But the worst reaction was yet to come. Brighton, informed that her husband was in the fight for his life, had no intention of remaining in the keep. Worse still, Katheryn and Evelyne agreed with her. The two sisters were weeping over Patrick’s situation while Brighton, a usually congenial and sweet woman, had turned into a tempest. The trouble was, no one blamed her, least of all Kieran.
“It was his choice, Bridey,” Kieran said, understanding a thing or two about agitated women because he had married one. “Those longships were, indeed, Magnus, your father, who had come to Berwick because he had received a missive from the mother prioress at Coldingham that his daughter – you – were in danger. He came here in good faith to save you, lass. What he did not expect was a happy daughter who was already married. He brought a husband he has chosen for you and, given the situation, Patrick chose to fight for you. He chose to prove to Magnus that he is the best husband for you.”
Brighton was beside herself. It was too much confusing and terrifying information, leaving her struggling to process it all. The more she built it up in her mind, the more frightened she became.
“B-but I do not understand,” she pleaded. “Mother Prioress sent a missive to my father? Why would she do such a thing?”
Kieran shook his head. “This we cannot know, lass. We have been trying to find an answer for the very same question.”
Not only was Brighton alarmed, now she was baffled. Nothing about this situation made any sense to her. “A-and now Patrick must fight to keep me? This is madness!”
“Madness or not, it is his choice.”
“B-but… fight for me? I am already his!”
Kieran sighed faintly, seeing that she didn’t fully understand the situation. “And he intends to keep it that way,” he said patiently. “You must understand something about men, Bridey. When something they love is threatened – a home, a wife, a king – they are compelled to protect it. To fight for it. This is no different from doing battle against Richard Gordon because the man wants to kill you. In this case, another man wishes to marry you. And Patrick will not permit that to happen.”
Brighton was trying to understand; she truly was. But this manner of thinking was incredibly foreign to her. All she could see was that she was already Patrick’s wife and for him to risk his life fighting off another man was lunacy.
She hated it.
“N-nay,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I cannot allow this to happen!”
She started running for the keep entry but Kieran grabbed her before she could get away. “You cannot stop it,” he insisted quietly, forcing her to stand still and listen. “It has already begun. If you go running down to the riverbank, you will distract Patrick and get him killed. Do you understand me? Seeing you or hearing your voice will distract him from defending his life in battle and that distraction will be deadly. Do you want to kill him?”
Brighton was looking at him fearfully, tears swimming in her big eyes now. “N-nay. Of course not.”
“Then do not distract him. If you want to watch what is happening, I will not stop you. But keep silent.” He paused, looking around him at the knights, the sisters, of Patrick. They were all in turmoil. “That goes for all of you. Watch if you will but if you utter a sound, you will kill him. Patrick cannot hear a sound from any of you.”
While Katheryn and Evelyn were gazing at Kieran much as Brighton was, with tears in their eyes, the knights were far more somber. They understood exactly what Kieran was saying; they understood that distraction was deadly when it came to a battle. As the seriousness of Patrick’s situation settled, Hector turned to his wife.
“You can watch from the keep if you have a notion to,” he told her quietly. “You will be able to see from the top level. But I do not want the children to watch. They are too young to understand it.”
Alec heard Hector and he, too, turned to his wife. “The boys are not to watch,” he said. “In fact, I would prefer you remain with them. I will come to you when it is over.”
Katheryn didn’t like the sound of that at all. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing openly. “Please do not let anything happen to my brother,” she whispered between her fingers. “Please, Alec.”
Alec nodded solemnly, kissing her on the head and gently shooing her back up the stairs, back up to the sleeping chambers where the children were. Evelyn followed and, together, the pair made their way up the stairs, disappearing into the upper levels.
Hector and Alec stood at the bottom of the steps, watching until the women were gone. Then, they made their way over to Kieran and Brighton.
“I am going down to the Water Tower to watch,” Hector said, his jaw ticking. “I will be fully armed. If it seems as if Patrick is in trouble, I will not hesitate to assist him, Uncle Kieran. I want to make sure we are clear on that.”
Kieran nodded. “I know,” he said. “William feels the same way. He asked me to tell the knights to arm themselves and await his command. He is not about to watch his son fight to his death, so we must be ready to help him.”
Scott and Troy were standing behind Kieran and heard his command. Truth be told, they hadn’t even formally met Brighton yet but now was not the time. There would be plenty of opportunity to get to know Patrick’s wife later, but now, they were on a mission. They immediately headed to the armory to arm themselves even more than they already were, sending word to Colm and Damien, Anson and Apollo of what was transpiring. They were assembling a force for Patrick, a needed force to step in and save the man if necessary. Brighton watched the speed with which they were moving, impressing to her just how serious the situation was and the fact that they were as concerned about it as she was.
Understanding that there were men to intervene in Patrick’s fight, Brighton was far calmer than she had been only seconds earlier. As long as men were willing to help her husband, then she was willing to believe that Patrick would make it out of this alive. But she had to go to him; she had to see what was happening. Even if she kept silent and he didn’t know she was there, perhaps he would feel her spirit around him.
Her love.
