“It will not be too much trouble for him to do that,” he said, wondering if the quivering he felt in his chest at her touch could be heard in his voice. “In fact, I think it is a very good idea. I will suggest it to him.”
Brighton was visibly relieved. “Thank you, my lord. I am very grateful.”
He gave her a brief smile before continuing on his quest to gather their meal. As he wrapped it back up in the kerchief, he spoke.
“You do not need to continue addressing me formally,” he told her. “I do not mind for you to address me as Patrick.”
Brighton looked at him with surprise. “Patrick?”
He nodded, looking up from the bundle of food in his hand. “May I call you Brighton?”
Brighton was rather startled with the request. Pleased, but startled. “O-of course,” she said. “But no one calls me Brighton except Mother Prioress. To everyone else, I am known as Bridey.”
He grinned. “I know,” he said. “Sister Acha addressed you by that name. I had no idea who she was talking about at first. I will also call you Bridey if it does not displease you.”
“I-I would be honored, my – I mean, Patrick.”
He chuckled and reached out to take her elbow, politely escorting her out of the copse of trees and into the green field beyond.
CHAPTER SIX
That Evening
Castle Questing
Near Mindrumill, the Borders
Arriving at Castle Questing had been somewhat surreal.
Against the backdrop of a pale blue sky, the castle sat on the top of a crag, perched like a crouched lion that was waiting to pounce. Built of Torridonian sandstone, the building blocks were pale, almost a cream color that turned golden when sunrise or sunset hit it just right. Locals called it oir caisteal, or the golden castle, for just that reason. It was a magnificent and imposing sight.
Because the castle sat so high, it could literally be seen for miles. The party from Berwick had spotted it several miles out and, as they approached, the sun was setting so that as they were about a half-mile away, the sun hit the stones just right and that golden castle appeared for them all to see. For those who had been born and raised at Questing, it was a welcome sight, indeed.
As the group from Berwick drew closer, a welcome party soon emerged from Questing, moving swiftly along the road that led down the side of the crag and racing for the Berwick group at breakneck speed. Young men on powerful horses met with the incoming party and as Brighton watched with great curiosity. Patrick cuffed one of the young men on the head affectionately. Two other young men on horseback swarmed the other knights and made their way back to the wagon where the children were riding, now bundled up as the sun began to set. In the carriage, the women could hear the children screaming in delight.
“It must be Thomas and Nathaniel,” Katheryn said, sticking her head from the carriage window to see what was going on behind them. “Oh – I see Adonis, too. Wait, Adonis! Put him down! Put Christoph down, I say!”
Evelyn was trying to see as well. “He never listens,” she said unhappily. “Adonis de Norville! Do you hear us? Put Christoph down. And… nay! Do not pick up Hermes! Put him down!”
Brighton had no idea what was going on; all she knew was that the children were laughing and screaming, and their mothers weren’t happy about it. The situation must have resolved itself because Katheryn and Evelyn came back into the cab, a little ruffled but seemingly satisfied, at least for the moment.
“I am going to box his ears when we reach the castle,” Evelyn muttered. Then, she saw the look of concern on Brighton’s face and she smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry, my lady. We are speaking of young uncles who like to take the boys for a ride on their excitable horses. The last thing we need is for someone to fall off and break an arm.”
Truthfully, Brighton thought it was rather amusing the way the children were so thrilled to see their uncles. “W-whom are you speaking of?”
Katheryn answered her. “Thomas de Wolfe, who is our younger brother,” she said with disapproval in her tone. “He is to be knighted in a few years but right now, he is just a troublemaker and a rascal. There is also Nathaniel Hage, my husband’s youngest brother, and Adonis de Norville, who is Hector’s youngest brother. They all serve at Questing and they are naughty young men full of spit and vinegar. They need daily beatings!”
Brighton fought off a grin. “D-do they not get them?”
Katheryn remained stern a moment longer before bursting into soft laughter. “Not nearly enough, although I am sure my mother tries,” she said. “I am so happy you are going to meet our mother. You will like her a great deal.”
