As Patrick and William and Paris watched, she hesitantly removed a tiny bejeweled dagger that had been tucked into her shift, holding it up so Patrick could see it. He recognized it as the one he’d purchased for her in Wooler. When Brighton saw his questioning expression, she explained.
“I have been carrying it with me ever since the Scots attacked Berwick,” she said softly. “If I was to fall into their hands, I vowed that they would not take me alive. But now… now with your fight against the Northman, I kept it close to my heart because that is where it would end up had you not survived this fight. You and I belong to one another, Atty, in this life or in the next. Mayhap it is wrong to feel so, but I cannot help it. You are my life and my love. You are my everything.”
Patrick was looking at the dagger, thinking several things at that moment, not the least of which was Brighton’s determination not to live without him. As he stared at the dagger, a single tear fell from his red, damaged eyes and trickled down his cheek. Reaching out, he took the dagger from her.
“I would fight a thousand men as I did today if only to keep you safe and happy,” he muttered. “The bond you and I share is too great to feel any other way. You are the heart that beats within me, Bridey. That will never change, in this life or in any other.”
Brighton smiled tremulously as he stroked her cheek with his bloodied hand, a tender moment between them that was more powerful than a thousand suns. Two hearts that beat as one, two souls that were irrevocably entwined. Now, it was understood between them that their love went deeper than anything mortal.
It was ageless.
And it was a proud thing for William to witness. His greatest son, the man who was the embodiment of his legacy, had finally found the love that William had always wished for him. As Patrick leaned forward to capture Brighton in his embrace, William caught a glimpse of a shadow coming up behind them. He turned to see Magnus approach.
“I hope this means you feel my son is worthy of marrying your daughter, my lord,” William said, rising to his feet. “He beat your man fairly. I hope you honor that.”
Magnus nodded but his gaze was on Brighton, clearly quite curious about the woman. “I will, indeed, honor it,” he said. “I know now that she is married to the best warrior in all of England. Possibly in the entire world.”
Patrick and Brighton heard Magnus speak, both of them turning to look at him. For Brighton, it was a surreal moment gazing into eyes that looked much like hers. She stood up, facing the man who had given her life and inspecting him just as he was inspecting her. There was great curiosity and great emotion there; the air was full of it.
“M-my lord,” she finally greeted. “It is an honor to meet you.”
Magnus’ face creased with the most joyful smile. “To hear your voice for the first time is like hearing the angels sing,” he whispered, his throat tight with emotion. “You look so much like your mother. I can see her in everything about you.”
Brighton smiled timidly. “I-I never knew her,” she said. “I wish I had.”
Magnus laughed softly, brushing away the tears that were starting to fall. “You speak as she did, too,” he said. “She had the same catch in her words as you do.”
Brighton’s smile broadened. “I-I did not know.”
“It was what made her so beautiful to me.”
Truly sweet words that touched Brighton’s heart. “Y-you loved her, then?”
“I did. Very much.”
“I-I am very happy to know that.”
Magnus’ gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before looking to Patrick, who was still seated on the ground. Magnus couldn’t help but notice that the man had hold of Brighton’s skirt as if fearful that Magnus would still somehow try to take her away, even now. After so brutal a fight, the man was still only concerned with his wife. He wasn’t even concerned for himself. Magnus crouched down beside him.
“Today, I witnessed greatness,” he said to Patrick. “I witnessed you. My daughter is very fortunate to have you as her husband and you have my blessing for this marriage. I hope… I hope you will allow me to return some day to ensure that life has been prosperous to you both.”
Patrick looked at the man, not an easy feat considering how painful his eyes were at the moment. “You are welcome at Berwick, always,” he said. “In fact, we would be honored if you would stay this night and feast with us. Bridey and I never did have a wedding feast and it would be particularly appropriate if you were here to celebrate with us.”
