It was an English death raid on the borders this night.
With that knowledge, Patrick switched strategies. It was kill or be killed. Turning, he watched his fellow knights to make sure they weren’t in any particular danger. He easily held his own, especially astride his big war horse, who was biting and snapping and kicking. The horse injured or killed as many men as Patrick did. Off to his right, several dozen yards away, Patrick could see his father fighting off hordes of men trying to bring him down. They were swarming, really. He could also see Kieran fighting off men intending to do him harm.
Old knights who had done this too many times to count, still fighting off the Scots even in their advancing years. Patrick respected and admired them greatly, but he was also very concerned for them. His father was aging and he would hate to see the man get hurt, or worse, in what was supposed to be a simple raid.
And then, he couldn’t see his father anymore.
Panic seized him and he spurred his horse through and over men who were trying to block his way. The horse stomped and snapped, and Patrick was able to drive the horse through the roiling horde until he reached the spot he had last seen his father. He could see his father’s horse off to his left, struggling against many hands that were trying to subdue him, but William was nowhere to been seen.
More panic seized him. Patrick spurred his horse towards his father’s steed, getting close enough to the horse to remove his bridle, which gave the raiders the inability to control the animal. Patrick kicked the horse in the side, startling it, sending it bucking and kicking and running away, heading back to Questing. At least the horse would be safe that way and not fall into the hands of the raiders, but that meant William was without a mount. Patrick tried not to become hysterical as he searched the sea of fighting men for his father. Too many men, men on the ground dying, men on their feet fighting. But still, no William.
Then, he saw his father.
William was on his knees, being set upon by several men who were beating him more than they were actually trying to kill him, although one man had a short sword that he was trying to shove through William’s neck. The old knight was too seasoned and too skilled to allow that to happen. The great Wolfe of the Border managed to disarm the man with the sword and turn it against him, killing the man even as others were trying to beat him.
That was all Patrick had to see. He charged through the men attacking his father, kicking them in the head or using his sword on them as he reached down to pick his father up. William grabbed hold of Patrick but was pulled down by more men who were trying to separate the father and son.
That was when Patrick went mad.
His sword was swinging ferociously, cutting off limbs and slicing through bodies. Men began screaming, falling away from him, as he reached down a second time to pick his father up from the ground. William, weakened by his fight, grabbed hold of Patrick a second time. This time, Patrick managed to lift his father up onto his saddle, which was no easy feat considering how much William weighed. He was not a small man and the fact that Patrick was able to lift him up onto his horse was a testament to Patrick’s sheer strength. William ended up behind his son, on the back of the horse, holding on as Patrick drove his war horse through the fight and away from the battle for the most part. When they were outside of the perimeter of the burning town, Patrick pulled his frothing horse to a halt.
“Are you injured?” he asked his father, panic still in his voice. “Did they get to you?”
Behind him, William grunted. It sounded as if he was in pain. “Where is my horse?”
“Safe. He is running for home.”
“Your mother will be worried if the horse returns without me.”
“Do you want to return home as well?”
A bloodied hand suddenly appeared in Patrick’s line of sight.
“I think I’d better.”
That was all Patrick needed to hear. As the battle raged on behind them, he took his father back to Castle Questing as fast as the horse would carry them.
‡
“I am fine, love. You do not need to weep any longer.”
In the lavish bower suite of Questing, William was upon the massive bed as his wife and Jemma, as well as Katheryn and Evelyn, hovered over him. Everyone was hovering over him, fearful he was about to disappear.
The long gash in his left side had been stitched by his wife, twelve stitches in all, and his torso was bound with boiled linen to stop any leakage or bleeding. It wasn’t a deep gash but mail had been shoved into it, meaning it was a dirty gash. Jordan had spent an hour picking mail out of her husband’s side before stitching it.
Once the job was done, the delayed tears of fright and relief came. Jordan had been through this kind of thing with her husband for over thirty years and it never got any easier. In fact, every time, it grew worse.
“If it wasna for yer son, I would have lost ye.” Jordan wiped her nose with a big linen kerchief, torn between tears and anger. “Have often have I told ye that yer too old tae fight? Ye dunna need tae prove yerself any longer, English.”
William was propped up with some pillows while Penelope snuggled against his right side, sucking her thumb and half-asleep. He listened patiently to his wife’s scolding, but it was something he’d heard before, many times. He pulled the covers up around his baby girl before answering.
“And I have told you that if there is action involving Questing, then I must attend it,” he said quietly so he wouldn’t wake Penelope. “We have had this argument too many times, love. I am a knight and….”
She cut him off, waving her hands angrily. “… and fighting is yer vocation,” she finished his standard line. “I know that. I’ve heard it a thousand times and I hate it when ye say it. But the fact remains that ye’re too old tae fight any longer. The only reason ye go these days is tae satisfy yer pride. I willna stand for it any longer, do ye hear? Do ye want Penelope tae grow up without her father? Is that what ye want?”
