Epilogue
Bamburgh Castle
Six months later
War was drunk.
He was absolute, unashamedly drunk as he sang loudly alongside James de Wolfe and Christian Hage, and another knight he’d met a few months back by the name of Apollo de Norville.
Men he’d become close to over the past several months, through dealings with another de Montfort former supporter, and business on the border, including cleaning out The Bones and sending their leader, a one-eyed bastard who called himself Father Moon, back to Tobin du Reims to do with as he pleased in the wake of Talus’ death.
Men who could be so cold and deadly in battle, but men who could celebrate and show their joy in life more than anyone War had ever seen. When those three got together in a relaxed or joyous situation, happy chaos ensued.
It all started with a song.
There once was an old whore named Rose,
With a wart on the end of her nose.
When her legs she would spread,
And men lost their heads,
The smell would knock everyone dead!
The corner of the great hall of Bamburgh that had heard the song burst into loud, lewd laughter.
Men were cheering and drinking, drinking and cheering, and War was in the middle of it as James and Christian dragged him onto the table where they were all standing.
They began shouting for everyone to quiet down, throwing things at those who didn’t shut their lips fast enough, as James drunkenly put his arm around War’s broad shoulders.
Finally, the crowd quieted down.
“Here before you stands a bridegroom,” James said. Then, he pinched War’s chin affectionately. “Look at this man’s face. Does he not look handsome?”
The crowd cheered.
“Does he not look happy?”
More cheering.
“Then shut yer yaps because the man has something tae say!”
He spoke the last sentence in an exaggerated Scottish accent, like his mother and aunt would say.
The cheers grew to enormous proportions and food and bones were being thrown at him, at Christian, and at Apollo, who threw them back.
Apollo even leapt off a table and began punching some fool who had hit him in the mouth with a chicken bone.
At War and Annaleigh’s wedding feast, they’d served chicken.
It was Annaleigh’s favorite.
“Shut up, all of you!” War boomed. “If my wife cannot hear what I have to say, I will slay every one of you and take great pleasure in your suffering. Do you comprehend me?”
He was met with laughter, but the room dutifully subdued. War put his arm around James’ shoulder just as James was embracing him, a gesture of the camaraderie that War had developed with his allies. He began pointing to the men around him.
“You,” he said, pointing to Christian. “I love you. And you, Apollo. I love you, also.”
Christian and Apollo put their hands over their hearts in thanks, a gesture of reciprocation. But War wasn’t finished yet.
“To Alexei and Monty, my faithful men, I love you both,” he said, loudly so the room could hear him.
“I even love Anthony d’Vant, who lost out to me for Annie’s affections.
He was an honorable loser and a worthy opponent.
To Lord Kilham and Sir Kieran, I love them as if they were my very own kin.
To Sir Paris… well, I’ve tried to love you and I am trying still, but you would sorely test God’s love, so I’m not entirely sure how I shall endure, but I shall try.
You command a mighty army and I want to love you. ”
William, Kieran, and Paris were standing over by the dais, cups of fine wine in hand, wine provided by the House of de Wolfe on behalf of the bride.
William and Kieran looked at Paris, laughing at the man because he really had been a thorn in War’s side for the past several months because he kept insisting that there was nothing about Bamburgh that Northwood didn’t do better.
It was a good-natured rivalry that bordered on slander at times, but that was the way bonds were built sometimes – by one man being an arse and another man letting him know just how big of an arse he was.
Such was War and Paris’ relationship.
But Paris wouldn’t be publicly called out so. He pointed at War and shouted. “You will love me more than all of these dolts by the time I am finished with you,” he said. “And Northwood is still superior to Bamburgh!”
The room rolled with laughter and War balled a fist at him, indicating what he thought of that statement. But War soon held his hand up to the crowd, begging for silence, and the room quieted down.
“To the House of de Wolfe, to whom I owe everything,” he said. “My love and gratitude to Scott and Troy, to Patrick and even little Eddie and Tommy. It has been my privilege to know you all. Thank you for being so welcoming and for introducing me to my bride.”
Seated at the dais, Scott and Troy, sitting with their wives, as well as Patrick, waved at War, who waved back.
