The red silk and blue damask had made it into the satchel, carefully rolled up to minimize the wrinkles. The soft lamb’s wool gown had also made it into the satchel, as had two linen shifts. There was a pair of hose and ribbons to tie them with, as well as a small bronze mirror, a hair comb, and pins for the hair. There was also a small piece of white soap that smelled of lemons. Upon closer inspection, Brighton could see yellow pieces of lemon rind in it.
In all, it was a very substantial collection and Brighton was touched by the generosity of Katheryn and Evelyn. The little servant helped her to change out of the green wool that she had worn on the journey and wash her limbs and face with the soap, before bundling her into the red silk gown. The dress was simple in construction, with long flaring sleeves and a flaring skirt, but the bodice was cinched up with a built-in corset that laced up her torso. The servant had to tie her into the thing, lacing her up so that her waist appeared very small and her full breasts fuller.
When the servant held up a small, polished bronze hand mirror for Brighton to see her reflection, she’d never been so shocked in her life. The only time she’d ever seen her reflection had been in water or another reflective service, so the first time seeing herself as a true reflection was something quite astonishing. While she gawked, the servant went on the hunt for the comb.
Brighton didn’t pay much attention to the servant as the woman combed her hair out and began to braid it; she was still fascinated by her own reflection, seeing the defined lines of her face for the first time. But she soon began to watch the servant as the woman made many small braids on the top of her head before taking the smaller braids and winding them into a bigger one. The result was a gorgeously elaborate hair style that draped over her right shoulder.
As Brighton watched her transformation, it was somewhat overwhelming for her. She never knew she could look so lovely out of the coarse woolen robes prescribed by Coldingham. She’d always been cold, irritated, with dirty feet because of the inadequate shoes. Looking at herself now, she vowed at that very moment that she would never return to such a state. She liked being warm and clean and groomed, with soft clothing so her skin wouldn’t itch.
She liked what the outside world had to offer. Perhaps she didn’t want to return to Coldingham, after all.
Ever.
At the dinner hour, Evelyn and Lady Jemma returned for her, fussing over her in the red garment and telling her how beautiful she looked. Unused to compliments, Brighton had flushed furiously, which delighted the ladies. Evelyn darted out of the room and returned bearing a garnet necklace set in silver, which she placed on Brighton’s neck because it had been the jewelry Hector had given her to match the dress that had formerly belonged to her. When Brighton took a look at herself in the mirror again, now with the lovely necklace gracing her throat, tears popped to her eyes. It was an emotional moment for the woman who had lived such a sequestered life.
Taking her tears as joyful ones, Jemma and Evelyn escorted her down a flight of spiral stairs to the level below which was where the family slept. Katheryn was there, with Lady Jordan, and a herd of small children including little Lady Penelope. Jordan and Katheryn were trying to dress the children for dinner, cleaning off little dirty faces and hands, but the children were running about like wild animals, playing and screaming.
Jemma jumped into the fray and began to swat naughty behinds, which made Evelyn leave Brighton’s side to protect her children from her frustrated aunt. But she managed to summon a servant before she went and asked the woman to take Brighton down to the hall, so Brighton went down to the great hall alone.
And that was where she was as of this moment. The servant who had escorted her down to the hall had asked her to sit at the end of one of the feasting table and Brighton had obeyed. The servant then brought her warmed wine with bits of spice floating in it, which was delicious. She picked up a piece of tart white cheese from a platter on the table, chewing it as she drank her wine and inspected the banners along the ceiling. She was just coming to the end of the cheese when a body plopped onto the bench across the table from her.
“Greetings, my lady,” Thomas de Wolfe said, his young face lighting up at the sight of her. “Are you really here all alone?”
Brighton nodded. “I-I am,” she said. Then, she looked around to see if there weren’t more de Wolfe brothers around – like Patrick – but she could only see two more young men lingering over near the hearth. “Where is the rest of your family?”
Thomas shrugged, calling a servant for wine before answering. “My father is in his solar with Atty and the others,” he said. “My sisters are upstairs, I think. Did you not see them?”
Brighton nodded. “I-I did.”
Thomas greedily snatched the goblet of wine from the servant as it came near. He slurped at it. “I have five brothers, you know, but I am the only one who is left behind at Questing. My brothers all have command of outposts along the border. Someday I’ll have command of an outpost, too.”
Brighton thought that he sounded a little bitter about being the youngest de Wolfe male without any responsibility. “I-I am sure you will,” she said. “Where are your other brothers?”
Thomas took another gulp of his wine. “Scott and Troy are my eldest brothers,” he said. “They are twins. Have you met them?”
“I-I have not.”
“Scott commands Rule Water Castle and Troy commands Kale Castle,” he said, chattering on in a cross between pride and disdain. As if he could do a better job than his silly older brothers. “They are not too far from here, at least not far enough that they cannot summon help when they need it. My brother, James, also commands a small tower called Wark Castle. It is closer to Northwood Castle but it sits right near the river where the Scots like to cross.”
Brighton was listening with some interest now. “A-am I to understand that all of your older brothers have a garrison to command?”