Magnus liked that idea a great deal. “You honor me,” he said. “We will drink, you and I, and speak of our countries and our women. And I would like to speak to your father of his land and his women.”
Patrick grinned as he turned to look at his father. “Do you hear that? He wants to speak of women.”
William laughed softly, standing up as many hands moved to help Patrick to his feet. “There is only one woman for me, my lord, as there is only one woman for my son,” he said. “A Norse princess he was fortunate enough to marry.”
Patrick was on his feet, but barely. He leaned heavily on Scott and Troy, beloved brothers who rushed up to brace him. In fact, all of his men had flooded out of the castle and he was swarmed by his knights who had seen the battle, men that were vastly proud of their commander and concerned for his health. There was also great curiosity with the Northmen, who seemed to be more relaxed now that the battle for Magnus’ daughter had finished. Even though they had lost one of their own, still, there didn’t seem to be any bitterness.
It was the way of their world, after all.
Through the crowds of men, Brighton stayed by Patrick’s side as he walked, gingerly, to the gates of the Water Tower. At that point, she had to stand aside while Scott, Troy, and Kieran helped Patrick navigate the stairs. As she stood and watched her husband make his way slowly up the steps, she felt a presence beside her and she turned to see Magnus standing next to her. He was with William but when their eyes met, he smiled at her. She smiled in return. When Magnus extended a hand to her, she placed hers in his warm, rough palm.
It was a gentle touch, father to daughter, for the very first time.
“Did you know that hawks have one mate for life?” he asked.
Brighton shook her head. “N-nay. I did not know that.”
“It is true. It would seem your Nighthawk has found his mate for life in you.”
Brighton’s smile grew. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek and fled up the stairs, after her husband and the men who were helping him. Magnus remained at the bottom of the steps with William, watching her go. When he finally turned away, he caught William staring at him. Embarrassed, he smiled.
“She looks so much like her mother,” he said. “I have difficulty taking my eyes from her.”
William smiled in return. “Then her mother must have been an exquisite woman.”
Magnus’ expression grew wistful. “I still long for those days when Juliana and I were very much in love,” he said. Then, he shook himself. “But it was not to be. I am glad our daughter found the love that we were denied.”
William couldn’t help but feel pity for the man who had loved and lost. “She is in very good hands with my son,” he said. “You needn’t worry about her, ever.”
Magnus nodded, his expression warm with gratitude. But then, his smile faded and he held up a finger. “That is not entirely true,” he said. “Who is this Richard Gordon that means to kill my daughter and where may I find him?”
William hesitated. “It is not only Richard Gordon, but the mother prioress as well.”
“Both of them are still a danger to Brighton.”
“Indeed, they are.”
Magnus leaned his head in to William as if to whisper to the man, lowering his voice as he spoke. “I’ll tend to Richard Gordon if you tend to the prioress.”
To protect his beloved son and his beloved daughter-in-law, William couldn’t refuse the offer. Patrick and Brighton had been through enough, in his op
inion, and now it was time for him to help. He couldn’t help Patrick as he faced against Elof, nor could he do anything else for the man. Patrick was too stubborn to allow it. But with the man badly wounded, too wounded to do for himself, William took the opportunity to take care of business. He was The Wolfe, after all. And this was de Wolfe business.
“Agreed.”
Magnus discovered, through William, that the Gordon stronghold was north of Kelso. The River Tweed, in fact, ran through Kelso, and the river was wide enough to handle the longships. Magnus thanked William for the information and then shifted the subject to the barrels of mead and beer that he had in his hold, drink he wanted to bring to his daughter’s wedding feast. It sounded like a wonderful idea and, soon enough, both Englishmen and Norsemen were hauling up barrels of drink to the great hall in preparation of what turned out to be a four-day feast.
It was a celebration like nothing any of the English had ever seen. As Paris put it, the Norsemen had come to merrymake like no other. As injured as he was, Patrick could only stay for just an hour or two of the celebration, but he could hear the revelry from his bedchamber as he slept on and off for the next several days. As Brighton sweetly tended to her wounded husband, she could hear the merriment, too.
