Chapter Four #3
That wasn’t what War had expected to hear. Not in the least. It took him a moment to realize what Edmund was saying and when it finally sank in, his eyes widened and he dropped the old man’s hand.
“What?” he hissed, bolting to his feet. “What are you telling me?”
Edmund’s eyes were full of sorrow. “I am telling you that although you are my son, I did not father you,” he said. “You are my son in name and in my heart and soul, but you are not the son of my body.”
War’s mouth popped open in utter shock. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Who… who told you this?” he said in disbelief. “Did Mother tell you this?”
“She did.”
“She was wrong!”
Edmund shook his head. “Nay, lad, she was not wrong,” he said quietly.
“You see, she loved another man before me, very much. She wanted to marry him but her father would not permit it. Your mother was a de Percy; you know this. The House of de Percy is an important house in the north and your mother was expected to marry well. She was not expected, nor was she permitted, to marry a man of her choosing. That is not the way such families do things, as you know.”
War put a hand over his mouth as if to hold back the shock but, sadly, what his father said made perfect sense. Families like his mother’s did not let emotions rule the day when it came to a proper marriage. As it all began to sink in, he lowered himself back to the chair.
“My God,” he muttered. “So Mother was in love with another man before she married you?”
Edmund nodded faintly. “Aye,” he said. “You must not blame her, War. Your mother was a loving and giving woman. She loved you very much.”
War nodded quickly. “I know,” he said. “You do not have to defend my mother’s character to me. But this man…?”
“He was your father.”
There it was. The confirmation yet again. War let out a long, painful breath. “I do not even know what to say,” he said. “This is all so… astonishing.”
Edmund wasn’t unsympathetic. “I know,” he said quietly. “Your mother was not permitted to marry the man of her choosing and your grandfather immediately sought out a betrothal with me. As Baron Herringthorpe, I had more to offer her than a mere knight.”
“A knight was her lover?”
“He was the man she wanted to marry.”
“Did you know she was pregnant when you married her?”
Edmund shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I thought you were mine until you were born six months into our marriage, an enormous and healthy child. At that point, she had no choice but to confess because you were not an early birth.”
War stared at the man. “And you did not spurn me?” he said, incredulous. “You could have sent me to a foundling home at the very least, or you could have smashed my head on the wall. But you did not do that.”
Edmund waved him off. “Of course not,” he said. “I loved your mother. I loved you, too, the moment I saw you. What happened with your mother… it was not her fault. She was in love. And I loved her, so there was never any question that I would claim you as my son because you were. You still are.”
Now that the initial shock was wearing off, War felt weak and drained. And so very, very distraught. He sank back against the chair, struggling to come to terms with what his father had told him.
“But you were tricked into marriage,” he finally said. “By Mother and by Grandfather. They tricked you into marrying her, knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child.”
Edmund shrugged. “It was of little consequence,” he said. “I got what I wanted – your mother, three healthy sons, and an excellent dowry. Your grandfather made me very rich when I married your mother though I thought it was an excessive dowry at the time.”
“And you found out why.”
“I did, indeed.”
Edmund seemed at peace with the entire circumstance and after twenty-seven years, it had been time enough to reconcile himself to everything.
War studied the man, watching his pale face, thinking that his father was a great man, indeed, for what he’d done.
He’d never treated War any differently than his brothers.
In fact, he’d always favored War. Edmund Herringthorpe had been generous beyond measure with his wife’s bastard and War began to see the man through new eyes.
His respect for him, already great, grew by leaps and bounds.
But he still had unanswered questions.
“The man who fathered me,” he said after a moment. “Did he know about me?”
Edmund shook his head. “He never knew your mother was pregnant,” he said. “Your mother never told him so you cannot become angry with the man. I want to make that clear.”
War understood, but he didn’t like the idea of a nameless, faceless man taking advantage of his mother. “But he still bedded her,” he said. “Planting his seed was always a possibility.”
Edmund looked squarely at him. “And you have bedded women before, too,” he said frankly. “Did you ever consider that you might plant your seed, also?”
