Chapter One
Gleann na Fola Castle (Valley of Blood)
“The Debatable Lands,” Scottish Borders
The heavens had opened up.
Surely, the torrents of rain were indicative of an angry God because there had been nothing but chaos since the storm had rolled in three days ago, right as the battle in the Valley of Blood commenced.
The first blow from a sword coincided with the first crash of thunder and then, after that, bedlam reigned.
It was madness.
It was also a blood feud, meant for vengeance.
About six months prior, two knights from a castle known as The Keld, seat of the House of de Bourne, had been traveling north on business for their lord when they were captured by men from Clan Maxwell.
The Maxwells of Westerkirk were notoriously unfriendly, and suspicious, and they executed the men as spies, which brought the wrath of Ares de Bourne.
He was not only the Lord of The Keld, but he was also the Sheriff of Westmorland, and he amassed an army of two thousand and crossed the border on his quest to obliterate the Maxwell of Westerkirk.
Unfortunately for the House of de Wolfe, a few of their properties were in the path of that massive army and the fact that they were allied with de Bourne meant they sided with the man in this feud.
That made it difficult because Gar’s grandfather was Red Keith Kerr, allied with some of the Maxwell clans.
But this specific clan seemed to be quite rebellious and even their own clansmen weren’t particularly fond of them, so three days ago, about fifteen hundred Scots and nearly four thousand English collided in the aptly named Valley of Blood for a great battle.
The bloodiest valley in Scotland.
That was what they called that particular vale and Gar de Wolfe, in command of Gleann na Fola Castle, which literally meant Valley of Blood in Gaelic, guarded the southern gateway to it.
It was located in the desolate area called the Debatable Lands simply because no one was really sure if it truly belonged to the Scots or if it truly belonged to the English.
Even so, one thing was for certain—everyone agreed that it was guarded by a man the Scots called Cù fola.
Blood Wolfe.
That name was never more evident than it was at this very moment.
Three days of battle, blood, and brutality had left the entire army covered with mud and filth and blood, all of them pouring back into the bailey of Gleann na Fola like a tide of walking dead.
The injured were being dragged, carried, or carted back to the castle while the quartermasters organized areas for the wounded and the unwounded, which was no small feat considering how many there were of both.
Everyone needed a place to settle down.
Fortunately, Gar had two quartermasters who were perfection when it came to their craft.
One of them, an old soldier who had served his grandfather at Castle Questing on the England side of the border, was even his majordomo.
Without a chatelaine at this godforsaken castle, it was up to men to do the jobs that women normally did.
But Gleann na Fola, a remote and windswept castle, was no place for any woman.
It was hardly a place for men.
But here they were, fighting a war that would hopefully prevent the entire border from blowing up.
Wildfires of vengeance and rage could explode quickly, so the hope was that in beating down the Maxwell clan who had recklessly killed two English knights, revenge would be satisfied and there would be no retaliation.
One could hope, anyway.
And no one was hoping harder than Gar. He was covered in blood and dirt, entering his castle like the lord and master that he was, looking every inch the powerful, barbaric, battle-born knight.
He was surrounded by family members—his younger brother, Reed, his older brother, Andreas, and his older cousins, William “Will” de Wolfe and Thomas “Tor” de Wolfe.
Even his father was with him, riding in behind him astride a destrier that had been cut up in the battle.
The horse needed tending. But he could hear Troy de Wolfe bellowing to the men behind him, telling them to secure the gatehouse once the army was through, and he let his father give the orders considering that, technically, Gleann na Fola was his father’s property.
It had been for the past four years and in all that time, Gar had been the only commander of what was perhaps the most volatile castle on the Scottish borders.
Truth be told, Gar was used to the madness.
“Well done, Gar,” Andreas said, slapping him on the shoulder as he came up behind him. “You have Poppy’s talent at commanding battles.”
“Poppy” was what the greatest knight of his generation was called by his grandchildren.
William de Wolfe, the legendary Wolfe of the Border, the Earl of Warenton, was that knight.
The third son of the Earl of Wolverhampton, William had earned a name for himself when he’d served Northwood Castle many decades ago.
