Chapter Four
“Ravenscar? Where is that?”
It was morning in the de Wolfe tent where Marian was just rising from a night of very little sleep.
While Ronan had spent most of the night at the de Brito encampment, sitting by the fire as Lady de Brito slept inside her tent, he’d returned to the de Wolfe encampment just before dawn only to be told by his sergeant in charge that Lady de Wolfe had returned not four hours earlier, drunk and smelling of wine.
She’d been accompanied by a young knight who had left her off to go about his own way.
Ronan’s men were used to seeing such things when it came to Lady de Wolfe.
Ronan had returned to his encampment shortly before dawn and, with his wife snoring in her bed, had fallen asleep on a separate cot.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have all the time in the world to sleep because he intended to depart Middlesbrough for Ravenscar that day, a journey that would take at least two full days of travel if they moved swiftly.
But Marian had been resistant from the very moment he told her of their plans and, now, voices were being raised.
A standoff was coming.
“Ravenscar is Dyce de Brito’s manse about two days to the south,” Ronan said with strained patience. “I must escort Dyce home for burial.”
Marian’s face screwed up with disbelief and confusion. “Why?” she demanded. “Ronan, Dyce has his own men to take him home. Why must you go?”
“Because I promised I would,” he said simply. “I promised Dyce that I would see to his wife and I need your help to do so. You know it would not be proper for me to go with her, alone. I need your presence, if nothing else.”
Marian’s jaw dropped in outrage. “I did not make the promise – you did,” she said. “His wife is not my responsibility. Though I do not mean to be unkind, I do not even know the woman.”
Ronan looked at her with contempt. “She has no one,” he said.
“Dyce asked me to see to her and I told him I would, so it would be polite if you were to give the woman some comfort as we take her husband home for burial. You may not love your husband, but she loved hers. Try to show some understanding.”
The knives were already sharpening at this early hour. That wasn’t unusual with them, but Ronan was worried about a scene. Marian had no restraint when it came to their arguments and he didn’t want to feed the gossip mills with whispers of Ronan de Wolfe’s screaming wife.
Still… sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself when she was being difficult.
And Marian knew it.
“Why should I care who the woman loves or does not love?” she hissed.
“She has no bearing on my life, nor does her husband. And I would watch the accusations about love between spouses if I were you. I do not recall you showing me any, so do not accuse me of being loveless when you commit the same sin.”
“I have not accused you of anything. I have simply stated a fact.”
“Your facts, Ronan, which are never mine.”
“Mine are the truth. Yours are fantasy.”
“Cease your belligerence,” she spat. “I will not listen to it. Go do whatever you promised to do and I will wait for you here. The tournament is not over yet and I have come for the spectacle, so I have no intention of leaving.”
Ronan was gearing up for another nasty comment but he knew it would only spiral the situation and, at the moment, he was trying to gain her cooperation. It wasn’t often he needed it but, in this case, he did.
Wearily, he scratched his head.
“Don’t you ever become tired with the arguing?” he asked, trying to defuse the situation a little. “All we do is argue, Marian. There was a time when we didn’t argue at all.”
She was still frowning, still angry from the conversation, but she didn’t want to reminisce with him. She waved an irritable hand at him and turned for the tray of food that had been brought in for her to break her fast.
“I do not wish to discuss it,” she said. “I am staying here. Go do what you must do.”
Ronan watched her inspect the warmed beef and gravy along with thick slices of white bread and butter.
“I must escort my friend home and his widowed wife,” he said.
“You are a de Grey. Your family is entrenched in protocol and manners. I would like you to show some to Lady de Brito, who has just lost her husband. It would be a gesture of goodwill and would be an excellent demonstration of de Grey compassion. Will you not do this for your family’s name? ”
He didn’t even bring up the de Wolfe name anymore because she didn’t care. She loathed having to carry the name de Wolfe, so he invoked the name of her family and prayed it would do the trick. He waited with anticipation while she slowed her movements and sighed heavily.
“Must you always manipulate me like that?” she finally asked.
Ronan could hear, by the tone of her voice, that her guard was lowering.
He’d hit a vein. “It is not manipulation if it is the truth,” he said.