She refused to believe that God had given her a taste of such happiness only to take it away.
“W-will you take me to watch?” she asked Kieran. “I swear to you that I will be silent.”
Kieran was reluctant but, as he’d told William, he felt it was Brighton’s right to know what was happening to her husband and to witness it. This was for her, after all. He had to admit that he felt terribly sorry for her. Gently, he took her hand.
“Come along, then,” he said softly. “I will take you.”
Brighton followed Kieran out into the sunlight; a glorious day revealed behind the lifting of the fog. He took her over to the gated portal that led out to the stairs down to the jetty. The Water Tower was at the end of those stairs and the moment she began to descend, she could see the longships and a large gathering of men on the riverbank. She could also hear the distinct sounds of a fight, steel against steel and men grunting with exertion.
Patrick fighting for his life.
Halfway down the steps, the sounds of a battle were having an effect upon her. She began to tremble, her stomach in knots because she knew the sounds were of Patrick trying not to be killed. Having been raised at a priory, praying was all Brighton knew. God listened, she was certain of it, but she prayed that He would never listened more so than right now. As she reached the bottom of the steps and began to head to the edge of the Water Tower to view the spectacle below, she found herself repeating a prayer for Patrick’s protection over and over.
O My God, I adore Thee and I love Thee with all my heart. I thank Thee for having created me and for having watched over me this day. Pardon me for the evil I have done this day; and if I have done any good, deign to accept it. God, watch over my husband and deliver him from danger. May Thy grace be always with him and Your strength be within his sword. Protect him, O God, and let him live.
Amen.
<
br /> ‡
With the first blow from Elof’s sword across his wooden shield, Patrick knew he had met his match.
It wasn’t just any blow; it was as if he’d been kicked by a horse. He thought that he’d been prepared for such a blow but the truth was that no amount of preparation could have prepared him for that. Elof went on the offensive first and the blow to Patrick’s shield sent the man staggering backwards. And with that blow, the fight began in earnest.
It was evident early on that Elof had a tremendous amount of strength and Patrick was starting to hope that what his father said might actually be true; let the man tire himself. Considering the ferocity of Elof’s attack, Patrick could see that the man was going full-force in the first few moments of the battle. Surely he couldn’t keep it up forever. Perhaps Elof would, indeed, tire himself out, after all.
It was a hope Patrick clung to.
The first round was vicious because Patrick, unable to simply stand back and let a man beat on him, came back with equal force and hammered Elof so steadily that not only did his shield break, but Elof fell back into the crowd of Northman watching the fight. Victorious in the first bout, Patrick tried not to become arrogant about it. He made his way back to his corner of the battle area and stood there, shield and sword in hand, as Elof righted himself, tossed aside the broken shield, and picked up a second shield. When Elof was fully armed, he and Patrick charged at each other again.
The second clash of titans wasn’t a simple thing. Elof pounded on Patrick’s shield and then Patrick would return the favor. Patrick was coming to see that Elof really didn’t have any tactics in a fight; he simply rushed him and tried to beat his brains out by smashing Patrick’s shield repeatedly with his sword. For Patrick, that meant Elof wasn’t thinking beyond the initial battle. So at that point, Patrick began to throw in some tactics of his own.
As William had said, wits would win the war.
After a particularly tough barrage from Elof, one that cracked Patrick’s shield but didn’t break it, Patrick charged Elof with a vengeance, forcing the man backwards. Patrick was close enough that he was able to get a foot in behind Elof and trip the man. Elof went down on his back, hard, and Patrick swiped the corner of his shield into Elof’s face, clipping his nose. He then proceeded to use his feet on Elof, kicking the man brutally, but Elof was somehow able to roll to his knees and lurch to his feet. Bleeding from the nose and mouth, Elof attacked Patrick in a fury and ended up breaking his own shield.
Now, Elof was down to his last shield while Patrick still had his original shield in his hand. It was cracked but not broken. As the Northmen, and William and Paris, stood in a wide ring around the combatants, Elof once again went after Patrick, who dodged the man and tripped him once again. Elof went down, on his face this time, and Patrick threw aside his shield and sword and jumped on Elof’s back, pinning him to the riverbank and putting both hands on back of the man’s head, pushing his face into the dirt in an attempt to smother him.
Elof may not have been a particularly smart fighter, but he knew how to survive. As soon as he realized that Patrick was trying to suffocate him, he took a handful of sand and tossed it back into Patrick’s face, getting it into Patrick’s eyes. It was enough to stun Patrick so he loosened his grip and Elof was able to turn slightly and throw a big elbow into Patrick’s belly. With sand in his eyes and the wind knocked out of him, Patrick staggered to his feet as Elof launched an offensive.
Blinded by the sand, Patrick didn’t see Elof throw himself at him, but he certainly felt it. Elof hit him so hard that both men flew through the air, with Patrick landing on his backside and Elof landing on top of him. Then, the punches started to fly and, blinded by sand or not, Patrick wasn’t going to let this beast get the upper hand. He grabbed his own handful of dirt and tossed it into Elof’s face, causing the same type of reaction that Elof had caused in him. It was enough of a distraction for Patrick to throw a devastating blow into Elof’s already-damaged nose. Elof toppled off of him and into the dirt. After that, it was an all-out brawl.