Thomas nodded. “All but Edward,” he said. “He serves Scott at Rule Water. Did you know that the Scots call it Wolfe’s Lair? Well, they do. All of the garrisons have names that the Scots have given them. Scott’s castle is Wolfe’s Lair, Troy’s is Wolfe’s Den, James has The Wolfe’s Eye, and Atty commands Wolfe’s Teeth. I am going to have my own outpost someday and call it Wolfe’s Ass because I shall shite upon the enemy!”
He giggled hysterically at his own joke and Brighton couldn’t help but grin at the naughty youngest brother. She was coming to see, more and more, that he was a young man who very much envied and admired his older brothers. It must have been difficult being the youngest of so many great knights. But something else he’d said caught her attention.
“A-Atty,” she repeated. “I have heard others call Patrick by that name. What does it mean?”
Thomas snorted. “When he was a child, he could not say his name so he called himself Atty,” he said, grinning. “My mother likes to tell that story. So the family calls him Atty. You can call him Atty, too.”
Brighton wouldn’t dream of doing that. Perhaps it was fine for the family, but not for a stranger. Somehow, she sensed that calling him that was something to be earned and she’d not yet done that, not in the least.
“H-he is Sir Patrick to me,” she said, watching the young man shrug and down his wine. “Have… have you lived here all of your life, then?”
Thomas nodded, smacking his lips of the sweet wine. “I was born here,” he said. “But I shall go to Northwood Castle in the autumn to train with my Uncle Paris. My father and Uncle Kieran have taught me a great deal, but Uncle Paris will teach me how to be a great knight. I will squire for him.”
He seemed quite excited. Brighton smiled. “I am happy for you.”
Thomas smiled because she was. In fact, he was gazing at her quite intently. “Why did my brother bring you here?” he asked in a complete change of subject. “I heard him say that he saved you from reivers. What happened? How did they get you?”
Brighton’s smile quickly faded. She didn’t rea
lly want to tell him the details of how she came to be in Patrick’s company. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about at all, truthfully. She averted her gaze, turning to her wine.
“It is a long tale,” she said. “Mayhap your brother will tell you. I do not remember most of what happened, in truth. Everything happened so quickly.”
Thomas didn’t let up. “But he brought you here,” he said. “Why?”
“That is not a question you should be asking.”
Both Brighton and Thomas turned to see William approaching the table. Behind him, men were filtering into the great hall, as were women and children, having descended from the upper floor. The entry to the hall, in fact, was now crowded with people drifting into the hall as servants began to emerge with plates of steaming food. But Thomas and Brighton were solely focused on William.
“Why?” Thomas wanted to know. “Is it a secret?”
William sighed faintly, looking down at his youngest, and most curious, son. The lad wanted to grow up very badly, made worse by a gaggle of big brothers who were doing the very things he wanted to do. He put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder.
“It is none of your affair,” he told his son. “You will not ask our guest such questions. It is impolite.”
Rebuked, Thomas scooted down the table and lost himself in the bread and butter that were sitting further down. William’s gaze lingered on his nosy son for a moment before turning his attention to Brighton only to see that she was gazing up at him. He smiled weakly.
“My lady,” he said. “I hope not everyone at Questing has been so rude.”
Brighton grinned. “H-he was not rude, my lord,” she assured him. “He was pleasant and curious.”
“You are kind.”
“I-I promise I would tell you if he was rude, but I swear that he was not.”
William flashed her a smile that suggested he didn’t believe her but he let it go. Then, he extended his arm towards the other end of the table, nearer to the hearth.
“Will you not come down here and sit near the fire?” he asked. “It is our pleasure to have you as our honored guest tonight.”
Brighton stood up, cup of wine in hand, and moved with the man down to the far end of the table where it was delightfully warm next to the enormous hearth, big enough for five men to stand inside of. It was the biggest hearth she had ever seen.
“T-thank you,” she said, a bit giddy to be in such an important man’s company. It made her run off at the mouth a bit. “I have never supped in such a grand place as this.”
William indicated where she should sit and she did. “I can imagine the halls of Coldingham are not quite as elaborate.”
“N-not at all, my lord.”
He moved to take a seat across the table from her. “My son says you wish to return to Coldingham,” he said. “I have instructed him to return you on the morrow. I apologize he brought you to Questing in the first place. I am sure it was a taxing journey after your harrowing experience with the Scots.”
Brighton felt as if she’d been struck. Gone were the warm feelings and awe of being in such a grand place, and shock filled her expression as she absorbed his words.
“T-take me back to…?”
William reached out to grasp a large cup of wine brought him by a hovering servant. “Patrick meant well, you must understand,” he said. “He felt he was doing what he needed to do for your safety, but he understands now that, as a ward of the church, you must be returned. I am sorry if he was not clear on that before.”
Brighton’s heart began to pound, a feeling of anxiety filling her. “B-but I do not wish to return,” she said. “I-I cannot return. It will not be safe for me to return and it will put everyone else in danger.”
William looked at her, hearing Patrick’s words as she spoke and it did not please him. Was it possible his son had persuaded her with his own thoughts, convincing her that she did not want to return?
