Chapter One #2
He was speaking of the son who was born between Gar and Reed, a fine knight who had remained behind at Monteviot Castle, Troy’s seat, to guard the garrison when the army went to assist Gar. But the comment made everyone grin.
“Reed is an excellent knight, Uncle Troy,” Tor said. “He just has to learn to settle down.”
Troy grunted in disagreement at his tall, blond nephew. “I should live so long,” he said as Tor snorted. But his focus turned to Gar. “Poppy arrived while you were out hacking off Scot heads, Gar. He is inside, somewhere, so we should go and greet him.”
The humor vanished from Gar’s face. “Poppy is here?” he said. “Why did no one tell me?”
“Because I asked them not to,” Troy said. “You have an army to command. You do not need the distraction of your grandfather’s presence. But now that we are back, I suggest you let Tor and Linus and Will settle the men whilst you and I attend your grandfather.”
Gar was already heading for the enormous portcullis that led into the heart of the castle, leaving his cousins and knight behind as his father had suggested.
The structure of Gleann na Fola had several major towers, including a massive central tower where the great hall was located on the first floor above ground level.
That made for a lot of slippery stairs and a good many torches to light the way in a stone castle that was as cold in summer as it was in winter.
Not much about Gleann na Fola Castle was warm, including the name.
It was the biggest, most forbidding castle in the entire de Wolfe collection.
And Gar was damn proud of it.
The great hall could easily hold hundreds of men at any given time and on this day, it was lit up with an enormous fire in the hearth on the west side of the room and two massive wheel-shaped chandeliers over head that were burning thick, yellow tallow candles.
The floor leaned slightly because of the sheer weight of the stones and wood upon the joists, but it was secure enough.
Nothing could take the place down. As the men entered the hall from one of three spiral stairwells that led up to it, they could see someone sitting at the dais.
They moved in that direction.
As Gar drew near, he could see his grandfather clearly.
William de Wolfe was sitting in the middle of the table, in a seat of honor, and Gar thought that was the most appropriate seat in the entire castle for him.
He sat like a god, tall and proud, with the familiar patch over his left eye, something he’d lost in battle many years ago.
William was extremely advanced in age, but there was no mistaking how sharp he still was.
The man had the same mind he’d had in his youth even if his big, old body had shown signs of slowing down years ago.
When he saw his son and grandson approaching, his remaining good eye twinkled and he slowly rose to his feet.
“You have both returned safely,” he said with satisfaction. “I am pleased.”
Gar was already moving around the table to embrace his grandfather. “We did,” he said, putting his arms around the man. “It was not a simple thing. The Scots are very angry this time.”
William squeezed his grandson before releasing him. “They are always angry,” he said, shrugging. “I have been dealing with that anger for many years. It never gets any better.”
Gar grinned. “Yet you married a Scot,” he said. “Does that not give you any consideration when facing their rage?”
“It does,” William said. “It seems to make them angrier because I took one of their women.”
Gar broke into soft laughter, motioning for his grandfather to sit down. “Please,” he said. “You have come a long way, Poppy. To what do we owe this visit?”
William lowered himself wearily. “I will admit that I do not travel as well as I used to,” he said. “Your grandmother insists I use her cushioned carriage.”
“Did you?”
“I may be prideful, but I am not stupid. Of course I did.”
Gar chuckled. “There is no shame in being comfortable,” he said. “You have earned that much.”
“I’ve earned far more than that.”
“So why did you come? To ensure we did not ignite the rest of the border with this skirmish?”
William’s humor faded. “Something like that,” he muttered.
“You know it is particularly brittle right now. Phillip of France has pledged to aid the Scots in their war with Edward and I received news several days ago that the King of Germany has failed to support Edward against the Scots, so something like this, as small as it seems, can have larger consequences.”
Gar knew that. He was well aware that the English king was locked in a battle against the Scots, which was usually a constant state during any particular reign, but over the past several years it seemed to have grown worse.
Unfortunately for Edward, he had a lot of enemies more than willing to aid the Scots, making the situation particularly volatile.
