But Nat wasn’t the only one who was angry. Their posse had stopped at Kyloe Castle to collect Blayth’s youngest brother, Thomas, and his oldest son, Artus. Thomas de Wolfe was the Earl of Northumbria, a title he had inherited through marriage, and he had a very large army. Artus was his adopted son, a former orphan, who had been trained as any noble son would have been. At twenty years of age, he was already a formidable knight and Thomas could not have been prouder of the young man had he been of his own blood.
The last addition to what they had deemed the Hunting Party had been the brother of the bride herself. Ronan de Wolfe was Blayth’s eldest son and the fact that his sister had been shamed had the young knight’s blood boiling even more than Nat’s blood was. Nat was only an uncle, a brother of Isabella’s mother, but Ronan was her brother. He was the angriest of all because he actually knew the groom, Steffan de Featherstone, who had been a friend. Or, at least, he thought he was a friend. It was through Ronan that Steffan had been considered a marital prospect for Isabella.
Now, Ronan was feeling like a fool.
He, more than any of them, had a score to settle.
Upon leaving Kyloe, the group of de Wolfe and Hage knights continued south to Newcastle upon Tyne. They knew that was where the groom was going because when he’d fled, he had left behind a terrified squire who had told Blayth everything because he feared for his life at the hands of too many vicious de Wolfe men. The squire had spilled his master’s plans quite easily, so the pursuing knights knew where they were going.
They were going to find that bastard if it was the last thing they did.
It was late spring, and along with late spring came the storms that would turn the land into flowers in the summertime. But those same storms also turned the roads into soup and the collective party of heavily armed knights were covered in mud from their travels. The nine of them made a formidable sight as they stopped at Alnwick Castle on their way south to sup and pay their respects to Lord de Vesci. When Lord de Vesci heard the tale of a jilted de Wolfe bride, he offered them four of his most seasoned knights. Thomas, who knew de Vesci as a friend, readily accepted.
The de Wolfe Hunting Party grew.
Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to have so many men, but it was prudent because Steffan de Featherstone was a seasoned knight in his own right. He served the Lords of de Royans at Netherghyll Castle and everyone knew their knights were the best. Therefore, being prepared was only wise because they were certain de Featherstone was going to put up a fight. He had fled for a reason and, for his sake, they could only hope it wasn’t another lover.
As the group entered the outskirts of Newcastle on an evening with another storm on the horizon, they slowed their pace as they filtered into the village that was beginning to shut down for the night. The heady smells of the cooking fires was heavy on the air as the group plodded down one of the main avenues leading towards the center of the village, and they could hear people inside their homes, sitting down to an evening meal with the soft hum of conversation.
It all seemed rather quiet and calm, but it was the calm before the storm. As the small avenue widened and they ended up on a main street that was lined with residences as well as businesses, they were specifically looking for a tavern called The Black Bull. That was where de Featherstone’s squire told them that they would possibly find their target.
Unfortunately, the squire wasn’t entirely certain, and all of the threatening posturing by the irate father of the bride meant to scare him couldn’t force him to change his story, so it was assumed that the squire was only guessing where they could find de Featherstone.
“He owns a big, white warhorse with brown spots on the rump,” Ronan said, his blue eyes scanning the surrounding area as night fell. “We should check the liveries around here. Mayhap we can find his horse.”
Tor turned to the four de Vesci knights, who had heard young Ronan. With a low whistle between his teeth and a gesture advising they do exactly what Ronan had suggested, the de Vesci knights split off and began heading in different directions, looking for the local liveries.
“I’ve been to Newcastle a couple times, but Uncle Tommy should know it better than I do,” Tor said, turning to Thomas de Wolfe, riding next to his son. “You are the one with lands closer to Newcastle than any of us. Do you know where we can find The Black Bull tavern?”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “It is here, in the village center,” he said. “I was last here about three years ago, so it has not changed so much that I do not recognize the place. As I recall, it was over near one of the town’s wells.”
The sun was almost down and the torches lit by the town’s watch weren’t giving off a tremendous amount of light, so the group moved forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the establishments that were still open. There was a small tavern to their left that seemed to be serving only food, and food that people were even taking home, because they had one entire side of the tavern open as they dished out food into empty pots for a few pence.
“What about sending word to the castle?” Nat Hage asked. “It’s a royal garrison with hundreds of men. We could flush de Featherstone out quickly with enough help.”
“Nay, lad,” Thomas said. “The garrison at Newcastle is meant to defend the city, not roust it to find an errant groom. However, I will send Jeremy and Nathaniel to the castle to let the garrison commander know why we are here. I do not want word to reach them that a gang of de Wolfe knights are terrorizing the town. It would be the polite thing to tell him first.”
“Before we terrorize the town,” Tor muttered. “Informing them will not stop us.”
“Exactly.”
As they grinned at each other, Jeremy and Nathaniel took exception to being sent away from the Hunting Party.
“Why us?” Jeremy said. Usually, he was a very obedient young man, but he also had battle fever. He wanted to beat up Steffan de Featherstone as much as the next man. “Why not send one of the de Vesci knights?
