The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He had been the lucky one.

  Wealth, admiration, and distinction would be his. His mind and ego had blown up around what was to come. But now… now, Patrick felt as if he was at the precipice of something that might keep him rooted to the north. He couldn’t simply dump the woman on his father and then run for London. Nay, that would be cowardly of him. But he didn’t want to remain in the north and defend the prize he’d taken from the reivers, either, as if it were his responsibility to do so. In truth, now it was.

  God’s Bones, why had he agreed?

  Damn that old woman!

  Using the old, muddy cloak worn by the nun, Patrick wrapped the small form up tightly in it and carried her over to the nearest knight. Sir Hector de Norville was directing some of the men-at-arms as they rifled through the bodies, turning to see Patrick approach. Tall, muscular, and sinewy, Hector was a congenial and intelligent man, married to Patrick’s younger sister, Evelyn. He pointed to the bundle in Patrick’s arms.

  “What have you found?” he asked. “Were there valuables with this group?”

  Patrick shook his head. “Nay,” he said. Then, he nodded his head in a motion that suggested Hector follow him. Hector did and, a few feet away from the men-at-arms, Patrick came to a halt and faced Hector. “These men raided Coldingham Priory and came away with two women from what I’ve been able to deduce,” he said quietly. “There is a young woman, who seems uninjured, and then this old nun, who was mortally wounded in the fighting. The nun needs to be taken to the nearest church so they can dispose of the corpse.”

  Hector pulled back the muddy cloak to see the old woman’s dirty, white face. He covered it back up. “God’s Bones,” he hissed. “A dead nun is never a good thing. The English around here will frown greatly upon her death, Atty.”

  Atty was what the knights called Patrick, who had been a quiet child with a speech impediment. Unable to say his own name, it had come out as “Atty”, which was now a term of endearment among the family. Patrick no longer had the speech impediment. The little boy who’d had it had grown into a mountain of a man, but the nickname had never gone away. Now, it was part of him. Hearing that affectionate name come from Hector along with the very same thoughts he’d had about the dead nun and the displeased English somehow hammered home the seriousness of the situation, in more ways than one. With a heavy sigh, he nodded.

  “I know,” he said. “Where is the nearest church?”

  Hector cocked his head thoughtfully. “St. Cuthbert in Berwick is the nearest one I can think of.”

  “Then have one of the men take the body there. Tell them… tell them we simply found her dead along the road. Tell them no more than that. If we do, we may have more trouble than we can handle.”

  Hector understood. “I will do it myself.”

  Patrick nodded. “Good,” he said. “I cannot tell you the rest of what the old nun told me, not here, but I will when we return to Berwick. An interesting tale to say the least.”

  Hector cocked an eyebrow, interested, but said nothing. That time would come. Obediently, he took the dead woman from Patrick’s arms and headed off in the direction of his steed.

  Patrick watched the man walk away, trying to push aside what the old nun had told him, but he couldn’t quite manage it. His thoughts turned towards Lady Brighton. Bridey, the nun had called her. Perhaps Lady Brighton could shed some light on the situation, but not here. Not now. They had to clear out and return to the safety of Berwick Castle before they found themselves set upon by more Swintons or any of the other clans in the area. The southern part of the Scots border was full of men eager to slit an English throat. Even though Patrick was half-Scots through his mother’s side of the family, he was all English in training and mentality, and he had no desire to engage in any more battle this night.

  “Patrick!”

  The shout came from off to his left, over where several English were piling together the Scots dead. He could see one of his knights heading in his direction and, even though the night didn’t illuminate the man’s features, he knew who it was simply by the shape and size of him.

  Sir Alec Hage, the eldest of the Hage brothers under his command, was broad-shouldered but he was also quite tall, which made him a rather intimidating character. With his father’s dark blonde hair and his mother’s amber-colored eyes, he possessed none of the Hage characteristic cool and all of his mother’s fire. He, too, was half-Scots through his mother, who happened to be a cousin of Patrick’s mother.

  In fact, Patrick was related to all of the Hage and de Norville knights because their mothers were all cousins. Alec also happened to be married to Patrick’s younger sister, Katheryn. It made for a rather big family and there was little delineation between cousins and brothers. As far as Patrick was concerned, they were all his brothers.

  “Swinton bastards,” Alec said as he drew near. “Every one of them.”

  Patrick nodded. “I know,” he said. “Who told you?”

  Alec pointed off to the group of dead. “They did before I slit their throats,” he said. “Did you know they raided Coldingham Priory?”

  “I did.”

  “They would not tell me why.”

  Patrick waved him off. “I think I know,” he said. “Pile the dead and return to Berwick. Once we arrive, gather the knights. I have a need to speak with them.”

  Alec couldn’t help but sense something serious behind that request. “What is it?”

  Patrick shook his head, his expression guarded as he glanced around at the dead and wounded. “Not now,” he said, slapping Alec on the arm. “Return to Berwick in a hurry. Do as I ask.”

  Alec didn’t question him again. There was something mysterious afoot but he didn’t press; he knew that he would be told soon enough. Therefore, he went about his duties as Patrick continued on to the spot where he left the abducted postulate. He could see the young woman in the darkness, sitting on the cold ground. The more his gaze lingered on her, the more he thought about what the old nun had said.

