Chapter Twenty-Three
“God, I never thought we’d get here,” Scott muttered. “That must have been the fastest trip from northern England that I have ever had the discomfort of participating in. Papa, how is your backside?”
William de Wolfe grunted as he glanced up at the massive gatehouse of Lioncross, feeling an extraordinary amount of relief.
“Painful,” he muttered. “As if it has been spread a mile wide by all of the time we have spent in the saddle.”
“You have no right to speak on such things,” Patrick said, reining his enormous red beast in behind his father. “I have been in the saddle longer than any of you. All the way from Berwick, for Christ’s sake. If I can no longer have children, you are all to blame.”
As Scott snorted at Patrick’s misery, Troy chimed in. “I am surprised the horses are still standing,” he said. “We must have done forty miles a day at times. Thank God these beasts are as strong as they are, or we would still be up in Manchester somewhere.”
As William listened to his sons bicker back and forth, men who were exhausted by the pace their elderly father had set, his focus was on the wide bailey of Lioncross as it opened up before them.
He had his three eldest sons with him along with eight hundred men and three wagons, as he’d promised Kieran.
An entire army was rolling in with him and he could hear the sergeants organizing the men, pulling them into the bailey that could easily accommodate a thousand men or more.
It was mid-morning on the eleventh day since leaving Castle Questing to come to Lioncross.
With every mile they drew closer to the Marches, William’s anxiety had grown.
His sons surely must have felt his mood, but they kept the conversation as normal as possible, trying to keep their father sane as he entertained the hope of recovering a dead son.
It was a like a massive weight hanging over them all.
In truth, Scott and Troy and Patrick thought it was a false hope.
They, too, had read the missive from their sister, but they had been tactful in pointing out that what Penelope had given them was at least third-hand information.
Corbett Payton-Forrester “thought” he’d seen James and although it was cruel to make such a mistake, it was true that mistakes like that had been made before.
Still, William was determined to come, and they would come with him.
So, four big de Wolfe knights entered Lioncross’ bailey, all of them hoping beyond hope that Penelope’s missive hadn’t been wrong.
But the moment the army began entering the gates was the moment the chaos really began.
First, it was Chris de Lohr emerging from his keep along with his sons, Morgen and Rees. William saw them coming and he reined his horse to a halt, stiffly dismounting as Corbett suddenly emerged from the keep as well, coming up behind Chris and his sons as they made their way across the bailey.
Scott, Troy, and Patrick saw the onslaught of knights rushing from the keep so they, too, dismounted, coming up behind their father like a great line of support, wondering why everyone seemed to be running at them.
It was something that filled William with great apprehension.
He had been prepared for polite greetings and small conversation before delving into the meat of the situation.
But when he saw all the rush of de Lohrs coming at him, his tactics changed.
He’d come a very long way and there was only one question he wanted answered.
As Chris came near, William held out his hand to the man.
“Is it true?” he demanded. “Is my son alive?”
Chris heard the father’s plea and it was heartbreaking. He grabbed William’s outstretched hand, taking it tightly as he hugged the man.
“My lord,” he breathed. “It is true. James is alive.”
William simply stared at him, letting the words sink in. But behind him, his sons’ reactions were varied – Patrick’s eyes widened, Troy hung his head as if he’d just been dealt a great shock, and Scott put his hand over his mouth in astonishment.
The most emotional of the brothers, Scott could hardly hold back the tears.
“He is?” Scott asked hoarsely. “Dear God… it’s really true? James is alive?”
Chris nodded, seeing the wild range of emotions running through the de Wolfe men. He still had William in his grip and he could feel the man trembling.
“It is,” he said evenly. “Truly, he is. I have seen him. I have spoken with him. But that is why I have come to greet you in the bailey – there is something you should know before you see him.”
William was quivering so badly that his knees were beginning to give way. “Where is my son?” he breathed. “I must go to him. Where is he, please?”