“If you do not wish to return to Coldingham, then we can take you to Kelso or Jedburgh,” he said steadily. “You will be safe at either of them. They are big and fortified.”
He sounded as if he’d already made the decision, as if this was something not open to debate. Brighton felt sick in the pit of her stomach.
“P-please, my lord,” she said softly, urgently. “I do not wish to return to Coldingham. What Sir Patrick said was correct – the reivers came there looking for me. They asked for me and they killed the nun who had spent her life tending me. If I go back, they will only breach the abbey again and many will be in danger. Please… please do not make me go back.”
William regarded her over his wine cup. “Patrick said you had asked to return.”
She nodded her head, so hard that some of her careful hair style came loose. “A-at first, I did,” she said. “That was before I understood how dangerous it was. The truth of my lineage is now known to me and… my lord, I asked Patrick if you would send word to the prioress at Coldingham and ask her what she knew of my heritage. Sister Acha said that I was the daughter of Juliana de la Haye and Magnus, king of the Northmen. If I could beseech you for help in discovering if this is true… in asking Mother Prioress if she knows this to be true… please, my lord. I beg for your help.”
William’s face was emotionless, but inside, he was starting to slip. Being begged by a frightened woman was weakening his resolve and, as he spoke to her, he began to see what had Patrick so enamored. She was exquisitely beautiful with her big blue eyes and rich brown hair. In spite of the slight stammer in her speech, she was well-spoken. She was also quite endearing, something soft and sweet that all men wanted to protect. He was starting to wonder if he wasn’t about to fold over just as his son had, for certainly, the woman had that power about her. It was a struggle, but he summoned his strength for one last stand against her.
“You may ask her yourself when you return to Coldingham,” he said quietly. “My lady, please do not think me unkind, but your troubles are your own. I cannot involve myself, especially where the church is concerned. I would assume you are a pledge?”
Tears were filling Brighton’s eyes. “I-I am, my lord.”
“And you are intending to take the veil?”
“A-aye, my lord.”
“Then I truly have no business involving myself. You must return to Coldingham.”
Brighton didn’t argue with him, mostly because she was close to openly weeping. She dropped her head, her chin to her chest, trying desperately not to cry but not being successful at it. The tears trickled down her cheeks and she reached up, flicking them away quickly with shaking hands. William was coming to feel increasingly terrible about denying her when his wife approached the table with their young daughter and most of the grandchildren. Distracted from the weeping lady, he began lifting little bodies onto the bench beside him as Jordan lifted Penelope up to sit beside Brighton.
“I feel as if I’ve been herding ducklings for the past hour,” Jordan grumbled. “Ye get most in line and two wander away. Ye find those two and another two wander away. Keep watch of them, English, while I see tae their meal. I’ve had the cook make a fowl stew for their little bellies.”
William had Evelyn’s youngest daughter on his lap, little flame-haired Lisbet. “Go ahead,” he said. “I will try and keep them entertained.”
Jordan blew out her cheeks, indicative of her level of frustration, but as she turned from the table, she caught sight of Brighton’s lowered head and a glimmer of water on her face. She paused, putting her hand underneath Brighton’s chin and forcing the woman to look at her. Immediately, she saw the tears and her eyes widened.
“What’s this?” she demanded softly. “Why are ye weeping, lass?”
Brighton tried to swallow her tears and answer; she really did. But the moment she saw Jordan’s concerned face, everything crumpled. She burst into quiet tears and Jordan dropped onto the seat beside her, putting her arms around the woman.
“There, there, lass,” she said soothingly. “’Twill
be all right, I promise. What has ye so upset?”
Brighton struggled; she didn’t want to incriminate William but that would be difficult if she answered Jordan directly. She tried to stammer through it.
“I-I have been told that I-I will be returned to Coldingham,” she sobbed softly. “I-I do not want to go.”
Jordan hadn’t heard the discussion in the solar with her husband and Patrick. All she knew was that the lady had been abducted from Coldingham Priory by reivers and that her son had saved the woman. But she also knew that there was something more to it, something Patrick would not tell her. There had been a great mystery about it. She was therefore confused in general.
“Then ye dunna have tae go,” she assured Brighton. “We willna send ye back if ye dunna wish tae go. Will we, English?”
Across the table, William cleared his throat softly. “She must return.”
Jordan looked at her husband, frowning. “Why?”
“Because she is a ward of the church and she must be returned.”
“Why?”
He sighed with exasperation. “I will not discuss this with you,” he said. “I am sorry that she does not wish to be returned, but she must go back.”
Brighton wasn’t a manipulative person by nature but she saw a chance to, perhaps, plead her case to a higher power than William de Wolfe himself – the man’s wife.
“I-I am afraid that I will be in danger if I return, my lady,” she wept. “The reivers that abducted me had gone to Coldingham to find me. I-I am afraid that if I am returned, they will simply abduct me again. They might hurt others in the process. I am afraid to go back.”
Jordan was stricken with what she was hearing. She looked at her husband. “Do ye hear this, English?” she asked, incredulous. “The lass is a-feared tae return and ye’ll make her go? I canna believe me ears!”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 146
