“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 over 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.
This was the last line of defense between England and the threat from the north.
It was into the bailey of this massive structure that Patrick took the postulate from Coldingham. The men that had ridden in with them knew their duties so Patrick didn’t bother to say anything to them as he dismounted his steed and pulled the woman off behind him. The keep was directly in front of them, the largest structure in the entire fortress.
Four stories in height, the uniquely-shaped keep soared over the countryside, a beacon that could be seen for miles. Forming an odd “U” shape, it had many chambers in it as well as storage vaults on the lower floor. As Patrick approached, he could see two small figures standing in the doorway. He knew the shapes were his sisters, Katheryn and Evelyn, before he ever saw their faces. They were the chatelaines of his keep, married to his knights as they were, and they were very astute. They would know when their husbands and brother would be returning. As soon as his boot hit the bottom step of the flight that led up to the second floor entry, the women came down to greet him.
“Well?” Katheryn said. “Was anyone hurt? Where is my husband?”
Patrick glanced up at the woman who looked a good deal like his mother; lovely, with honey-colored hair and big green eyes. “No one was hurt,” he said. “Your husband is back with the men, somewhere. He will be here shortly.”
While Katheryn was satisfied, Evelyn still had questions. “Where is Hector?” she asked, but she was mostly focused on the lady in her brother’s grip. Interest in her husband’s location faded for the moment as she inspected the disheveled woman. “Atty, who is this?”
Patrick stopped to look at the source of his sister’s interest and when he did, he was in for a surprise. He’d not seen the lady in the light. When his gaze fell on her, he felt a bolt of shock run through him – illuminated in the torches was a woman of unearthly beauty. She had brown hair, but it wasn’t just any shade of brown; he could see highlights of red and gold reflected in the torchlight. Her face was sweetly oval, as he’d noticed in the darkness, and she had the biggest eyes he’d ever seen in a shade of blue that was reflecting pale in the weak light. Her nose was pert, her skin like cream, and her rosy lips shaped like Cupid’s bow.
He’d never seen anything like her in his entire life.
“This… this is Lady Brighton de Favereux,” he told his sisters, sounding like an idiot because he was so caught off guard by the woman’s beauty. “We saved her from a raiding party.”
“Is she a prisoner?”
“Nay. But….”
Before he could continue his sentence, his sisters rushed forward and pushed him out of the way, taking hold of the disheveled, frightened lady. Patrick found himself overwhelmed by small women, trying to keep hold of the postulate but being summarily removed.
“My goodness,” Katheryn said with concern as she put her arm around Brighton’s shoulders. “What a harrowing experience, my lady. But you are safe now. Come with us and we shall tend to you.”
Another thing about Katheryn that reminded Patrick of their mother was the fact that she could be rather pushy. “Not now, Kate,” he said sternly. “I have many questions for the lady. I must ask now while the situation is fresh in her mind.”
Both Katheryn and Evelyn scowled at him. “Look at her,” Katheryn said, sounding like she was scolding him. “Are you so cruel that you cannot see how exhausted and terrified she is? She needs food and a bath. We shall tend to her and when she is fed and rested, then you may question her. Are you truly so heartless, Patrick, that you would think of your own demands over her comfort?”
He frowned. “This has nothing to do with being heartless,” he said. “I have many pressing questions for the lady and….”
“They can wait,” Katheryn said firmly, pulling Brighton up the stairs with the help of her sister. They were boxed in around her, preventing Patrick from retaking her. It was a rather smart tactical move against him. “Let us feed the woman and make her comfortable. Then you can go on with your tasteless military interrogation.”
Patrick knew he was licked. He shook his head in frustration, watching his sisters escort Brighton up the stairs and into the keep, being most attentive and kind to her. It would be futile to argue with them, he knew, stubborn women that they were. As he stood there with his hands on his hips, greatly annoyed, he felt
someone come up beside him.
