Chapter Twelve
Roxburgh Castle
“Papa! Riders!”
Sir Blayth de Wolfe, born James de Wolfe, turned to see his youngest son running towards him.
Garreth, known as Garr, was turning twelve years of age later that month and had yet to grow into the gangly arms and legs he’d sprouted earlier in the year during a growth spurt.
All Blayth could see were those arms and legs flying towards him as the boy nearly lost his footing.
Blayth stepped out of the way to avoid being crashed into and grabbed his son by the arm at the same time.
“If you keep running like that, one of these days I will not be here to stop you,” he said. “I am going to find you smashed against a stone wall like vermin when it is stepped on. Your innards will be everywhere. That is an undignified way to die, Garr.”
Garr grinned. He had his father’s toothy smile and his quick wit. “A wall cannot stop me,” he said cheekily. “Neither can you!”
With that, he pulled away, snorting, leaving Blayth to shake his head at his feisty son. “Would you care to test that declaration?” he asked.
Garr shook his head. Though his father was older, with an enormous and muscular body, he had slowed down over the years a little.
Not much, but a little. His slow and deliberate speech was the result of a head injury he’d sustained many years ago, a massive scar on the left side of his head now covered with graying blond hair.
Though Blayth’s speech might have been slower than most, his mind most certainly was not.
He was as cunning as ever. Even if he was physically slower these days, Garr was smart enough to know not to tangle with his father.
He may have been young, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Not now,” he said, eyeing his father. “I am too tired from running and it would not be fair to me. I came to tell you that standards have been sighted.”
He was diverting his father’s challenge, which wasn’t missed by Blayth. He fought off a grin as he allowed the boy to change the focus. “Colors?” he asked.
“Blue and white stripes.”
Blayth thought on that for a moment. “Blue and white stripes,” he repeated. Then, it occurred to him who it might be. “De Grey?”
“That is what the sentries are saying.”
Blayth didn’t know whether he should be pleased or concerned.
He settled for curious. Edmund de Grey was the only de Grey he knew that he ever had any business or dealings with, a man with a big castle near Lancaster and a grip on most of northern Cheshire.
That’s why Blayth had wanted an alliance with the man.
The House of de Wolfe was already allied with nearly everyone in Northumberland and North Yorkshire, so the de Grey alliance brought in new and powerful blood.
It was something that benefitted every de Wolfe castle, ally, and friend.
But he tried to ignore the cost of that alliance.
He had for years.
“I will meet him at the gate,” he told his son. “You will go inside and inform your mother. She will want to make preparations for our honored guest.”
Garr took off running again, nearly tripping as he did so. Blayth watched his boy run off, all arms and legs, before turning his attention to the massive gatehouse of Roxburgh.
Curiosity was turning to apprehension.
There was no real reason he could think of behind a visit from Edmund de Grey and most certainly the man would not have traveled over one hundred miles for a social visit.
Blayth was coming to think that perhaps the man had come to ask him for support, which would have been the most logical reason.
Or mayhap he had another daughter he wanted to marry off into the de Wolfe clan.
In any case, Blayth was ready for him. The answer would be no.
And he waited.
It was a clear day over the Scottish Lowlands, the sky overhead a brilliant blue.
Visibility was for miles in any direction and as Blayth stood at the gatehouse, he could see the de Grey party approaching quite clearly.
Edmund hadn’t brought an army with him, but he had about three hundred men.
It was a big escort for a man who had come to ask for support.
So maybe it wasn’t support he needed.
As preparations in the keep and great hall of Roxburgh were in full swing, Blayth watched the de Grey party cross the river and come to the first of two enormous gatehouses.
At the first gatehouse, they could only pass through about three abreast but by the time they reached the second gatehouse, where Blayth was, they were nearly single file.
That was a design element that prevented an enemy from rushing into the castle grounds too quickly should the gatehouses be breached.
Edmund de Grey, a pale man with graying hair and a hook nose, was riding at the front astride a fine stallion that was worth more than some castles.
He headed straight for Blayth.
“Greetings,” he called out.