He’d been captain of the Earl of Teviot’s army, the largest army on the border at the time, and William had been flawless in action and decisions, so flawless that the king himself took note.
William had married a Scotswoman and had ten children, so his grandchildren at this point numbered into the sixties.
De Wolfe had spawned a very large family.
“I fostered at Northwood, as you well know,” Gar said, eyeing the brother who was around sixteen years older than he was. “Their training methods were established by Poppy, so of course I think like him. We all do.”
Andreas grunted in agreement. “Indeed, we do,” he said. “But this battle seemed particularly… bad.”
Gar came to a halt. They were standing in the inner ward at this point, a small circle of real estate that surrounded the enormous keep of Gleann na Fola.
There were concentric circles around the fortress, each one of them with moats and walls and berms, all designed for maximum protection.
Since the battle had been to the north, the castle itself hadn’t been touched, but the army that was now filtering into the outer ward looked beaten to death. Therefore, Andreas’ comment had merit.
It had been particularly bad.
“The Scots were mindless in their fighting,” he said. “Did you notice that? Reckless and indiscriminate. I saw more than one English soldier fall and beg for mercy only to be murdered before I could get to them. That smacks of madness, Dray.”
Andreas happened to hold an equally enormous outpost along the border, so he knew what Gar was talking about.
“I know,” he muttered. “There has to be something more than simply the murder of two English knights. We’ve been told they were executed as spies, but it doesn’t seem to me that spies would drive that kind of barbaric response in battle. ”
“As if there’s something deeper behind it.”
“Exactly.”
“I wonder if de Bourne stopped to ask the Maxwell before they attacked them.”
Andreas shrugged. “Ares de Bourne is a man of diplomacy,” he said. “He doesn’t have a hotheaded reputation, so I would assume he at least communicated with them before this bloodbath.”
“Gar!”
A shout came from behind them and both Gar and Andreas turned to see their younger brother, Reed, approaching.
Reed looked much more like the Scots side of the family with his stocky build and auburn hair, but he was all English.
Next to him walked Linus de Grey, a big knight with a shorn head and the House of de Grey lineage behind him.
Like Reed, he served Gar at Gleann na Fola, and the three of them were a formidable trio.
While Will and Tor seemed to be involved with Troy and his injured horse, Reed came to stand alongside Gar and Andreas, but unlike his brothers, who both possessed a calmer and more deliberate personality, Reed was very much puffed up like the conquering hero as he surveyed the returning army.
He slapped Gar on the side of the face, affectionately.
“Well done, bràthair,” he said. “You ended this decisively by cutting off the head of the beast. Several heads, actually. The Valley of Blood is earning its name this day.”
Gar eyed his brother. Reed was savoring the victory while the more seasoned knights like Gar were feeling less euphoric about it.
“There is nothing to gloat about,” Gar said. “This is not over. If you think so, then you are delusional.”
Reed frowned as water was thrown onto his triumphant fire. “Why do you say such things?” he said. “You are gloomy, Gar. Too gloomy. Stop being so dour and enjoy this day. You have earned it!”
“Leave your brother alone.”
The words came from Troy as he appeared, flanked by Will and Tor. As he spoke he was looking at Reed, who scowled at his father.
“But Papa,” he said, jabbing a finger at Gar. “He is being a doomsayer again. He is diminishing this victory!”
Troy cocked an eyebrow. “He is diminishing nothing,” he said. “Unless you want me to turn your mother loose on you, behave yourself, Reed.”
“But—!”
Troy cut him off. “This is one of your first battles as a fully fledged knight and I understand your excitement, but you are acting like an idiot,” he said. Then, he looked at Will, the heir to the entire de Wolfe empire. “Get this whelp out of my sight before I do something he regrets.”
Will fought off a grin as he reached out and grabbed Reed by the arm. “Come along,” he said. “Our father is going to do something horrible to you and then tell your mother that it happened in battle.”
They could all hear Reed protesting as Will dragged him away. Troy shook his head at his son. “How did I raise such a fool?” he muttered to no one in particular. “I have perfect knights in Andreas and Gar and Corey, but something happened to Reed.”