Chapter Nine #6
Maitland nodded gratefully. “I need rope and fabric for beds and mattresses, and clothing. God only knows how badly these children need clothing. Will you see what your mother can send me? I shall be grateful for anything she can donate. She will understand.”
Thomas looked out over the children huddled by the fire. “Sloth, Greed, Gluttony, Pride, Wrath, Envy, and Lust,” he muttered. “If there was ever a place sincerely in need of salvation, it would be this place. I would say you have your work ahead of you, Lady Bowlin.”
Maitland knew that, but she’d never been one to back down from a challenge.
Before she could reply, however, the soldiers who had been over near the gates, watching the landscape beyond, suddenly began calling out the approach of riders.
No one panicked, but a couple of the soldiers near the fire pit drew their swords.
Most of the children were too involved in their food to notice, but Artus did and he tensed, preparing to grab the children and run with them.
It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d had to do so.
But no one moved and no one ran. When the soldiers at the gate determined there was no threat, they threw the big iron bolt on the gates and opened them, admitting a rider. As the man moved in the direction of the fire where everyone was standing, Thomas recognized him.
The soldier was from Wark.
“What is it?” Thomas demanded as he rushed to the man with Desmond on his heels. “What has you riding across the borders in the darkness?”
The man reined his horse to a halt and the frothing animal tossed its head, throwing foam. “Your father has sent me, my lord,” he said. “Lord de Wolfe demands you return to Wark Castle immediately. Northumbria was killed in an ambush earlier today.”
Thomas didn’t react outwardly, but Desmond did – his eyes widened and he audibly gasped.
“Northumbria is dead?” he hissed. “What happened? Who ambushed him?”
The soldier leaned forward on his saddle, lowering his voice. “Survivors of Northumbria’s party said they were attacked by reivers,” he muttered. “Your father needs you back at Wark immediately, my lord. He says you must return tonight.”
Truth be told, Thomas wasn’t all that shocked. Surprised at Northumbria’s death, of course, but not shocked that it had happened. “Are they sure it was reivers?” he said. “They do not normally ambush and kill. Their purpose is raiding and looting, not murder.”
“Unless it was the men you swept over the cliff into the Tweed last night,” Desmond said. “You know that group to the east has been known to murder for profit. It could have been them.”
Thomas was aware of that. “The Thurrock Cú,” he said quietly.
“I thought that might be the group last night who raided Coldstream and told my father so. We know they watch Wark and other outposts of my father’s, but an attack from them against travelers is rare.
But mayhap they were watching when Northumbria departed Wark for home and decided he would be a good target. ”
“It is a distinct possibility.”
“And now Edmund is dead.”
It was still difficult to believe, even as he said it.
In fact, Thomas was having some difficulty grasping the sudden turn that life had taken.
With Edmund gone, that meant Adelaide was now the sole heiress and commander of Northumbria’s vast armies and the marriage, with no date set, would now be pushed upon him.
Thomas knew that before he even spoke to his father.
Whatever his father and Northumbria had discussed during the earl’s visit to Wark didn’t matter now.
Thomas was certain his father, even if he’d begged Northumbria to break the betrothal, would now ask Thomas to do his duty, to marry Adelaide, and inherit a vast empire that would keep the northern ties of de Wolfe strong and wide.
Everything he’d ever hoped for his life was now ended.
He turned to Desmond.
“I will return home immediately, but you remain here with Lady Bowlin for the night,” he said. “Make sure she and the children are adequately protected and then return on the morrow. I am sure I will have need of you.”
Desmond nodded, but Thomas couldn’t even look at Maitland as he moved swiftly to his horse. He couldn’t say goodbye. Looking at her, and speaking to her, would emphasize the tremendous disappointment he felt at the moment, how the death of a man could force him into a lifetime of misery.
And a lifetime without Maitland.
Did he love the woman? He’d only known her a couple of days.
He’d known love, once, so he knew he wasn’t in love with her – yet.
But given more time with her, he was fairly certain that he could be.
He had no reason to believe that, given time, he would not love her.
From the beginning, he’d felt differently towards her than almost any woman he’d ever met other than Tacey.
But Tacey was in his past. He only wished Maitland could be in his future.
Attraction for her had turned to interest, and interest to disappointment.
What was it he’d said to her?
Must I go through the rest of my life wondering what could have been between us?
The message from the weary Wark soldier only a few minutes ago had answered that question.
Yes.