“W-what else could there be, my lord?” she asked.
He hoped to God she wasn’t playing him for a fool. Either she was genuinely naïve or she was extremely manipulative. Given the fact that she had been raised in a convent, he couldn’t imagine she was the latter. Overall, he didn’t get that sense from her. He opened his mouth to reply but the servant he’d sent for wine returned, bringing a pitcher and a single cup. The man looked stricken when he saw the lady at the table also, but Patrick simply took the pitcher and cup from him and sent the man away.
Putting the cup in front of Brighton, Patrick poured her a measure of wine before drinking directly out of the pitcher himself. After two large gulps, he set the pitcher down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“How old are you?” he asked her.
Brighton took a timid sip from her cup. “I-I have seen nineteen summers, my lord.”
“And in all that time, no one has told you the story of your birth or your lineage?”
She was appearing increasingly curious. “N-nay, my lord. There is no story.”
“Is that what you were told?”
“I-I told you all that I know.” She lowered her gaze a moment, her curiosity turning into puzzlement. “I-is it important?”
Patrick felt as if he had no choice but to tell her. For her own sake, she needed to know. Or, at least he had to tell her what he’d been told. If she was truly being hunted, then she had a right to know it.
“Before your nurse passed on, she told me of your heritage,” he said quietly. “While I have no reason to disbelieve what I was told, I cannot confirm it, of course. Your nurse told me that you are to be protected at all costs, my lady. She also told me that your real name is not Brighton de Favereux.”
Brighton gazed at him for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise as his words sank in. “W-what do you mean, my lord?” she asked, puzzlement overwhelming her. “I-I do not understand.”
Patrick found himself studying that utterly exquisite face, fixating on that for a moment before he realized she had asked him a question. Feeling foolish for being distracted, he turned back to his wine.
“Your Sister Acha told me that you were brought to her as an infant,” he said. “That much you know. But what you apparently have not been told is that your mother was from Clan Haye and that she was given over as a hostage to the Northman to secure an alliance. Your mother lay with a Northman prince and you are the result. That Northman prince is now king of the Northmen and, somehow, the reivers that came to Coldingham had discovered your true identity. It was you they had come for, my lady, and you they managed to capture. I had received word from our patrols that there was a raiding party riding south, close to Berwick, and rumor had it that there were captive women among them. When I set out to subdue the raiders and rescue their captives, I had no idea what I was really getting myself in to but your Sister Acha managed to wrest a promise from me that I would keep you safe. And that, my lady, is why you cannot return to Coldingham. You are a valuable commodity and your identity has been revealed. Men want you and they will keep coming for you until they have you.”
Brighton listened to his speech with increasing astonishment. By the time he was finished, her eyes were so wide that they threatened to pop from her skull. She stumbled up from the bench, a hand over her mouth in shock as she faced him.
“N-nay,” she finally breathed. “That cannot be true.”
“Your nurse told me it was true.”
Brighton wanted very much to deny it but being that Sister Acha had told him such things, she couldn’t, in good conscience, refute him. Sister Acha had never lied to her, not ever. But it didn’t make any sense to her and confusion such as she had never known filled her mind.
“S-she must have been mistaken,” she gasped. “Mayhap… mayhap her wounds had polluted her mind because what she told you is pure madness!”
“She did not seem mad, my lady.”
“I-it is! It is madness! I am not… I am not who she said I am!”
“How do you know if you know nothing of your lineage?”
He had a point but Brighton wasn’t really listening to him. Her mind was muddled with shock and the room began to rock unsteadily. All she could think of was a wild story from a dying woman’s lips. It simply wasn’t true, any of it! There was no way she could be the daughter of a Northman… a king.
She didn’t have a drop of royal blood in her!
“I-I am a bastard,” she said, sounding very much like she was pleading with him. “What you have said… you must have misunderstood. Sister Acha would not have told you such things!”
“That was exactly what she told me.”
“You are lying!”
Patrick thought she looked rather unsteady. He stood up, hoping that he might calm her building hysteria. “I do not lie, lady,” he said, his baritone turning gentle but stern. “I understand that it has been a difficult day for you so I will forgive you your slander. But the information I give is the reason I cannot return you to Coldingham. If what your nurse said was true, then your life is at risk, more than you know.”
Brighton shook her head, turning away from him and putting her dirty hands over her ears. She was stumbling blindly for the door.
“I-I will not hear you,” she gasped, feeling increasingly lightheaded. “I-I must return to Coldingham. I… must…”
She went down, fainting dead away in the doorway. Patrick rushed to her side, turning her over onto her back to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself when she fell to the floor. She was out cold, now with what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. Feeling rather guilty that he had somehow contributed to this state, he scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs that led to the upper floors where Katheryn and Evelyn were lurking. He knew his sisters would take good care of the overwrought woman.
But even as he held her in his arms, he couldn’t get past the fact that she was rather sweet and soft against him. She was average in height for a woman but long-limbed from what he could see, and that face… God’s Bones, that face was fairly close to his as he cradled her against his chest. He found himself looking at her when he should have been looking at the stairs; the shape of her lips had his attention more than anything.