Blayth smiled at the man, lifting a hand. “My lord,” he said. “We are honored by your visit. Why did you not send word ahead? We would have met you on the road.”
Edmund waved him off. “No need,” he said. “I did not want to create a big fanfare.”
“I hope your trip was pleasant.”
Edmund reined his horse to a halt, stiffly dismounting as he handed the animal over to a soldier. “Pleasant enough,” he said. “At least the weather held.”
“It has been good weather for several days, at least.”
Edmund looked around at the massive structure of Roxburgh as he pulled off his heavy leather gloves. “I’d forgotten how big this place is,” he muttered. “Magnificent.”
“Thank you.”
Edmund looked at him. “Why do you say that?” he said. “You did not build it.”
Blayth started laughing. “True enough, but it belongs to me,” he said. “Will you come inside and refresh yourself? And then you can tell me why you’ve traveled over one hundred miles, without sending word ahead, just to see me.”
Edmund seemed to demure a little. “I will tell you,” he said. “But give me your best wine first.”
“It shall be done.”
Together, they headed to the great hall, an enormous building that was attached to the keep.
Since Roxburgh was built on an island in the middle of the River Tweed, it followed the slender shape of the island.
The keep was built with the great hall behind it and other buildings behind that, all in a line.
Blayth led the man along the rather slender strip of a bailey flanking the buildings until they arrived at the stone hall.
He ushered him inside.
Blayth’s wife, Asmara, was in the vast hall.
Tall, lovely, and brunette, she greeted Edmund politely.
Asmara was Welsh, a descendant of kings, and was grace and power personified.
She made small talk about the weather and Edmund’s health before making sure there was plenty of food and drink for their guest. She departed the hall to leave the men to their conversation and Edmund sat down, followed by Blayth, who poured a measure of wine for the both of them.
Edmund drank deeply.
“God,” he muttered. “I’d forgotten just how much I hate travel. I’ve not traveled in years, you know. And that stallion of mine has the worst gait of any horse in the land. It is like riding atop a pile of rocks that is constantly in motion.”
Blayth grinned. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “He is a beautiful horse.”
“Beautiful and stupid.”
“Would you take a fair price for him?”
Edmund eyed him before breaking down into snorts of humor. “I would not,” he said. “He is too pretty for you and your war machine up here in the wilds of the north. The Scots would want to steal him.”
“That is more than likely true,” Blayth said. He watched Edmund take another drink of wine before speaking. “But you did not come here to speak of stallions or Scots.”
Edmund shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I hope you realize that only something very important would cause me to travel like this.”
“How may I be of service, Edmund?”
Edmund cleared his throat softly as they came to the point of his visit. “You can punish your son before I do.”
Blayth’s brow furrowed. “Punish my son?” he said, surprised. “I’m assuming you are speaking of Ronan?”
“I am.”
“Why? What has he done?”
“He has impregnated another woman.”
Blayth tried desperately not to let his shock show but he only managed to make himself look angry. “What in the world are you talking about?” he said, incredulous. “My son has never conducted a relationship with anyone other than his wife since the day he married Marian.”
Edmund held up a hand. “Mayhap that was true in the past,” he said. “He has been a faithful husband. But I received word that your son has been carrying on with the widow of Ravenscar and that the woman is pregnant with a de Wolfe offspring.”
Blayth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Who told you this?”
“Men loyal to me.”
“What men, Edmund?”
It was clear that Edmund was reluctant to elaborate but he knew that he had little choice. “De Grey soldiers within the de Wolfe ranks,” he said. “And before you lecture me about their loyalties, I know you have men that serve others that still report to you, too, so you will not condemn me.”
That was true of most great warlords to a certain extent so Blayth didn’t comment. He was more focused on what Edmund had been told than men spying on his son.
“I know that Ronan went to the manse at Ravenscar to bury his good friend, Dyce de Brito,” he said evenly.
“The men who accompanied Ronan to the Middlesbrough tournament, including several nephews, returned several months ago to tell me that. I assumed Ronan was still at Ravenscar administering the lands until a suitable replacement could be found.”
“Did you know about the widow?”