Patrick was perfectly at home using his fists and feet instead of a sword. Unfortunately, so was Elof. The punches flew furiously, each man landing some fairly seriously blows on the other. Patrick had been hit, hard, in the eye and in the jaw, and his lips were bleeding where his teeth had been forced into his lips. Elof, too, was bleeding fairly seriously from the nose and mouth and, soon enough, blood began to splatter the more they punched. It was turning into a bloodbath as red droplets sprayed on the spectators.
On and on it went, blow after blow, and soon Patrick had to admit that he was growing weary. The punch to his jaw had almost knocked him out so his ears were ringing badly and his balance was off. But he wasn’t going to surrender, not in the least, and at one point, he threw his arms round Elof’s neck, enough to force the man to the ground and nearly cause him to lose consciousness. Elof, however, threw a thumb into Patrick’s eye and Patrick was forced to retreat.
Unfortunately for Patrick, being blinded in one eye caused him to miss a devastating left-handed blow from Elof that sent him right to the ground. The darkness of unconsciousness beckoned him but he fought it. He simply wasn’t going to permit that to happen. If he did, he knew he’d be dead.
And then… he saw it.
The short sword he’d tossed away was just a few inches from his hand. He could see a way to end this confrontation, once and for all, because he didn’t honestly think he could stand much more of the brutal pummeling. One of Elof’s blows was like being kicked in the head by a horse. Any more of those and he wouldn’t be able to fight off the unconsciousness. Therefore, he had to take his chance now to end this fight for good. Elof wasn’t going to win.
He was.
So, he feigned unconsciousness. He could hear his father calling to him, telling him to get up, but he ignored the man. He also prayed that William would stay out of it because he had a feeling that if his father thought he was truly in danger of being killed, he would intervene. And he knew for a fact that William couldn’t handle a blow from Elof. Therefore, he couldn’t delay too long to act because the timing had to be just right.
He waited.
Patrick could hear Elof coming behind him, presumably with a sword or something else to kill him with. He could hear his father’s pleas growing louder and he knew he had to take this chance because it would be his last. When he felt Elof at his feet, he suddenly grabbed the sword and rolled on to his back, lifting the sword just as Elof was lifting his own. But Elof’s sword was over his head, preparing to deliver a deadly down stroke, while Patrick’s sword had been lifted right into Elof’s gut.
Patrick’s sword made contact first.
Patrick struck and struck hard, driving his sword into Elof’s belly as the man looked down at him with an oddly confused expression. It was as if he could hardly believe he had lost. Once the sword was in Elof’s belly, Patrick lurched to his feet and removed it. Wielding it with both hands, he then swung it with all of his might straight at Elof’s neck. The short sword was very sharp and, in one stroke, Elof’s head went rolling off into the shallow waters of the river as the man’s big body remained upright for a moment longer before collapsing into the dirt.
Winded, half-blinded, and badly beaten, Patrick turned to Magnus, who had a somewhat surprised look on his face at the swift turn of events. Patrick pointed the sword at Elof’s collapsed body.
“He was the finest warrior I have ever faced,” he panted. “Make sure he receives a funeral fit for his greatness.”
With that, he took the sword in his hand and threw it as hard as he could, sailing it into the middle of the river. He then turned to his father, staggering in the man’s direction and barely making it to him before collapsing in his arms. Between William and Paris, they lowered Patrick to a sitting position.
From the grunting sounds of battle, of men in a life or death struggle, to the sudden sounds of silence, the battle was finally over. The stunned Northmen were c
rowded around the body of Elof, unconcerned with the English knight who had just killed him. It had been a fair battle and an entertainingly brutal one. They had great respect for the Englishman who had bested their finest warrior.
But William wasn’t concerned with any of that; he was more concerned with the son in his arms. Patrick might have been seriously beaten, but he was alive. He would recover. And that was all William cared about.
“Well done, Atty,” he murmured soothingly, fighting off the tears of relief. “You did very well. You did what you had to do. Let us take you back to the castle now where your wife can tend your wounds.”
“Patrick!”
They all heard the scream, turning to see Brighton rushing from the gates of the Water Tower, her skirt hiked up around her knees as she bolted. Scott, Troy, Kieran, Hector, and Alec were running behind her, all of them heading for Patrick, while still more men were rushing down the stairs from the castle, all of them rushing in Patrick’s direction.
But Patrick didn’t see anything other than Brighton. He was focused on her. Right now, she was the only thing in the world. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands going to his face because she was too afraid to hug him, too afraid to cause him pain. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“My sweet, sweet husband,” she breathed, unable to stop herself from kissing his swollen lips. “You are alive. Thank God, you are alive!”
Patrick nodded, a big, bloodied hand moving up to cup her face. “I am,” he assured her softly. “Where did you come from?”
Brighton kissed him again, getting blood on her mouth. But she hardly cared. “From the tower above,” she told him. “I saw the battle and prayed as hard as I could for God to defend you. He must have listened to me because He knew I could not live without you.”
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 37