Brighton had to admit that she was rather curious to see Castle Questing and meet the occupants. Having spent her entire life sequestered at Coldingham, with a very rare trip to Eyemouth on occasion, two trips to two castles in as many days was a great anomaly for her. It was rather disorienting, but also exciting. She was, therefore, quite curious about the big castle where the mighty Wolfe of the Border lived, the great knight she’d heard Patrick speak of.
The man who would determine her destiny.
With that in mind, she felt more than a little apprehension as the group made its way through the substantial village that was gathered up around the base of the castle and began to make the trek up the hill. Looking from the window of the carriage, she had to crane her neck back to look up the side of the crag to the massive castle on top of it. She’d never seen anything so big, like an entire city unto itself. The carriage and wagons seemed to have a little trouble going up the hill because the horses were exhausted and the angle was steep, but eventually they made it to the top.
And that was when the entire world opened up.
The great gatehouse of Castle Questing was open wide as more people rode out to escort the party inside. Brighton couldn’t really see the gatehouse, just a corner of the massive thing, but she could see the entire eastern and part of the northern side of the walls, which were enormous. She counted four massive, powerfully-built towers, including part of the gatehouse, that were all constructed in the same fashion – the towers flared at the bottom to prevent men from easily mounting them. It was clear that Questing had all sorts of design details that would prevent an attacking army from gaining easy access.
But that wasn’t the structure’s only defensive feature – a great moat had been dug out upon the rise, looking more like a small lake. Additionally, the enormous walls flared out at the top, extending the battlements outward, which was another design element to prevent an attacking army from easily mounting them. One would have to be a spider to climb up the walls and then scale the underside of the battlements that jutted outward. The entire place was built to withstand a massive siege and then some, a fitting home for the great Wolfe.
It was impressive and awe-inspiring, this mighty castle at the top of the hill, and Brighton drank it all in. Soon enough, the carriage passed through the gatehouse, which was as big as a keep. They passed through two enormous gates and across a ditch dug inside the gatehouse. The ditch was spanned by an internal drawbridge. Over the ditch, she could see murder holes in the roof of the gatehouse. If some fool army was lucky enough to breach the steel gates, then they had a very large ditch and murder holes inside of the gatehouse to deal with. It was ingenious.
Once through the treacherous gatehouse, the party spilled into the vast outer bailey. Men swarmed around both the carriage and the wagon behind it. When the door opened, Evelyn was sucked out by a young man who hugged her so hard that she grunted. When he released the woman so she could catch her breath, he reached for Katheryn but she balked.
“You will not squeeze me so tightly, Thomas de Wolfe,” she scolded. “Try it and I’ll throw a fist into your throat.”
Thomas laughed. Dark-haired like his brother, Brighton could see some of the family resemblance. But in her opinion, Patrick was much more handsome. Thomas didn’t have nearly his brother’s size, either, but he was nonetheles
s a handsome male specimen. He was also quite young, perhaps no more than fourteen. He took his sister by the arm as she climbed from the carriage.
“My lady,” he said, bowing with great exaggeration. “I will treat you like the fragile princess you are. Am I holding you too tightly? Is my voice too loud? Shall it shatter your precious ears?”
Katheryn sighed heavily, eyeing her brother. “Shut your yap,” she grumbled. But she soon softened, fighting off a grin. “As much as you annoy me, it is still good to see you.”
Thomas grinned brightly. “May I hug you?”
Katheryn cocked an eyebrow. “You may, but if you crack bones, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”
Thomas laughed and took his sister in his arms, giving her a warm hug. He was about to turn away when he caught sight of Brighton, still in the cab. Curiosity – and great interest – suddenly filled his expression. He took on the appearance of a hunter, in this case, for lady flesh. All of those young man urges flowing through his veins lit a fire under him at the sight of a lovely woman.
“You have brought someone with you,” he said, swiftly moving for the cab. “I did not mean to be rude but I did not see you, my lady. Thomas de Wolfe at your service.”