William sighed faintly, looking down at his little girl, sleeping contentedly against him. Nay, he didn’t want her to grow up without him. But he also didn’t want to fight with his wife about it. She didn’t want him to risk himself; he was doing the only thing he’d ever known.
It was a painful dilemma for them both.
A knock on the chamber door interrupted the argument and Jordan wandered away from the bed in an attempt to calm her tears. Katheryn, feeling a good deal of pity for her mother’s side of things, pulled the panel open to see Patrick and Kieran standing there.
“Come in, Atty,” Katheryn said. “Has everyone returned?”
“Aye.”
“Where is my husband?”
“In the bailey disbanding the men.”
“Is he injured?”
“Not a scratch,” Patrick replied as his gaze drifted to their father. “How is he?”
“Papa is going to be fine, the old fool.”
Patrick entered the chamber, dirty and splattered with blood, and Kieran followed him in. Kieran looked absolutely exhausted, pale to the point of being pasty, and his wife went to him immediately, putting her arms around him in concern. Patrick could hear them speaking softly, her great worry for her husband and Kieran’s soft assurances that he was fine, but his focus was on his father.
“What is the damage?” Patrick asked William, trying to make light of the situation and the room full of worried women. “You look better than you did the last time I saw you.”
William held up a hand for his son, who took it strongly. He squeezed his boy’s hand. “I will survive, thanks to you,” he said quietly. “You returned to the battle after you brought me home. What is the situation now?”
Patrick scratched his head wearily. “Half of the village has been burned down,” he said. “I caught up with some of the Pelinom men and it seems that this was a fairly large and organized raid by Clan Nesbit. The soldiers at Pelinom were drawn out into a rather large battle which is why they sent for us. Then we were d
rawn into it as well. The best I can come up with is that it was a murder raid. The Scots never touched the wheat stores.”
William listened to the news grimly. “I would not be surprised,” he said. “They have tried that before. Pelinom sits in Nesbit territory and they want the fortress badly.”
“Have they ever made any attempts on Questing like that?”
“Never. We are too big and hold too many men for them. They’d have to rouse half of the lowlands to overtake Questing and they do not have the support.”
“But they keep trying.”
“Aye, they do.”
Patrick chewed his lip thoughtfully. “What about James?” he asked, speaking of his younger brother who was, in fact, Katheryn’s twin. “Wark Castle sits closer to the border than Questing does and Northwood sits directly upon it. Do they have the same trouble with Nesbit?”
William shook his head. “Only Pelinom because it is actually in Scotland.”
Patrick grunted. “The Scots left it alone for years, especially when Ajax de Velt was in command,” he said. “No one would dare challenge the Dark Lord. Now his descendants have the castle, men who are fine knights. They’ve managed to hold off the Scots this long.”
William leaned his head back against the wall, wearily. “Aye, they have, but it hasn’t been for a lack of trying on the part of the Scots,” he said. He fell quiet a moment, gazing up at his enormous son. “Had it not been for you tonight, I suspect I might not have made it out of there alive. I am very grateful, lad.”
Patrick looked down at his father, seeing how exhausted the man was. He’d always seen his father as strong and young and powerful, not older and more easily tired. He was coming to realize that his father was no longer that young, powerful man, but an older man who more than likely shouldn’t be fighting battles any longer. At least, not skirmishes like this. He squeezed his hand.
“Maybe you should let the younger men flight these little skirmishes, Da,” he said quietly. “You are the greatest knight who has ever lived and it would be a fine prize for some foolish Scotsman to claim your life. I would have to go on a murder rampage myself if that were to happen. So on behalf of the Scots along the border, spare them my rage and do not go out on any more of these little skirmishes. They would be grateful and so would I.”
William smiled weakly. “Your mother was just saying the same thing.”
“Aye, I was,” Jordan said, no longer able to stay out of the conversation. “Now ye’ve heard it from yer son. Ye’re too old tae be fighting other men’s wars like that. Ye’ve earned the right not tae fight every little battle that pops up.”
Patrick eyed his father. “I must agree with what she says,” he said. “Save yourself for the big things. Let others fight the smaller battles.”
William sighed heavily as he turned his head, looking away. “I have never been very good at avoiding battles,” he muttered. Then, he caught sight of Kieran over near the door where Jemma had pushed him down into a chair. “But Kieran… he has not been well lately. The physic says it is his heart. I worry for him.”
Both Patrick and Jordan turned to look at Kieran in a chair as his wife wiped at his brow. The big man looked ready to collapse. Patrick’s gaze lingered on the man for a moment before returning his focus to his father.
“He will never let you go to battle without him,” he said quietly. “If only to spare Uncle Kieran’s life, mayhap you should reconsider going to battle every time there is a little skirmish.”
It was a reasonable way of putting it, as if being thoughtful of Kieran’s health as an excuse to stay out of battle was easier to swallow. Still, William was reluctant.
“Mayhap,” he said softly.
Patrick wouldn’t let it go so easily for he was genuinely concerned. “Please, Da.”