Lost in their own loving little world, they hardly seemed to care about the noise in the great hall. The only thing that mattered to them was that, for the moment, all was right in their world again.
But there were still outstanding issues, things that Patrick vowed to tend to once he was well enough. Yet, he never had the chance. When Kevin arrived from London the next day with the fresh army, bearing missives from Henry that included the arrest order for Mother Prioress, William took the arrest warrant and departed Berwick at dawn the next day. Even though he told Patrick he was departing for home, that wasn’t the truth. He left for Coldingham where he, Scott, Troy, Paris, and Kieran, along with about one hundred men-at-arms, arrested Ysabella Gordon and secured her for transport to York for her trial.
At the same time, Magnus departed his English hosts and traveled upriver, heading into the heart of England. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Patrick heard that the entire Gordon stronghold had been burned out and Richard Gordon killed. Everything the Gordons held dear had been wiped clean in a stunning attack. Northman raiders, some said, but it was a rumor. No one ever saw Northman raiders so far inland. Still, those at Berwick suspected the truth.
At least, Patrick and Brighton knew the truth.
If the King of the Northmen and The Wolfe of the Border had anything to say about it, the Nighthawk and his mate would know peace, forever more.
… and they did.
EPILOGUE
Haye Stronghold of Garvale
East Lothian
September 1270 A.D.
“Juliana de la Haye, did ye say?”
Brighton nodded. “A-aye,” she said. “My husband and son and I have traveled all the way from Berwick to see her. Can you tell me if she lives here?”
The man, older and bearing a big leather apron suggesting he was a servant, looked at Brighton rather dumbly. But he had answered the door of the large if not slightly run-down manor house of Garvale. It wasn’t too far away from Berwick, a little over thirty miles, but travel had been a little slower with the carriage carrying Brighton and her infant son. That, and the fact that about four hundred men had accompanied them considering they were heading into Scotland.
Patrick hadn’t wanted to take any chances with his wife and son on the journey even though he hadn’t wanted to bring them on this journey at all. But Brighton had insisted. She had been insisting for the past year. Having come to know her father, she wanted to know her mother. She wanted her mother to meet their son.
So off to Scotland they went.
Garvale. According to the register at Coldingham, Juliana de la Haye had lived at Garvale Manor in East Lothian. It was the seat of the Haye Clan in the lowlands of Scotland, so that was where Patrick had decided to start with the hunt for Brighton’s mother. Garvale Manor was more of a castle because it had a wall around it and two enormous towers on one side of the manse, the entire structure built with red sandstone that had worn to a dirty yellowish-gray over the years.
As Brighton spoke to the servant at the door, Patrick stood back behind his wife, in the yard of the manse, holding their son in his enormous arms as Brighton tried to find out anything she could about her mother. He would have been irritated with the situation had he not been preoccupied making faces at his six-month-old son, Markus, who had the most delightful grin. A happy baby, he smiled at everyone and was quite possibly the most adorable baby ever born with his dark hair and blue eyes. At least, Brighton and Patrick thought so. Markus’ grandparents, William and Jordan, were simply wild about the lad.
So were Patrick’s knights. A little heir among them turned most of them into doting fools. They had all come with the family on the journey to Scotland, all except Anson, who had remained in command at Berwick. But Kevin and Apollo had come, as had Damien and Colm. Surprisingly, it was the serious-minded Colm who was the most enamored over the baby.
Even now, he stood next to Patrick, making faces at the child and then pretending to be serious if he thought anyone was watching. He and Patrick kept the baby entertained as Brighton tried to uncover information with a man who seemed to be very confused with her questions. In fact, Patrick had finally had enough of the man’s idiocy so he handed the baby over to Colm, who took him happily, and went to stand with his wife.