He was addressing Brighton and she hesitantly moved for his outstretched hand. But the moment she moved to take it, a mountain of a man was between her and Thomas. She really didn’t even have to see the man’s face to know it was Patrick and her heart began to flutter again. It was as if her heart knew it was him without benefit of sight.
Patrick growled at his brother. “Back away, whelp,” he said. Quickly, that tone changed when he turned to Brighton and reached out to take her hand. “My lady, permit me to assist you. Welcome to Castle Questing.”
Brighton climbed out of the cab with Patrick steadying her as her feet touched the dirt of the bailey. Now, she could see the place in its entirety – Questing had both inner and outer wards, both of them surrounded by soaring walls. The shape of the castle, in general, looked something like an “H”. The gatehouse to the inner bailey was open, a much smaller structure than the main gatehouse, and through the opening she could see buildings in the inner ward. Oddly enough, she didn’t see a central keep, but many buildings all strung together, built against the inner wall. Her observations were cut short, however, when she heard Patrick address her.
“I am sure you are weary,” he said somewhat quietly, as joyful chaos went on around them with families reuniting. “I will introduce you to my father and mother and then you may rest until the evening meal.”
Brighton was a bit anxious at the thought of being left alone in a strange, new castle. “B-but where will you go?” she said. Quickly realizing that sounded as if she had personal interest in his plans and very much as if she didn’t want him to leave her, she amended her words. “T-that is to say, will you not speak with your father right away? I should like to be part of that conversation if you will permit it. It is about me, after all. I feel I should be present.”
Patrick took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. He hadn’t missed that wistful tone in her voice, the one she’d tried to quickly cover up. “You will be part of that conversation,” he assured her. “And I intend to tell my father why I have come as soon as possible. Besides… when he sees that I have brought you to Questing, a stranger, he will understand that this is not entirely a social visit.”
“Atty?” Thomas had been standing at his brother’s side nearly the entire time, realizing his brother had no intention of introducing him to the beautiful young woman. “Who is your guest? Will you not introduce us?”
Patrick turned impatiently to his young brother. “If I had any choice in the matter, I would not,” he said flatly. “But, seeing as you and the lady may run into each other during the course of her visit here, permit me to introduce you to Lady Brighton de Favereux. Lady Brighton, my brother, Thomas.”
Brighton nodded to the young man, who dramatically bowed before her. “T-Thomas and I have met,” she said. “He did, in fact, introduce himself.”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “He did?” he said, frowning at his brother in a threatening manner. “That was bold of him. And impertinent. Say the word and I shall punish him.”
Thomas grinned impishly and dashed away. “You’ll not lay a hand on me!” he declared. “Mother will have something to say about that!”
“Say about what?”
A woman’s voice with a heavy Scots accent came from behind. Patrick turned quickly to see his mother approaching with their father, but his father headed directly for the grandchildren who were starting to squeal at the sight of him. As Patrick’s father growled like a bear and scooped up wriggling, giggling grandchildren, Patrick greeted his mother with a kiss.
“You are looking well, Mother,” he said. “How have you been?”
“Well enough,” she said, her gaze finding the woman standing next to Patrick. “And I see ye’ve brought me a guest. Why did ye not send word ahead?”
Patrick turned to Brighton. “Mother, this is Lady Brighton de Favereux,” he said. “Lady Brighton, this is my mother, Lady Jordan Scott de Wolfe.”
Brighton had never really been taught how to properly greet nobility, with a curtsy and averted eyes, so she simply stood there and smiled timidly at the beautiful woman with Patrick’s pale green eyes.
Lady Jordan de Wolfe was rather petite. Her honey-blonde hair was wrapped up in a braid that was secured in a coil at the base of her skull. Though she was in her fifth decade, there were very few lines on her face. In fact, she looked quite ageless, serene and lovely, and far too small a woman to have birthed such an enormous man as Patrick. But she clearly had, for Patrick had some look of her about him, and Brighton automatically had a good feeling about the woman. There was something in the glow of Lady Jordan’s eyes that foretold of warmth and kindness.