“This was a private battle, Poppy,” Gar assured him. “It was the House of de Bourne against the Maxwell of Westerkirk and it has been settled.”
“How?”
“We destroyed the clan.”
William’s brow furrowed. “What of the women and children?”
Gar glanced at his father. “They were taken away.”
“Taken where?”
“That is for Ares de Bourne to decide.”
William grunted unhappily. “God,” he muttered. “How many of them?”
“One hundred and sixty-seven.”
That brought a reaction. “One hundred and sixty-seven women and children?” he said incredulously. “You let de Bourne take them all away?”
“It is not as bad as it sounds, Papa,” Troy said, supporting his son. “Gar only let de Bourne take them with the agreement that they would be taken to abbeys in Northern England for safekeeping. They are not being executed.”
William eyed his son. “And how can you guarantee this?”
“I sent my own men with them,” Gar said. “The women and children are being guarded by my own men, who will ensure they reach Rieveulx Abbey, Fountain Abbey, and Whitby. I was not barbaric, I assure you, but we could not leave them behind. Especially the male children. You know that, Poppy.”
William did. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he understood.
“Very well,” he said. “It is not as if you had control of the situation, but at least you insisted on the humanity of it. The last thing we need is for one hundred and sixty-seven women and children to be murdered at the command of an English lord. That would turn the north into a wildfire.”
“I did the best I could.”
“Then it is enough.”
Gar was relieved he wasn’t going to get more of a scolding from his legendary grandfather.
It had been a difficult enough situation and, as he’d said, he had done the best he could given the situation.
He smiled at the man, trying to bring some of the warmth back into the conversation now that the business had been discussed.
“Thank you,” he said, noting the remains of a meal in front of his grandfather. “Have you recently eaten?”
William shook his head. “Nay, not recently.”
That had Gar sending a servant running for food and drink.
Meanwhile, Gar began to peel off his gloves and remove his weapons while his father and grandfather began speaking on some gathering that William and his wife, Jordan, had hosted a couple of months earlier.
Something about a betrothal feast for one of William’s youngest son’s children.
Gar wasn’t paying much attention to it until William returned his attention to him.
“Speaking of betrothals,” he said. “That is another reason why I’ve come.”
Gar glanced at him as he went to remove a dagger strapped to his leg. “That is an odd subject to bring up now,” he said. “What betrothal?”
“Your betrothal.”
Gar paused, mid-movement. “My betrothal?”
“You have one. Or did you forget?”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Good,” William said. “Because Reece de Reyne has written to me about the betrothal and has asked that we move forward with it.”
Gar frowned. “Why would he write to you?” he said. “Why not my father?”
“Because I am the one who will make all things possible.”
Gar glanced at his father, who simply looked away.
He knew that Troy wasn’t hugely enthusiastic about a marriage to Gar at this time simply because he was fairly young for such a thing.
He was a young, powerful, and extremely intelligent knight who was just starting to build his reputation.
He’d been a fully fledged knight since seventeen years of age simply because there was no reason to not grant the man his spurs.
Gar was already something of a legend.
Somewhere back in the family lines, Gar had inherited the same height that his Uncle Patrick had, though it wasn’t as pronounced.
Still, he was almost a head taller than his father, and taller than his grandfather, and he had an enormous, muscular build.
He’d looked like this when he turned eighteen years of age and he swung a sword better than more seasoned men, with impeccable decision making in the heat of battle.
That made Gar de Wolfe something every knight strove to be—infallible, but with heart.
He most definitely had heart.
He also had no shortage of female admirers.
There were rumors about him on the borders, how the dark and swarthy grandson of the Wolfe was as handsome as a god with his sun-kissed skin, black hair, and pale green eyes.
He wasn’t a rake, either. There had been more than one inquiry from hopeful fathers on his marital status, but they were turned away disappointed to learn that Gar was already betrothed to a daughter of the House of de Reyne.
A fine match, most said. A fine match to a perfect warrior.
But there was one thing those fathers, and daughters, didn’t know that would make them glad for no betrothal if they did.
Bluntly, Gar lived like a pig.