Thomas turned to look at him. A seasoned knight as well as a powerful earl, he was still big and muscular and imposing. Imposing enough to scare his nephews into submission.
“Because I asked you,” he said pointedly. “Disobey me and I will have to tell your father. I do not think he would like it.”
Scott was Thomas’ eldest brother, and the two of them were close, so they knew that the threat was not an idle one. Jeremy refrained from frowning, but Nathaniel wasn’t so adept at hiding his displeasure. He started to say something, but Jeremy slapped him on the back of the head.
“Come on,” he said. “The sooner we inform the garrison, the sooner we can return.”
As they thundered off, leaving their youngest brother with the group, who was most triumphant that he hadn’t been asked to go to Newcastle, Thomas and Tor pushed forward in the search for The Black Bull.
“I am surprised that you do not know Steffan de Featherstone, Tor,” Thomas said. He addressed him by his nickname, as did the rest of the family, because there were two Thomas de Wolfes, both named for the same man. “I seem to recall that they have a rather large property near Carlisle.”
Tor nodded. “It is south of Brampton,” he said. “And Brampton is south of my fortress. My lands butt up against Viscount Brampton’s properties and I have met Gilbert de Featherstone twice at Brampton’s fortress, but I am not particularly familiar with him or his son. Uncle Blayth said that Steffan serves at Netherghyll Castle. If he’s part of the de Royans war machine, then he must be skilled, indeed.”
Thomas looked at him. Enormously tall and muscular Tor, whose hair was now a pale red in color because it had started turning gray at an early age. He kept it neatly cut and combed back and he was, by all reasonable opinion, a very handsome man of some means.
His father, Scott, worried about him perhaps more than his other children because Tor seemed to have shut himself off from anything to do with female companionship when it came to finding a wife. They all knew why and, surprisingly, it w
asn’t because of the beloved wife he lost almost seventeen years ago.
It was because of a pair of vipers he kept close to him.
Tor was the only one who didn’t see it.
Truth be told, Thomas worried about him, too.
“How are things at Blackpool Castle these days?” he asked casually. “Is everything peaceful?”
Tor nodded, though his gaze was searching for something that looked like a tavern. “Peaceful enough,” he said. “Nothing unusual or harried, at least over the past couple of years. When Papa assumed Blackpool, it was because the former lord had been killed in a Scots raid.”
“I remember.”
Tor shrugged. “I must be greater than I thought because in the eight years I’ve been in command, I have seen an astonishing amount of peace. Not completely, but more than I should have. The Scots must be afraid of me.”
He was jesting, mostly. Blackpool Castle had seen few battles over the years, but the ones it had seen had been nasty. Thomas knew this because once, he’d sent half his army over to fend off a rabid Scots attack. That particular area was full of Scots as well as de Wolfes, so there was always some conflict going on and it had earned the moniker of WolfeStrike in the short time it had been in the family’s possession.
It was where the enemy met the hardest strike of all.
“Or it could be that The Lair is north of you and so is Monteviot Castle, Troy’s holding,” Thomas said. “It could be that those two are holding back the Scots so they do not break through to you.”
Tor grinned. “Do not be fooled,” he said. “I am the last line of defense between the Scots and all of northwest England. If they break the lines at The Lair and Monteviot, I can and will hold them. I’ve done it before. But it has been… costly.”
Thomas knew that, better than most. He’d lost his share of men to combat on the Scottish Marches over the years.
“Holding the Marches is always costly,” he said. “When I was in command of Wark Castle, we lost more than our share of good men. Speaking of men, do your wife’s sisters still live with you? Or have you been fortunate enough to find husbands for them yet?”
Tor shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Neither one has any real desire to leave and the few times I have brought in decent men for them to meet have not gone particularly well.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Barbara is very particular,” he said. “She has never shown any huge interest in being married, so not any man will do. And Lenore shows even less interest. They are still young, however. They are in no rush to marry.”
Thomas grunted. “They are in their mid-twenties, Tor,” he said. “Already, they are spinsters. You are not doing them any favors by not forcing them to marry.”
Tor cast him a long glance. “Like Uncle Blayth forced Isabella to marry and we are now chasing down her groom?” Before Thomas could answer, Tor suddenly gestured ahead of them. “Look – The Black Bull.”
Distracted from the two leeches who had sunk their teeth into Tor and refused to let go, Thomas could see the two-storied establishment on ahead. Immediately, he went into battle mode.
“We must stash the horses,” he said.
Quickly, he pulled his mount to a halt and slid off. To their right was a closed merchant stall and it had a hitching post in front of it, and they tethered the horses.
Then, they spread out.
The night was dark and the watch torches weren’t giving out much light as they approached The Black Bull, brightly lit from within. They could hear the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.
Tor looked at the men around and behind him. Thomas was leading the way, an enormous warrior who was in his prime. He was followed by his son, Artus, well-armed and strong, whereas Nat and Alec Hage were moving faster than anyone else, ready to charge into the tavern. Ronan was sticking close to his uncles while the youngest warrior of the group, Alexander, stayed right by Tor’s side. Tor glanced down at his youngest half-brother.