“It would be a gesture of goodwill to know that you and I escorted Lady de Brito home to bury her husband. Word may even get back to your father and it would make him proud, so please, Marian. Please go with me. It would be the proper thing to do.”
She looked at him, sighing with exasperation again. “How long will we stay?”
“Long enough to bury the man and no longer.”
Marian rolled her eyes and looked back to her food. “If you promise.”
“I do.”
Marian picked up her spoon. “Very well,” she muttered. “I will eat and dress and go with you to see Lady de Brito. Mayhap I can help her in some way. Pack her things for the journey, mayhap.”
“I am sure she would appreciate it.”
Marian didn’t care. She waved him off and dug into her food, signaling the end of the conversation.
Ronan fled the tent at that point, relieved to be out of her presence like he always was.
Being around Marian was like a weight on his shoulders he couldn’t shake.
He hated that their relationship had deteriorated so badly, for he would at least like to have a pleasant one.
Even if he didn’t love her. Once outside in the light of the new morning, his attention inevitably turned to the de Brito camp.
It was off to the northeast, not far from where he was, so he headed off in that direction, catching sight of Titus being dressed by Edward and Axel and a couple of squires.
Titus had an early round that morning and, more than likely, would end up in the final round somehow.
Edward and Axel were competing later on that day, as Ronan understood it, but Christian had been defeated against a professional opponent the day before.
There were knights that only rode the tournament circuit and Christian had gone up against one of them.
It had been a sobering experience for the young knight.
Ronan grinned when he thought of his cousin, so full of passion and ego.
His mother was Ronan’s father’s twin and his father was Ronan’s mother’s brother, so they were related on both sides.
De Wolfe family ties could often be quite confusing.
While most of the cousins had fortunately inherited some, or all, of Grandfather Kieran’s cool demeanor, Christian was one of the rare individuals that had inherited their grandmother, Jemma’s, fiery personality.
The lad was all Scots.
“Roe!”
Ronan came to a halt, turning to see the very object of his musings heading in his direction. Tall, with a crown of dark blond hair and green eyes, handsome Christian Hage waved to his cousin as he trotted in his direction.
“Well?” Ronan said. “What has you up at this hour?”
“Titus,” Christian said, frowning. “He says that you are escorting Lady de Brito and her husband home today.”
Ronan nodded. “I am.”
“He told me to go with you. He’s going to take the escort home with Eddie and Axel.”
“Home” in the vernacular of the de Wolfe empire simply meant they were taking the escort back to whatever de Wolfe castle or property it had originated from.
All of them – Titus, Edward, Axel, Christian, and even Ronan – served at different castles, but they mingled from time to time as manpower was shifted from one to the other, usually dictated by either Scott de Wolfe or his twin brother, Troy, the eldest de Wolfe brothers and the heirs to the empire.
Technically, Scott was the Earl of Warenton, but Troy co-managed alongside him, making for a powerful and unbeatable team.
“Excellent,” Ronan said. “I welcome your sword and I know Dyce would, too.”
Christian’s gaze drifted over to his older cousin. “I did not have the chance to express my condolences, Roe,” he said. “I know that Dyce was your friend. It is difficult to lose a friend like that.”
Ronan nodded. “It is,” he said with resignation. “Although I’ve seen such a thing happen before at tournaments, I’ve never seen something like that so egregious. What about the de la Londe knight, anyway? Has he regained consciousness?”
Christian shook his head. “Teesside’s physic does not think he ever will,” he said. “He thinks the man is going to die.”
Ronan hardened. “Good,” he said. “Let him linger in a stupor until death claims him. It is more merciful than what he did to Dyce.”
“His men are demanding his return.”
“He is our prisoner. They can have his corpse when we’re finished with it.”
“Teesside came to Titus this morning, wanting to negotiate for the man.”
Ronan shook his head. “Unless Teesside wants the ire of de Wolfe, he’ll stay out of it,” he said.
“In any case, I am going to see Lady de Brito now and I want you with me. You can see to the preparation of the de Brito escort as we return Dyce home, but I also want you to ensure we have a way to transport his coffin. See to it, will you?”
“Of course.”