William sighed heavily, unhappy that he was now getting pressure from his son. “I said I will think on it and I shall,” he said. “For now, please know I am very grateful for what you did, Patrick.”
Patrick nodded, his gaze lingering on his father a moment. “There was nothing else I could do,” he said. “When I saw that you were off your horse, there was only one thing on my mind – to find you. I am glad I was in time.”
“So am I.”
A brief pause followed. “Da,” Patrick said slowly. “What I said earlier… about the fact it was a mistake to seek your counsel today. I did not mean it. You are the wisest man I know and I shall always require your counsel. I am sorry for my harsh words.”
William looked at his son and thoughts of the day began running through his head; in particular, thoughts of Lady Brighton. William and Jordan had been speculating all day about Lady Brighton’s relationship to Patrick and what the man could possibly feel for her. It seemed to William that now was the time to ask about it. They could speculate all they wanted but nothing would solve their dilemma more than seeking the truth from Patrick himself. Perhaps it was time for a bit of honesty, on all sides.
“There is no need to apologize,” William said. “I suppose if my father was meddling in my affairs, I would be angry, too. But I would like to ask you a question.”
“Anything.”
“What does this woman mean to you?”
Patrick faltered; both William and Jordan could see it. He seemed to grow nervous very quickly and averted his gaze.
“I told you,” he said. “I swore to protect her. I do not give my oath lightly.”
“Is that all?”
“Aye.”
“Ye dunna feel something for the lass, Atty?” Jordan pressed when her husband wouldn’t. “Are ye… fond of her?”
Patrick refused to look at either parent. “I have only known her for a couple of days,” he pointed out. “How could I be fond of her in so short a time?”
Jordan put a hand on his arms. “Stranger things have happened,” she said softly. “Sometimes there is no timeframe for feeling something for someone. It happens when it happens. She is a lovely lass and I like her.”
Patrick sighed heavily, looking vastly uncomfortable when he was trying hard not to. “I have only known her a short time,” he said again. “But… well, if you must know, I feel a strong sense of protection for her. She is as vulnerable as a babe outside of the walls of Coldingham. She knows nothing of the outside world. Aye, I feel very protective over her for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she has a legacy that could very well destroy her.”
“Being the bastard of Magnus?”
“Aye.”
“Magnus?” Jordan repeated, confused. “Who is Magnus?”
William shook his head at his wife. “I will tell you later,” he told her. Then, he returned his focus to Patrick. “Patrick, be honest with me, please. Do you feel something for this girl? Because I cannot understand why you would feel so strong a sense of protection over her if you do not.”
Patrick thought back over the course of the past two days, the contact he had with Brighton, the conversations, the laughter. The kiss. Did he feel something for her? He did. He forced himself to admit it now that he’d been asked. But there was vast confusion beyond that. Confusion and embarrassment.
“I… I am not sure,” he finally muttered. “All I know is that I feel very protective over her.”
That wasn’t much of an answer. They’d heard those things before. Jordan lowered her head, trying to look her embarrassed son in the eye. “Protective like a sister?” she asked.
Patrick didn’t respond for a moment. He didn’t move, then, slowly, he shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “Not like a sister.”
He didn’t say any more than that and both William and Jordan could see how torn he was. There was confusion there. Their great son, a man who was born and bred to fight, was feeling something human towards another person. A lady. He was feeling something and he either couldn’t admit it or had no idea what to say.
William remembered those days of his youth, when he was in love with a certain young Scotswoman,
so it was easy to relate to Patrick in that sense. He felt pity for him. He still didn’t want a match between his great son and a former postulate, a bastard daughter of a Norse king. But if Patrick felt something for the woman… well, William could understand that. It had happened to him once, too.
“Patrick,” he said quietly. “You asked me to send a missive to the prioress at Coldingham to see if the woman knew anything about Lady Brighton’s heritage, as did Lady Brighton. If you still want me to do that, I would be willing.”
Patrick’s head snapped up, his eyes fixed on his father. “Would you, Da?” he said, relief and gratitude in his tone. “That would be greatly appreciated. It was a request that the lady made to me, for her own clarification about her parentage, and I am grateful to you for your effort.”
William could see the gratitude in his son’s expression and that alone told him that Patrick was feeling more for the lady than he would admit. “And when she learns of it, what then?” he asked. “What will you do with her?”
Patrick was back to feeling confused. “I do not know,” he said truthfully. “But she cannot return to Coldingham in any case. I told her that we could mayhap find her a position in a great house as a lady’s companion or a nurse to children. There are useful things she could do.”
“What about marriage?” Jordan said as her husband cringed. “Ye could marry her and take her tae London with ye. If ye’re so concerned with protecting her, then why not marry the lass?”
Patrick turned a little pale; both parents could see it. But he came back strong. “I cannot,” he said flatly. “The position with Henry will take all of my time. It would be unfair to her to marry her and take her to London where she would spend most of her time alone.”
“But not all of her time,” Jordan said softly. “She would be with ye and ye would see her when ye werena with the king.”
Patrick was shaking his head. “It is impossible.”
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 16