Curvy, perfectly formed, and lush… a woman of this kind of beauty didn’t belong in a convent. In fact, it was a crime as far as he was concerned. Based on her perfection alone, he was willing to believe she was of royal blood because only a royal lineage would create something so flawless.
But as he looked at her, he was also aware of something else… that his desire to protect the woman was building. He’d only promised an old woman he’d do it because he’d had no other choice. And even as he’d ridden to Berwick with the lady behind him, he was regretting that he’d given his vow to protect her. He didn’t need the complication. But now, looking into her pale face, he couldn’t help the sense of protectiveness that swept him. It may have been foolish and misplaced, but he felt it nonetheless.
Perhaps there was a reason he’d ridden out with his patrol this night to stop the reivers. Normally, he didn’t ride with war parties like that. But for some reason, tonight he had. Something had compelled him to go and now he was starting to see why. Perhaps God had wanted him in that place, at that time, because one of His most precious creations needed protecting.
Foolish thoughts, to be certain. But thoughts he couldn’t seem to shake.
‡
“What is so important this night, Atty?” Hector asked as he leaned over to collect a cup of wine. “Our intercept of the raiding party was a success and we managed to recover one of the women. Why are you not happy?”
Patrick eyed the man. “I think we received more than we bargained for this night.”
“What do you mean?”
Back in the small dining hall, Patrick was now surrounded by his men. When he’d taken Lady Brighton up for his sisters to attend to, his men had filtered in, incl
uding Hector, recently returned from his trip to St. Cuthbert’s. Now, the small hall was full with de Wolfe, de Norville, Hage, and three more knights that Patrick had left behind when he’d ridden off to intercept the reivers.
Sir Anson du Bonne, son of Baron Lulworth of Chaldon Castle, was a strapping man with reddish-gold hair and an easy demeanor. He was a well-liked man within the ranks and usually in command when Patrick was not at Berwick. The two other knights who were not related to de Wolfe, de Norville, or Hage were Sir Colm de Lara and Sir Damien d’Vant, men from very fine families, powerful and skilled warriors in their own right. Patrick particularly liked Damien, who had a wicked sense of humor and much the same personality that Patrick did. Big, blonde, and easy-going, Patrick considered Damien a friend.
Those three, along with the de Norville brothers, Hector and Apollo, and the Hage brothers, Alec and Kevin, rounded out the men in the room. The servants had brought forth more wine and cakes of oats and honey, something to feed big appetites, but Patrick wasn’t eating. He was into his fourth cup of wine, feeling his head swim a bit, hoping it would ease these odd and unfamiliar thoughts he’d been entertaining.
A dead nun, a terrible secret, and Patrick was increasingly troubled by it all. So he stood by the hearth, trying to avoid the smoke that was spitting out into the low-ceilinged room as he gathered his turbulent thoughts.
What to tell the men….
“What I mean is that the raiders we subdued were not random outlaws looking for a convenient target,” he answered Hector’s question belatedly. “I mean that I was told they were looking for a specific victim. We interrupted their plans.”
Hector frowned as he stood back from the table, nearer to the hearth because his bones were cold. “Be plain, man.”
Patrick sighed heavily. “That woman I brought back to Berwick,” he said. “Did any of you get a look at her?”
Hector and Alec looked at each other before shaking their heads. “I did not,” Hector replied, looking to his brother, Apollo. “You were guarding her. Did you get a good look at her?”
Apollo, one of the youngest knights in Patrick’s corps, nodded hesitantly. “Somewhat,” he said, looking at Kevin, who was even younger than he was. “Did you?”
Kevin lifted his big shoulders. “A little,” he said, looking back at Patrick. “I did not notice anything out of the ordinary with her. Why do you ask?”
It was a loaded question. “Before she died, the nun you took over to St. Cuthbert told me something about her,” Patrick said, his gaze moving between Kevin, Apollo, Hector, and Alec. “I will tell you exactly what she told me – that the young woman we rescued this night, a woman who goes by the name of Brighton de Favereux, is really a bastard daughter of Magnus, King of the Northmen. Her mother is from Clan Haye who had been delivered to the Northmen many years ago as a hostage to ensure an alliance, only she became pregnant by Magnus when he was still a prince. The woman was sent home in shame and the child, when she was born, was taken to Coldingham Priory under an assumed identity. Apparently, no one but the old nun knew who the young woman really is and, as she lay dying, she asked me to promise to protect her. I did because I felt I had no choice, but now that I have had time to think on it, I fear I have assumed a massive burden for the House of de Wolfe. The reivers we intercepted, men from Clan Swinton, had gone to Coldingham with a purpose – to abduct this woman and we have taken their prize.”
It was quite an unexpected tale and, by the time he was finished, all of the men in the room were looking at him with various degrees of disbelief. No one said anything right away, instead, glancing at each other as if trying to determine just how mad Patrick had evidently become. Alec finally spoke.
“She’s a… a princess?” he asked for clarification. “Magnus… isn’t he the Dane king they call the Law-Mender?”
“Aye.”
“He is a fearsome warrior, Atty.”
