked.
William smiled faintly. “I would have no other,” he said. “You will be my shield, Ronan. A protector of this great empire that you are part of. But you must have time to earn that right. Does that make sense?”
Ronan understood, sort of. As William headed off to find his horse, Ronan looked at Kieran, who smiled and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I told Poppy that you were a knight the moment you were born,” he said. “You have the blood of two of England’s greatest knights flowing through your veins. You were never meant to be anything else. But Poppy is right – you must give yourself time to earn that right.”
Ronan cocked his head. “But what does that mean? Aren’t I not earning that right by killing Scots?”
Kieran’s dark eyes glimmered. “In a sense,” he said.
“But it is more than killing Scots. It is learning how to bear your legacy with excellence. Having the rare distinction of de Wolfe and Hage blood, you are already more elite than most. You must learn and grow so you can become the knight we all know you are born to be. And you must not rush things.”
Ronan was not exactly sure what Kieran meant, but his grandfather was a wise man.
He always knew everything. Ronan let him lead him out of the foliage, back towards Carlisle Castle as the battle around them waned.
The sun had nearly set by the time they reached the gatehouse of the great, red-stoned castle, but Ronan was still lingering on what his grandfathers had told him.
It is learning how to bear your legacy with excellence.
God help him, he hoped he knew what that meant.
What he didn’t know was how many years it would take him to find out.