“You let me and your uncles do the initial fighting,” he said. “Your job will be to watch our backs and make sure no one else jumps into the fray. Can you do that?”
Alexander nodded, but it was clear that he was just a little nervous. At seventeen years, he was still a squire, though his training had been very good. He knew how to handle himself in a fight.
Still…
“Wait,” Thomas said, abruptly coming to a halt. He turned around, seeking out Alexander. “Alex, come here.”
Alexander broke away from Tor and went to his Uncle Thomas. “Aye?”
“Do you know what Steffan de Featherstone looks like?”
Alexander nodded. “Aye.”
Thomas pulled the young man’s cloak up over his head, partially covering his face. “Go inside,” he said. “It is crowded, so you can blend in with the patrons. I want you to see if Steffan is actually inside. Come back out to report to us.”
Alexander didn’t hesitate. He may have been nervous, but he knew how to follow an order. With his cloak mostly over his face at that point, he pushed into the packed tavern as the de Wolfe and Hage knights fell back into the shadows of the street to wait.
Alexander was out in less than a minute.
Concerned, Thomas pulled him into an alley next to the tavern as the others came out of their hiding spots to join them.
“What is wrong?” Thomas hissed. “Is he inside?”
Alexander unwrapped the cloak from his face. “Aye,” he said. “He is sitting at a table with five other heavily armed knights. De Royans men, I believe.”
Thomas sighed heavily and looked at Alec. Not only was Alec Isabella’s uncle and head of the Hage family, but he was also a good deal older than Thomas and the captain of the guard at Berwick Castle. He had an enormous amount of power at his disposal, but this news wasn’t good news.
Alec grunted unhappily.
“Damn,” he muttered. “De Royans is an ally. I do not want to engage in a battle with several de Royans knights.”
Tor spoke up. “You were prepared to engage with at least one.”
He was pointing out the obvious, which annoyed Alec. “That was before we knew he brought in reinforcements,” he said. “I will not go to battle with several allied knights.”
“They will defend de Featherstone. If you want the man, you will not have a choice.”
Alec knew that. He looked at Thomas. “Well?” he said. “This will affect you more than it will affect me if we damage our relationship with de Royans. What have you to say?”
Thomas cocked a dark eyebrow. “The de Wolfe family honor is at stake,” he said. “I value that over the relationship with de Royans. Steffan broke a vow of honor to our niece. I will not let that go unanswered.”
Alec sighed. “When you put it that way, I agree. Forgive me for valuing an alliance over our family honor.”
Thomas held up a hand. “There is no need to apologize,” he said. “You were looking at it from the correct point of view. But I am looking at it from the point of family honor.”
“He compromised Isabella,” Ronan said. “If you do not go in there, I will. He will not compromise my sister and get away with it, and the alliance with de Royans be damned.”
They all turned to him. Ronan was a quiet one and had a somewhat gentle nature, but the young man was fearless. Positively fearless. He very much had his father in him in that respect and they could all see that their decision was made.
Thomas put his hand on Ronan’s shoulder.
“Then this is not just about a broken betrothal,” he said quietly.
Ronan shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “My father wants Steffan to marry my sister or he wants his head on a platter. That is why he sent me. If he had come, he would kill Steffan. So I have come in his stead so there would be no killing. I am only here to capture Steffan and nothing more. But my father said that if Steffan does not return willingly to Castle Questing, then we are to return him to his father
and demand compensation for Steffan’s actions.”
“That is the demand?”
“That is the demand.”
Thomas resigned himself to that. “Then you will go into the tavern,” he said. “Confront Steffan and give him that choice. If he balks, or if the de Royans knights he is with make a move against you, then we will destroy them. We will be waiting at every window, every door, watching to see what occurs. Will you do this?”
Ronan nodded firmly. “Gladly.”
With that, he pushed past the group and headed for the entry door just as Jeremy and Nathaniel rejoined the group. The de Vesci knights could also be seen down the street, heading in their direction.
It was time to move.
With Ronan heading in through the front door, Thomas issued swift orders to everyone, including Alec and Nat. Alec went to the entry door while Nat ran around to the rear with Jeremy. Young Nathaniel and Alexander went to two big windows overlooking the front of the tavern while Tor and Thomas went to the front door with Alec.
The door was propped open to air out the stuffy and smelly tavern, the scent of unwashed bodies and vomit heavy in the air. Before Thomas could stop him, Tor slipped into the tavern and immediately lost himself in the crowd near the table that held several de Royans knights.
They were identifiable by their tunics. There was no mistaking six heavily armed men sitting at a table near an open window to the south side of the hearth. The window right above the table was wide open and as he took up a seat that he had stolen from a nearby table, he could see the tops of two heads just outside that window. Knowing that Nat and Jeremy had gone to the rear of the tavern, he suspected they might have stopped by that window when they caught sight the de Royans knights.
From his position in the shadows, Tor could see Ronan approach the table. As he watched, Steffan rose to his feet as Ronan stopped at the end of the table. Words were exchanged, but Tor couldn’t hear what was being said. Whatever it was, they were being quiet and civil about it. With his sister’s honor at stake, Ronan was being calm about the situation, far calmer than his uncles had been.
WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 4