War cleared his throat softly and averted his gaze. “We are not speaking of me.”
“Nay, we are not, but you have bedded women yourself, so you cannot throw stones,” Edmund said.
“Simply because you bed a woman does not mean you disrespected her or took advantage of her. Every couple has a story and there are a million stories between men and women, so you cannot blame this man, War. I have told you that. It is not his fault that your mother never told him she had conceived. I forbid you to become angry or vengeful about this.”
He was growing agitated and War held up a hand to ease him. “I will not become angry or vengeful,” he said. “It’s simply that this is a lot to take in. When I awoke this morning, I was Edmund Herringthorpe’s son. Now I discover that I am not.”
“You are,” Edmund emphasized. “I have told you that.”
“But not by blood.”
“Nay.”
“Do you know who my father is?”
“I do.”
“Who is he?”
Edmund hesitated. “The man does not know about you, War,” he said.
“Even if I were to tell you, what would you do with the information? Confront him and demand to take your place as his son? Or would you curse him for impregnating your mother? I am not certain any good can come out of you knowing who your father is.”
War sighed heavily. “When you die, you take that knowledge with you,” he said, sorrow in his eyes.
“I do not know what I will do with the information, but now that you have told me the truth of my birth, something inside of me is desperate to know more. Even if it’s a simple knight who never made anything of himself, I still want to know.
It is not fair not to tell me of the man who fathered me.
I have a right to know, for my own peace of mind. ”
Edmund still wasn’t sure. “Do you swear to me that you will not cause him trouble?”
“I swear.”
“Then know this,” Edmund said softly. “He is a man with a family. He is a great, great man, mayhap one of the greatest men England has ever known. It would not be fair to him for you to disrupt his life over a choice your mother made long ago.”
War’s eyebrows lifted. “A great man?” he said. “Who is it?”
Edmund sighed faintly and closed his eyes, turning away. “I met him once, long ago,” he said. “He was kind to me and he did not even know me.”
“Who, Papa?”
Edmund’s eyes opened and he stared off into the chamber before finally turning to focus on War.
“You will be as great as he is. Greater, mayhap.”
“Who?”
“You are a de Wolfe, lad.”
War gazed at him for a moment before his eyes began to widen. His shock started in his hands and feet, stiffening his entire body until it came to his head. Then, his mouth went slack and his eyes bulged.
His astonishment was overwhelming.
“A de Wolfe?” he managed to hiss. “Who is it?”
“William de Wolfe.”
War didn’t remember leaving his seat. Suddenly, he was across the chamber, hand over his mouth as weird gasps of shock were hissing through his splayed fingers. He found himself looking from the window that faced out to sea before turning back to his father as the man lay upon the bed.
“The Wolfe of the Border?” he said in an oddly strangled voice. “That William de Wolfe?”
“There is only one.”
“And Mother told you this?”
Edmund nodded slowly. “She did,” he said. “Lad, you look just like him. I told you that I have met him before and you look just like him. There is no mistake.”
War had to make a conscious effort to breathe.
Everything was coming out as strange gasps.
“I just faced battle with him,” he said, feeling as if he were about to lose all semblance of control.
“The man brought his armies down from the north and he was at my side as we captured Thropton Castle. I met the man in battle and we spoke afterwards. We had conversations that… Christ, we had conversations!”
“What did you think of him?”
War threw up his hands. “What did I think of him?” he said, astounded. “He’s the greatest knight who has ever lived. He is a legend. And now you are telling me that I am his son?”
“That is exactly what I am telling you.”
War went pale. He could feel it. Suddenly, he was looking around the chamber for something. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “Oh, God. I need something to drink. What do you have to drink?”
He answered his own question when he spied a pitcher of wine on the table near the door. He staggered over to it and picked it up, drinking straight from the neck and draining the entire thing in four swallows.
Edmund was watching him carefully.
“You would be his eldest son, to be exact,” he said. “I have heard that de Wolfe has several sons, but you are older than they are. He was not married when he and your mother had their love affair. Were the sons at the battle, too?”
War was dazed. “Aye,” he said. “I met four of them.”
“Were they polite to you?”