  A Northman princess….

  He could still hardly believe it even as he looked at her. Was this woman truly the daughter of Magnus, King of the Northmen? Being this far north in England and situated along the coast, he’d dealt with a few threats from Northmen, but very few. They mostly traveled far to the north, along the coast of Scotland and into the outlying islands. A few of those islands were still ruled by Northern kings and they battled the Scots for control constantly. Nay, there wasn’t much of a threat at Berwick. Their threat came from the Scots. But having a king’s daughter in their midst might change their luck.

  “D-did you find Sister Acha?” the young woman asked anxiously when he drew within earshot.

  Her question jolted him from his ominous thoughts. “I found her,” he said. “She was mortally wounded and has since passed on. One of my men is taking her to St. Cuthbert in Berwick so they can attend to her.”

  He probably should have couched the news more tactfully because the woman’s face screwed up in grief as she struggled to bite off her tears. “S-sweet Jesus,” she breathed, crossing herself reverently. “I-I had hoped not to hear that news. I had prayed so dearly for her safety. S-so… dearly….”

  Patrick realized he should have been kinder in telling her that the woman who had raised her since birth was dead. “I am sorry,” he said, feeling a stab of remorse. “But I have ensured that she will be tended to. And I promised her that I would look after you and I intend to do just that. We must return to my home.”

  The young woman wiped her face furiously, wiping at the tears from her eyes and the mucus from her nose. “W-why can I not return to Coldingham?” she asked. “That is my home.”

  Patrick reached down and grasped an arm, pulling the woman to her feet. “No longer.”

  She looked at him with great concern. “W-why not? Why can I not return?”

  He began to walk her in the direction of his charger, pulling her with him although she wasn’t moving very well.
She seemed to be resisting. “Because it would be foolish to take you back there,” he said. “The Scots found you there once. They will find you again. We are, therefore, going to Berwick Castle.”

  That seemed to cause the woman to dig her heels in even more. “B-but I do not wish to go there,” she insisted. “P-please, Sir Knight… I simply want to return to Coldingham.”

  Patrick paused, turning to the woman in the darkness. It seemed to be growing colder, he thought, for their breaths were hanging heavy in the air. More than that, the mood was cold between them as well. She was no longer grateful he had saved her from the Scots, now wanting to go back where she came from. He wondered if she would be foolish enough to fight him on it.

  “Lady, I will not return you to Coldingham, so you will kindly stop asking,” he said flatly. “I promised your nurse that I would ensure your safety and that means you will not return to the priory.”

  She was puzzled. “B-but I do not understand why… why would the Scots return for me? Why do they want me?”

  She was asking the question as if she truly had no idea of what was really happening. Patrick was coming to think that the young woman didn’t realize she had been the target of the raid. Based on what Alec had told him, that the Clan Swinton men had admitted to raiding Coldingham, and also based on what the dying nun had told him about the lady’s identity, he was more convinced than ever that the old woman hadn’t been lying to him. There were strange forces at work here, all of them directed to this rather confused young woman, and he was fairly certain this wasn’t the place to tell her. He needed to get her to safety and then he would seek his father’s advice on what to do with her. It was truly the best solution he could come up with at the moment.

  “You must trust me, my lady,” he said, his voice quiet. “I cannot return you to Coldingham and arguing with me will not make it so. Know your place, be obedient, and do as I say for now. To go against my wishes would not be in your best interest.”

  There was a threat in that statement and, fortunately, the young woman seemed to understand that. She simply lowered her head and shut her mouth, wiping at her eyes now and again and he knew she was still weeping for her nurse, for the situation in general. Truth be told, he didn’t blame her. The entire circumstance had been somewhat shocking for them all.

  With an enormous hand on her arm, Patrick pulled her over towards his war horse, an animal amongst many war horses that the knights were now mounting. The contingent of knights escorted their commander and the lady hostage back to Berwick Castle, for on this night, the battle was over for the moment as the reivers were quelled and their prize wrested from them.

  But as Patrick headed back towards Berwick with the lady seated behind him on his horse, he was seriously coming to wonder about the events of this night and how they might affect his plans for the future.

  He was about to find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Berwick Castle

  Berwick Castle was a bastion that had changed hands many times over the years. Originally built by the Scots at an important location over the River Tweed, it was a very strategic location that had originally been a timber outpost. The English managed to capture it several years ago and turned it into a stone fortress with a massive set of walls that surrounded it, the city, and even went all the way down to the river.

  After the recapture from the Scots those years ago, the fortress was immediately turned over to the House of de Wolfe to manage. Patrick had been a boy when the rebuilding of Berwick had started. His father, along with his close ally, the Earl of Teviot, both had armies stationed there to ensure the Scots wouldn’t try to reclaim it and, for twenty years, no one had really tried. There had been a few threats, but nothing the English couldn’t repel.