In the past six months, War had built tremendous bonds with the older de Wolfe brothers given they were commanding castles and outposts near Bamburgh.
It was true that, by blood, they really were War’s brothers, but that was a secret that was maintained to this day.
And it always would.
“But most of all,” War said, looking at Annaleigh on the dais, seated between Jordan and Ian.
“But the very most of all I reserve for my wife, my beautiful Annaleigh. My darling, sweet Annie. May nothing but happiness ever enter our lives, sweet angel. May nothing but love fill our hearts. And may nothing but the goodness of faith and loyalty ever fill our home. To my beloved bride, I drink this toast.”
Everyone lifted their cup except for Annaleigh.
She smiled adoringly at her husband from across the room, watching as James broke the spell and poured wine over War’s head.
That seemed to bring on the loud, raucous celebration again as War shoved James so hard that he fell over backwards into a group of seated men.
As everyone laughed at James’ expense, War came off the table and made his way through the cavernous great hall of Bamburgh to the dais where his wife awaited.
His wife.
It was their wedding day.
The first thing War did when he came to the table was point to Jordan, who was holding Penelope in her arms. The child was sleeping like the dead and his eyebrows rose.
“She is sleeping through this?” he asked, incredulous.
Jordan smiled at her sleepy girl. “The lass would sleep through the coming of Christ,” she said. “But if I put her in her bed where it is nice and quiet, she’ll wake up and cry. So… she’ll sleep well here in the midst of the noise.”
War shook his head at such a child. Edward and Thomas, the younger boys, were sitting politely with their mother and War dug into the purse at his side, a fine purse made of silk, and pulled out two coins.
He gave one to each child and they loved him for it.
He also gave money to the other children, to Cassiopeia de Norville and Rose and Nathaniel Hage.
All of the children loved Uncle War, as they called him, because he was kind and generous.
But none loved him more than Annaleigh did.
The past six months had been something out of a dream for her.
She’s remained at Castle Questing, permanently, while War came every week to court her.
He would bring her flowers or fine fabric he’d purchased in the village of Bamburgh, or pomade that smelled like herbs.
Every time he came, he brought her a gift.
One time, he’d even brought her brined vegetables in an earthenware jar tied off with a red silk ribbon.
The gifts weren’t particularly fine or elaborate, merely a token of his admiration for her.
Admiration that soon turned to love.
Ian, with things in his clan settling down with the loss of Cord, Argyle, and Brendan, even came to Castle Questing a few times to become acquainted with this legendary knight who wanted to marry his daughter.
He’d come to like the big man with the big voice who could command an army with the wave of his hand, just like God.
There had never been a doubt in his mind that granting War permission to marry his daughter had been the right thing to do because, even now, with a wild party going on around them, War and Annaleigh only had eyes for each other.
It did a father’s heart good to see it.
“Annie,” Ian said, leaning towards her in his chair. “Mayhap it’s time for ye and yer husband tae retire while the laddies are occupied with food and wine?”
“He’s right,” William said, setting his cup down. “While they’re distracted. Otherwise, they’re going to follow you into the marital chamber and it will be an unhappy night for you both because they’ll want to linger and give you instructions. I do not think you want that.”
Annaleigh rolled her eyes. “Not from that bunch,” she said. Rising from her chair, she bent over to kiss her father on the cheek. “Will ye escort us upstairs?”
Ian shook his head. “As much as I’d love tae, I dunna want tae fight off that group of Sassenach,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he gestured to the young, drunk knights. “Let their fathers do that. I’d only be in the way.”
Annaleigh giggled. “Are ye sure?”
“I’m sure,” Ian said. “Sleep well, lass.”
Annaleigh kissed him again. “I will,” she said. Then, she smiled sadly. “I’m sorry Robbie isna here. I’d hoped he would come.”
Ian patted her cheek. “He thought it best tae stay at Langton,” he said quietly. “There are still some who side with Cord and Argyle, so it is best not tae remove both Robbie and me from Langton just now. We’d return home and find our castle taken.”
Annaleigh understood. There was still some discord within Clan Scott, minor though it was. “Then ye’ll tell Robbie that I missed him,” she said, kissing him on the cheek again. “I’ll see ye in the morning.”