“Was that my wife?” Alec asked. “What is she doing with your captive?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed at the man. “She stole her from me,” he declared. He jabbed a finger at the keep entry. “That bold, unreasonable woman that you married stole my captive. Hell, she isn’t really my captive. I do not know what she is, but whatever she is, I have need of her before the women have their way with her. Go and summon fifty men, heavily arm them, and bring them to the keep. I will need just that many men to fight off my sisters so I can have my captive returned.”
Alec fought off a grin. “You could just ask them to return her, you know.”
Patrick’s scowl grew. “I did ask them, you dolt,” he snapped. “And you see how they answered me – they pushed me away and took the lady into the keep. Christ, these women are going to be the death of me. When you married Katheryn and asked if she could come with you to Berwick, I should have denied you!”
Alec couldn’t help but laugh now. “I have astonishing news for you, Atty,” he said. “You are three times their size. You could easily overwhelm them both and take back your captive. Did you not realize that?”
He sighed heavily and turned for the keep entry, wearily dragging himself up the stairs. “They would only tell my mother and then she would beat me,” he said. “I realize that I am a grown man, Alec, but you of all people should understand the fear of a mother. In fact, I fear your mother more than my own. She might actually try to gouge my eyes out.”
Alec’s laughter grew. “But she would do it lovingly.”
“Aye, Aunt Jemma would lovingly gouge my eyes out and then lovingly tend me as I am blind for the rest of my life. God, what a prospect.”
He could hear Alec’s snorting behind him. “It is the lot we lead in life, having strong and stubborn mothers,” he said. “Do you still want me to gather the men or are you going to go crawl into a corner and cry now?”
“Gather the men. I shall cry later.”
Snickering, Alec turned and headed back to the gatehouse where the knights would be gathered. There were several men in the command structure of Berwick that needed to be part of Patrick’s meeting and Alec went about to spread the word. As he headed off into the bailey, Patrick continued up the stairs and into the vast keep.
The entry to the keep was cool and dark, lit only by a pair of sconces on the wall with fatted torches, burning hot into the dimness. The foyer was two-storied, the height of it cutting into the third floor above. An unusual mural staircase that was built into one wall, led to the floor above. From the third to the fourth floor was a spiral stair built into the width of the north wall. The keep was a glorious piece of architecture, most fitting for the de Wolfe knights and ladies who lived inside it.
But Patrick wasn’t concerned about the stunning architecture of the keep. He was lingering on the woman his sisters had stolen away from him. Straight ahead was a small hall, one used by the family for meals or for meetings. He headed into it, seeing that there was a fire blazing in the hearth, stoked by thoughtful servants. He caught sight of one of the house servants, an older man whose sole duty it was to make sure every room had peat and wood and kindling, and he sent the man to the kitchens for wine.
He needed it.
As the man fled, Patrick yanked off his helm and set the thing on the table. He began pulling off his gloves, gloves made for hands that, when fisted, were the size of a man’s head. There was nothing about Patrick de Wolfe that was small, in any fashion, and his father liked to take credit for his size when his mother knew full well it was the Scots in him that gave her son his great strength and size.
The gloves came off and Patrick tossed them onto the table as well, his mind shifting from the captive woman to the old nun and what he’d been told. He began to remove his weapons, unstrapping his broadsword and laying it, and the sheath it was lodged in, upon the tabletop as well. Soon, the sword was joined by a host of smaller daggers he kept on his body. He was just removing the last one when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to the chamber entry to see both of his sisters with Lady Brighton between them.
Surprised, his brow furrowed as he gazed upon them. “Why are you here?” he asked, annoyance in his tone. “You made it clear that I was not to be part of anything you were planning.”
Katheryn twisted her lips wryly. “It seems that Lady Brighton insists on speaking to you first,” she said, clearly unhappy. “She will not let us help her until she does.”
Patrick’s gaze was on Brighton although he nearly smiled at his sister’s tone; she had been thwarted in her maneuvers against her brother and was displeased. He felt somewhat victorious. He pointed to the bench seat against the table.