Patrick nodded. “So I have heard,” he said, seeing the astonishment on their faces. “Be that as it may, that is what I was told about the girl.”
Alec frowned. “Are you sure you did not misunderstand?” he asked. “Is it possible the old woman had lost her mind in her final moments?”
Patrick shook his head. “I did not misunderstand and it did not seem to me as if she had lost her mind,” he said. “She seemed quite serious, in fact. I do not think a woman of the cloth, especially in her dying hour, would lie to me.”
That made sense to the men in the chamber, lending credit to the tale. A nun most certainly wouldn’t lie about something so terribly serious. Now, it was even more shocking if the news was actually true. Given the evidence presented, it seemed to be. Alec scratched his head, baffled, unsure what more to say.
“But how did Clan Swinton know of this?” he asked. “How could they possibly know?”
Patrick shrugged. “The old woman did not say,” he said. “But it is clear that someone, somewhere, knew of her identity other than the old nun and the mother of the child. And that information has made its way to Clan Swinton.”
“How old is the young woman?”
“Nineteen years, she tells me.”
“And Clan Swinton is only seeking to claim her now? If all of this is true, how long have they been sitting on such information? And why make a move for her now?”
Patrick was just as puzzled as the rest of them. “I cannot answer that,” he said. “What I do know, however, is that they will soon know that we have her. I would be willing to assume they will not be happy about it. They will want her back.”
That was more than likely an understatement. Now, a simple encounter with reivers was taking a puzzling and serious turn. Hector actually shook his head as if trying to shake some sense into it. It was all quite overwhelming.
“You are telling us that the woman we rescued tonight is a Dane princess?” he asked. “And no one knew about her until now?”
Patrick cocked a dark eyebrow. “It seems that way,” he said. “But the old nun said something rather ominous – that if the Northmen knew of her existence, they would come for her. She said that if word of her true identity got out, it would bring war and strife. It seems that something like that has already started, at least with Clan Swinton. Already, the struggle for her has begun.”
Hector puffed his cheeks out, a gesture that suggested that statement was quite true. “She is Dane and Scots,” he said. “That makes her quite rare. What a peace offering she could be with the clans to the north who fight the Danes on a continual basis.”
Patrick lifted a finger. “Think about it,” he said, as if something suddenly occurred to him. “Clan Swinton could ransom her to her father or sell her to the highest bidder in the highlands for the same purpose. Either way, they become wealthy. That could have been their purpose for abducting her.”
“You are not going to want to hear what I have to say, Atty,” Anson du Bonne spoke. Calm and reasonable, he made even the worst news sound as if they could not all live through it. “I have not seen this woman and I was not part of the skirmish earlier this evening, but in listening to you speak… holding this woman, and if she is who you say she is, could bring not only the Scots down upon us, but the Northmen as well. What if… what if Clan Swinton, outraged that they have lost their hostage, sends word to Magnus and tells the man that his bastard daughter is now being held by the English? The king will bring his longships onto the shores of Northumberland and we will have a nasty feud on our hands. With that in mind, remember that this woman is nothing to you. She is nothing to any of us. If you want my advice, I say give her back over to Clan Swinton and wash your hands of the entire thing. It is either that or you draw your family into a war that will tear the north apart.”
Ominous words from the level-headed young knight, but it was advice that Patrick badly needed. He’d been thinking the very same thing, in fact, but had been reluctant to admit it. With another heavy sigh, he planted himself at the table, his features pensive as he mulled over the
situation. Wearily, he rubbed at his chin.
“I cannot,” he finally said. “I gave my word that I would protect her.”
“Is your word worth more than the lives that will be lost if you keep her here at Berwick?”
Patrick’s gaze flicked up to Anson. “My word is my bond,” he said. “So is yours. Could you so easily cast off a vow, Anson? I think not.”
“So your honor is more important than a coming war?”
Patrick was increasingly torn, knowing that Anson was simply trying to help him think clearly. But all he was doing was making him feel foolish and confused.
“I do not know,” he muttered. “Mayhap, it would be best if I took the girl to Castle Questing and had my father decide what is to be done. I gave my word to protect the girl and I will not go back on it. But my father may have other ideas on what is to be done. I find that I cannot think clearly about it tonight.”
Hector put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I think that is a fine choice,” he said. “Take her to your father and let him decide. This should not be your decision, anyway. This is too big for one man to make.”
There was truth to that. Patrick simply nodded. “Then I will leave for Castle Questing tomorrow and take the woman with me,” he said. “Meanwhile, we should be vigilant for any armies moving in from the north, coming to reclaim their hostage. Patrols should be vigilant, as well. I do not want any of our men falling into the hands of Clan Swinton to be used as a hostage against the return of the girl.”
Hector slapped him affectionately on the shoulder before moving to pour himself more wine. “Agreed,” he said. “I will ride to Castle Questing with you, in fact. I will bring my wife, as she has not seen her mother in a month. She will want to go.”
Patrick started to shake his head as Alec spoke. “If you take Evie, then Kate will want to come,” he said. “You cannot take Evie to see her mother and not bring her sister. Furthermore, they will both want to bring the children. You know that.”
Nunnery Brides Page 31