  And the building continued. The stone walls had gone up, as had a massive keep, a hall, towers, kitchens, stables, and even a chapel. To reinforce the city, walls had been built around the village of Berwick using the citizens as labor. Now, the city walls and a very proud castle kept the populace of Berwick safe from harm. Ever since Patrick had taken command of the castle four years earlier, the Scots had been unwilling to test The Wolfe’s brightest and best son. No one wanted to tangle with the Nighthawk and that was the way Patrick liked it.

  Riding in from the north, Patrick and his men had passed through one of the several fortified gates into the city. Lit up with torches and staffed with heavily armed de Wolfe men, this gate was the one that faced north, towards the borders, so the dozens of men that staffed it waved Patrick through. His party then continued on down the road that paralleled Berwick Castle somewhat until they came to the entry gate of the castle, known as the Douglas Tower, which led to a wooden bridge that spanned a fairly deep gully with a stream carving through the bottom of it. They called it “the chasm”. That bridge dumped into the main gatehouse of Berwick, an enormous structure known as the donjon.

  The castle was lit up with torches against the dark night as men patrolled the grounds with both dogs and weapons at their side. Berwick was so large that, at any given time, there were more than a thousand men stationed there and the command structure was strictly regimented. Even the lowliest soldier had assignments and duties, as Patrick ran the castle in a stringent military fashion. This close to the Scots border, there could be nothing less than strict discipline on the part of the English.

  This was the last line of defense between England and the threat from the north.

  It was into the bailey of this massive structure that Patrick took the postulate from Coldingham. The men that had ridden in with them knew their duties so Patrick didn’t bother to say anything to them as he dismounted his steed and pulled the woman off behind him. The keep was directly in front of them, the largest structure in the entire fortress.

  Four stories in height, the uniquely-shaped keep soared over the countryside, a beacon that could be seen for miles. Forming an odd “U” shape, it had many chambers in it as well as storage vaults on the lower floor. As Patrick approached, he could see two small figures standing in the doorway. He knew the shapes were his sisters, Katheryn and Evelyn, before he ever saw their faces. They were the chatelaines of his keep, married to his knights as they were, and they were very astute. They would know when their husbands and brother would be returning. As soon as his boot hit the bottom step of the flight that led up to the second floor entry, the women came down to greet him.

  “Well?” Katheryn said. “Was anyone hurt? Where is my husband?”

  Patrick glanced up at the woman who looked a good deal like his mother; lovely, with honey-colored hair and big green eyes. “No one was hurt,” he said. “Your husband is back with the men, somewhere. He will be here shortly.”

  While Katheryn was satisfied, Evelyn still had questions. “Where is Hector?” she asked, but she was mostly focused on the lady in her brother’s grip. Interest in her husband’s location faded for the moment as she inspected the disheveled woman. “Atty, who is this?”

  Patrick stopped to look at the source of his sister’s interest and when he did, he was in for a surprise. He’d not seen the lady in the light. When his gaze fell on her, he felt a bolt of shock run through him – illuminated in the torches was a woman of unearthly beauty. She had brown hair, but it wasn’t just any shade of brown; he could see highlights of red and gold reflected in the torchlight. Her face was sweetly oval, as he’d noticed in the darkness, and she had the biggest eyes he’d ever seen in a shade of blue that was reflecting pale in the weak light. Her nose was pert, her skin like cream, and her rosy lips shaped like Cupid’s bow.

  He’d never seen anything like her in his entire life.

  “This… this is Lady Brighton de Favereux,” he told his sisters, sounding like an idiot because he was so caught off guard by the woman’s beauty. “We saved her from a raiding party.”

  “Is she a prisoner?”

  “Nay. But….”

  Before he could continue his sentence, his sisters rushed forwar
d and pushed him out of the way, taking hold of the disheveled, frightened lady. Patrick found himself overwhelmed by small women, trying to keep hold of the postulate but being summarily removed.

  “My goodness,” Katheryn said with concern as she put her arm around Brighton’s shoulders. “What a harrowing experience, my lady. But you are safe now. Come with us and we shall tend to you.”

  Another thing about Katheryn that reminded Patrick of their mother was the fact that she could be rather pushy. “Not now, Kate,” he said sternly. “I have many questions for the lady. I must ask now while the situation is fresh in her mind.”

  Both Katheryn and Evelyn scowled at him. “Look at her,” Katheryn said, sounding like she was scolding him. “Are you so cruel that you cannot see how exhausted and terrified she is? She needs food and a bath. We shall tend to her and when she is fed and rested, then you may question her. Are you truly so heartless, Patrick, that you would think of your own demands over her comfort?”

  He frowned. “This has nothing to do with being heartless,” he said. “I have many pressing questions for the lady and….”

  “They can wait,” Katheryn said firmly, pulling Brighton up the stairs with the help of her sister. They were boxed in around her, preventing Patrick from retaking her. It was a rather smart tactical move against him. “Let us feed the woman and make her comfortable. Then you can go on with your tasteless military interrogation.”

  Patrick knew he was licked. He shook his head in frustration, watching his sisters escort Brighton up the stairs and into the keep, being most attentive and kind to her. It would be futile to argue with them, he knew, stubborn women that they were. As he stood there with his hands on his hips, greatly annoyed, he felt someone come up beside him.