“Then sit, Lady Brighton,” he said politely. “Kate, this does not involve you and Evie. You will leave us, please. I will send for you when I am finished with the lady.”
“Do not be too unkind to her, Patrick. She is very weary and frightened.”
“I will not be too unkind.”
Frowning, Katheryn and Evelyn quit the room under protest. They would push Patrick around to a certain extent but when it came to his command, they knew better than to argue or question him. As his sisters wandered away, dejected and unable to help their visitor, Patrick waited until he heard them mount the stairs to the third floor before speaking.
“My sisters mean well,” he said. “Did they introduce themselves?”
Brighton nodded. “T-they did, my lord.”
His gaze lingered on her. Here, in the light of the chamber, she was even more beautiful than he had initially observed. He liked the way the corners of her mouth tilted upward when she spoke and her eyes, he was coming to note, were the color of the ocean. It was a great and mysterious blue. He tore his gaze from her long enough to push his weaponry away, far down the table, so there was nothing between them. Heavily, he sat opposite her across the table and was preparing to speak when Brighton interrupted him.
“I-I must know why you feel it would be unsafe to return me to Coldingham, my lord,” she said nervously. “I-I know you told me not to ask you again and to be obedient, and I swear that I am trying to be obedient, but I simply do not understand any of this. I was taken from Coldingham by despicable raiders and I will be ever grateful to you for saving me from them. I-it never occurred to me that I would not be returning to my home and you will not tell me why.”
She was verging on tears by the time she was finished. Her bravery was only holding out so long and Patrick could feel a tug of sympathy towards the lady and her plight. He was coming to think, perhaps, he had been too hard in his response to her, shutting her down and expecting her not to react to it. Or it could be the fact that he was being sucked into those big eyes, now filled with frightened tears. Those eyes were having an effect on him, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He struggled to ignore his attraction to them as he considered his answer.
“When the Scots broke into the priory, did they say anything to you?” he asked, avoiding her statement for the most part. He had questions of his own that he needed answers to. “Did they ask you any questions at all?”
Brighton blinked, quickly wiping away the tears, as she was genuinely trying not to weep. Sister Acha had always told her that crying was a weakness and she did not want to appear weak to this enormous knight. He frightened her, too, but she didn’t want him to know. She was trying very hard to be brave in the face of a most unsettling day.
“T-they did not ask any questions, my lord,” she said, trying to think back to the chaos of the morning. “It all happened so quickly. But… but I think I heard them asking for me by name.”
“What did they say?”
“I-I think they asked for de Favereux. At least, I thought I heard them ask some of the nuns.”
“What happened when they asked?”
Brighton chewed her lip, pondering the question. “I-I saw them strike a nun who did not answer them,” she said. “A-
another nun finally pointed to me as Sister Acha tried to take me away. It was quite chaotic, you understand. Everyone was fearful for their lives.”
Patrick nodded. “As well they should be,” he said. “But did you not find it strange that they asked for you by name?”
Brighton nodded hesitantly. “T-to be truthful, I had not thought on it at the time,” she said. “B-but I am thinking of it now. All I know is that the Scots swept into Coldingham and came away with me and Sister Acha. I do not even know why they would want someone like me. I am no one.”
So she must not know her true heritage, Patrick thought. Either that, or she does not think that I know and does not want to give herself away. He regarded her carefully for a moment, considering what he would say next.
“Are you certain?” he asked, watching her reaction. “What is your lineage?”
She shrugged. “I-I was brought to Coldingham as an infant,” she said. “Sister Acha raised me. She is the only mother I have ever known.”
He could see her tearing up again at the thought of the old nun who had perished that night. “What did she tell you about your lineage?” he asked.
She sniffled delicately, wiping at her eyes. “T-that I was a bastard,” she said quietly. “We prayed on it often.”
“But nothing else?”
He was probing her and she sensed it. His line of questioning indicated that he was searching for a specific answer. Cocking her head curiously, she gazed at him with that wide-open look that told him that she more than likely had no idea what he was talking about. There was something in her expression that suggested utter innocence.
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 30
