The old nun gasped as if suddenly in pain. For a few long moments, she didn’t say anything and Patrick wondered if this was, indeed, her end. But she eventually took another breath, steeling herself. Her grip on Patrick’s tunic tightened.
“Thou art English,” she murmured. “It is now thy duty to protect her. The child that was given unto me was the daughter of Lady Juliana de la Haye and Magnus Haakonsson, King of the Northmen. Her real name is Kristiana Magnusdotter but she was given the name Brighton de Favereux to conceal her identity. Lady Juliana, a daughter of the House of de la Haye, was given over to the Northmen as a hostage, to cement a peace between the kings of the North and Clan Haye. Lady Juliana was meant for a Northman king but she lay with Magnus, then a prince, and beget his child. She was sent home in shame because of it. When the child was born, Lady Juliana was forced to her to bring the child to Coldingham in order to protect her. No one must know of the child’s existence for it can only bring the Northmen down upon us. If they know she is here, they will want her back. She must never go back.”
Patrick had to admit that he was quite astonished at what he was hearing. In fact, it was too incredible to believe. His brow furrowed. “Sister, I am not a fool,” he said steadily. “I do not believe in these wild tales and rumors. But the lady will be protected until she can be returned to her family. You have my promise.”
His response seemed to seize the old woman up. Her other hand came up to grip his tunic, pulling at him, as her eyes widened, her muddy face taut with panic.
“Nay!” she gasped. “Thou must not return her to her family! They wish to forget of her existence! And thou must not permit Clan Swinton to take her, for they shall only ransom her and barter her as one would cattle. Please… thou must protect her, good knight. Deliver her to Jedburgh or Kelso. The church is the only safe place for her.”
The woman was starting to make an impact on him. Her sense of urgency, of fear, was palpable and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the sense was infecting. He could feel it. He tried to shake it off.
“The church is not safe for her if the raiders could get to her,” he pointed out. “Are the Scots who abducted you part of Clan Swinton, then?”
“Aye. Somehow, they have discovered her true identity.”
“And they came to take her?”
“Aye.”
Patrick was increasingly confused about the situation. A Northern princess hiding amongst the postulates at Coldingham Priory? And a rival clan to Clan Haye coming to abduct her, to ransom her? It made absolutely no sense to him but. somehow, he believed it. As wild as the tale was, he believed it. He doubted a dying nun would lie to him but, still, it was a fantastic tale.
“Then I promise you that she will not come to harm as long as she is within my custody,” he said quietly. “She will be safe.”
“Swear it upon thy oath, sir knight.”
“I swear it.”
The old woman’s grip abruptly loosened and she sank back into the mud as if all of her strength had suddenly left her. She lay there, her eyes gazing up into the dark sky as if seeing her heavenly reward above, waiting for her. Her features, so recently tight with fear, eased tremendously.
“Then I am content,” she murmured, although he barely heard her. “God will reward thee, sir knight. Bridey is a sweet and lovely soul. Pray thee be kind to her.”
With that, she took her last breath and was gone. Patrick found himself looking down at the woman, wondering what on earth he’d gotten himself in to this night. If what the old nun said was true, the reivers this night were far more than a simple raiding party – this had been an organized band of Scots looking for a prize. That being the case, it was also fairly likely that if they knew of the girl’s identity, as the nun suggested, then he could take her to any of the priories along the border but, sooner or later, someone would try to come for her again. Clan Swinton, the old nun had said. Ancient rivals of Clan Haye. Nay, they wouldn’t give up if they wanted the girl badly enough.
So he found himself in an unwanted quandary. He didn’t want to be responsible for a prize between clans but his sense of duty, and now a promise to a dying woman, had put him in that position. This wasn’t what he needed, not now. He was due to leave Berwick soon, to go to London to assume a post as part of the king’s personal guard. It was a prestigious post and one he very much wanted, one that brought great honor to his family. It wasn’t every knight that was asked by Prince Edward to assume the post as a personal Guard of the Body to King Henry, a position coveted by many but offered to few.
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 cl
ear 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 o
ver 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.
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 3