“I am Patrick de Wolfe, commander of Berwick Castle,” he said, butting into the conversation that was going on. “This is my wife, Lady de Wolfe. Her mother is Juliana de la Haye and we were led to believe that Lady Juliana lived here at some point. Where is your master? Bring him to me so that I may speak with him.”
Orders from an enormous knight were not meant to be disobeyed and the man in the leather apron scampered off. As he ran, Brighton looked at her husband with irritation.
“I was handling the situation just fine,” she said.
He peered down his nose at her. “I could see that from the way he was rushing to do your bidding.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “He would have if you had only been patient.”
Folding his enormous arms across his chest, he bent down so he could look her in the face. “I have been patient,” he whispered loudly. “I have been patient about this entire affair. I was patient when you demanded to come to Scotland and…”
“Demanded?”
“Aye, demanded. And I was patient when you wanted to bring my son because you could not leave him behind.”
“I am still feeding him! He is too young to be left behind!”
“You did not have to come now. You could have waited.”
Brighton’s entire face was a one big scowl that was now bordering on hurt. Too upset to argue with him, she simply turned away. He could see that he’d injured her feelings. Forcing himself to relent, which was difficult considering he knew he was in the right, he put his arm around her and pulled her to him.
“I am sorry,” he said, pretending to be contrite when he wasn’t in the least. “I did not mean to upset you. But you know I did not want you to come in the first place. This is something that could have easily been settled with a missive.”
Now Brighton was bordering on tears. “But I want to see her,” she whispered tightly. “I could not see her if I sent a missive.”
Patrick was feeling the least bit guilty now. He didn’t understand her drive to see a woman who had abandoned her at birth but perhaps that was because his own mother hadn’t. He still had her, and his father, and was secure in his relationship with them. Kissing the top of her head as an apology, he tried to hug her but she didn’t want to be hugged. In fact, she pulled away from him and now he was the one feeling badly. But the interplay between them was interrupted when a man suddenly appeared at the door.
“Who are ye?” he demanded in a throaty, il
l-sounding voice. “What do ye want here?”
Both Patrick and Brighton looked at the man, seeing an individual who was an ashen gray color, with long, dirty hair and dressed in woolen clothing that looked as if he had been rolling around in the mud in it. He coughed again, spraying something out of his mouth. Patrick immediately pulled Brighton well back from the man. If he was sick, Patrick didn’t want either of them to contract it.
“My name is Patrick de Wolfe,” Patrick said steadily. “I am the commander of Berwick Castle and this is my wife, Brighton. My wife has come seeking Juliana de la Haye. Do you know her?”
The man’s eyes narrowed at them both, suspiciously. “Why do ye want her?” he rasped. “Why have ye come?”
Patrick wasn’t sure he should divulge everything. After all, telling someone that he had come seeking a woman who had borne a bastard child was a rather touchy piece of information. As he thought on a way to tactfully explain their presence, Brighton spoke up.
“I-I am her daughter,” she said simply. “She left me at Coldingham Priory twenty years ago and the nuns raised me, but I have come to meet my mother. Is she here?”
The man in the doorway suddenly lost all of his annoyance. He stared at Brighton, his expression going slack, and Patrick could feel himself tensing for what was to come. If the man tried to verbally abuse his wife in any way, he was going to get his neck snapped. So, he waited; they both waited, until the man in the doorway seemed to overcome his shock.
“Ye… ye lived at Coldingham?” he finally asked, his voice considerably less hostile.
Brighton nodded. “Aye.”
The man seemed to stare at her an inordinately long time. “Juliana’s lass?”
“Aye!”
“Ye look like her.”
Brighton’s heart soared with hope. “P-please… do you know her, then?”
He nodded. Then, he lowered his gaze and pulled out a filthy kerchief from the top of his tunic, wiping his nose and eyes with it. When he finally spoke, he was looking at the kerchief.
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 38