“He is inside,” Chris said. “He came yesterday. Penelope and Bhrodi are here, too, and they are all inside. I told my men to be discreet when they saw your army arrive so that I could have a chance to speak with you first, but your daughter is very nosy. I am sure she has been watching the horizon for you, so my time with you is limited before she interrupts. My lord, you must listen to me about your son. There is much you must know.”
William was holding on to him with two hands now. “He is here?” he asked, incredulous. “James is at Lioncross?”
Chris nodded. “He does not go by James any longer,” he said. “His name is now Blayth. As his story goes, he was badly wounded at Llandeilo, as you know.”
“He was dead!” William hissed. “I held him in my arms and he was dead!”
He was starting to grow upset and Scott came up beside his father, putting his arm around his broad shoulders. “We all thought he was, Papa,” he said steadily. “I thought he was and so did Uncle Paris. You cannot blame yourself in that you thought he was dead.”
William closed his one good eye, the tears coming. “God,” he gasped. “How he must hate me for having left him behind. I did not want to.”
“You had no choice,” Scott said again, growing concerned over his elderly father’s mental state. “You cannot blame yourself. We will tell James the truth.”
“Nay,” Chris said, interrupting them. “William, he does not remember anything. His head wound was so terrible that he lay unconscious for weeks and when he awoke, he had no memory of who he was. A Welsh warlord took him in, healed him, and told him that he was the bastard son of Llywelyn the Last. Do you hear me? James’ only memory is of being told that he was a Welshman with a great legacy, and that was why he was part of Rhys ap Maredudd’s rebellion. He does not remember you at all.”
By now, William, Scott, Troy, and Patrick were looking at Chris in astonishment. “Is this true?” William said with awe. “He… he did not know who he was?”
Chris shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He only came to know his true identity a few days ago and he set out to discover the truth about his past. He knew Corbett was here and he came to find him, because Corbett saw him when he was in Wales. Corbett recognized him, but James did not return that recognition.”
Chris turned to look at Corbett, who stepped forward when he saw that the attention was on him.
“It is true, my lord,” he said to William.
“James commanded the Welsh rebels who captured Gwendraith Castle, where I was the garrison commander. They managed to capture me, too, and I was in the vault for a month before James came to question me. I recognized him, but he did not recognize me, and then I thought… I thought that, mayhap, he was only pretending not to recognize me.”
William wasn’t following him. “What do you mean?”
Corbett felt somewhat foolish for ever suspecting such an elaborate scheme. “Because I thought, mayhap, that he’d meant for everyone to think he was dead because he was an agent for King Edward.”
William was thoroughly confused now. “An agent?” he said, aghast. “For what purpose?”
Corbett was feeling foolish. “To infiltrate the Welsh resistance, I thought. James is a de Wolfe, after all, and the de Wolfe connection with the crown is very close. I thought that he might be a spy.”
William glanced at his sons, who had a variety of shocked and confused expressions on their faces. “James?” he said as he turned back to Corbett. “My son a spy?”
Corbett shook his head before William finished speaking.
“He is not, my lord, I assure you,” he said.
“It was simply a wild idea I had, but James is no spy. Lord de Shera is convinced of it. In any case, James knew that I recognized him, and it was he who released me from Gwendraith. So when he came seeking the truth behind his past, he came to Lioncross because he knew that I would be here. He came to find me.”
“It is true,” Chris said, seeing the bewilderment settling over the de Wolfe men.
“All of it is true. But what James did not know was that Penelope would be here, also. Penelope has spent every second with him since yesterday. She has told him so many things, things he does not remember, so do not be disheartened if he does not know you, William. He does not know anyone.”
William stared at him a moment before hanging his head, processing what he’d been told.
His beloved boy, his sweet James, had no memory of who he was and would therefore treat him like a stranger.
William didn’t know if he could take that, not from James.
The young man he so clearly adored, a young man he’d been so very proud of.
He’d resigned himself to his son’s death, but he’d never gotten over it.
If his son didn’t recognize him, he wondered if it would be worse than his death. In a sense, he wouldn’t have him back.
He’d have a stranger.
Quietly, he cleared his throat.
“I understand,” he said softly. “Now, where is he so that I may see him?”
“Papa!”