“’T-tis an honor, my lady,” she said.
Jordan cocked her head curiously. “Do I hear Scots?”
Brighton’s smile grew, although it was modestly. “Aye, my lady,” she replied. “I have spent my life at Coldingham Priory.”
Jordan was quite interested in the beautiful young woman with the Scots accent. “Coldingham,” she repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of it. North, near Edinburgh, I believe.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“But ye dunna have much of the brogue, lass. Where were ye born?”
Patrick intervened at that moment; he had to. His mother was already leading into the very reason for his presence at Questing and he didn’t want to discuss it out here in the open.
“Later, Mother,” he said, putting himself between Brighton and his mother. “The lady is the reason why we have come. Would you be so kind as to take her inside and show her where she may rest? I must speak with Father.”
Jordan had the curse of curiosity in all things. She was obedient to her son in action but her mind was still very curious about the girl, even more curious after Patrick had said what he had. She took Brighton by the hand.
“Come along, my lady,” she said. “Come and rest after yer long journey.”
Brighton was willing to go with the gentle Lady Jordan. But the moment she took a step, she heard a loud and seemingly unhappy Scottish brogue among them.
“Alec?” a woman said. “Did ye think not tae come inside tae greet yer own mother? I had tae come out here tae find ye!”
There were so many people in the bailey greeting the incoming party that it was difficult to see where the voice was coming from. It was a loud voice, indeed. Brighton found herself being pulled away from Patrick, into the group of people, until they came upon Alec and Evelyn, who were hugging a tiny, dark-haired woman, heavy-set but still quite lovely. The little woman put her hand on Alec’s chest; in truth, she thumped him.
“Did ye not think tae send word of yer arrival?” the woman said after she pounded on his chest. “We’ve had no time tae prepare!”
Alec could s
ee his aunt, Lady Jordan, with Patrick’s captive in-hand. He pointed to Jordan and Brighton. “Atty has a bit of an issue and he needs Uncle William’s counsel,” he said. “Mother, the woman with Aunt Jordan is Lady Brighton.”
The tiny woman whirled around, amber eyes fixing on Brighton. In fact, Brighton was probably more intimidated by the little Scotswoman than she was of all of the men around her. Around the same age as Lady Jordan, she nonetheless looked younger than her years, but something in the woman’s expression bespoke of fire and grit. She was tough, this one, and nothing to be trifled with. Brighton resisted the urge to shrink away from her.
“Is that Atty’s lass, then?” the woman asked, incredulous. Then, her cheeks reddened and she began looking about. “Where is that mountain of a man? He brings a lass with him and we know nothin’ about it? Atty!”
She was yelling and Brighton was cringing. Patrick, a head taller than nearly everyone else around him, pushed through the crowd of people, lifting up one of Katheryn’s boys when the child got in his way. He held the boy as he came near the little Scotswoman.
“It is good to see you, too, Aunt Jemma,” he said dryly, although he kept a distance from her. One did not enrage Lady Jemma Hage and live to tell the tale. “Did I hear you bellow?”
Jemma put one hand on her hip while the other pointed to Brighton. “Did ye take a wife and we are only now findin’ out about it?”
Patrick looked at Brighton in shock. “Wife?” he repeated. “God, no. Who told you that?”
Before Jemma could work up a righteous outrage, another man stepped in. He had been over by Katheryn’s other two boys, admiring their ponies, but now he stood beside Jemma, a massive hand on her shoulder. Sir Kieran Hage, Alec’s father, made an appearance at just the right time. Hearing his wife’s angry voice had forced his attention away from his grandchildren for the moment.
“I do not believe Atty has taken a wife,” he said calmly, his voice soothing and deep. He looked at Patrick. “Mayhap you had better introduce the lady and explain why she is here before your aunt blows the top of her head off thinking that you have gone and married without telling anyone.”
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