“Indeed, my lord,” he agreed. “Barbaric to say the least.”
“And this Scotsman? Tommy Orry?” Henry asked. “Did your men follow him and determine if his visit to Berwick had been a ruse of some kind?”
Patrick shrugged. “I left before the men returned, but I am sure if it was some kind of ruse, my father has acted accordingly,” he said. “You can understand that I am eager to return and find out for myself.”
Henry did, in fact, understand. He understood everything Patrick had told him. Whether or not he was happy with it was another matter altogether. “So you want to go home,” he said quietly, scratching his cheek in a thoughtful gesture. “I suppose I see your point. But you will not reconsider? If your wife truly is in danger from Clan Gordon, then bring her to London where she will be safe.”
Patrick shook his head faintly. “As grateful as I am for your faith in me, I feel there are a variety of reason why that would not be suitable,” he said. Then, he hesitated a moment before continuing. “My purpose in telling you this story was to not only explain why I must decline your generous appointment, but to also tell you that by marrying Bridey without permission, I may be in trouble with the church. I do not want to be a target for their anger but you can see why I had to marry Bridey and why I could not return her to Coldingham.”
Henry didn’t seem to think that was an issue. “The church is the least of your worries,” he said. “I will have Boniface of Savoy, the Archbishop of Canterbury, give you written permission on the marriage. Given the circumstances, I am sure the man will agree, although he rarely agrees with anything I do these days. Better still, I will send you with a document demanding the arrest of the mother prioress who has sinned against God and Mankind with her collusion. Such a woman is the antithesis of a good and pious woman, and I am sure the archbishop will agree. When you return home, go into Coldingham and arrest her, Patrick. Take her to York. I will send word to the Archbishop of York to try the woman for her crimes. Her actions cannot go unpunished.”
Patrick was deeply pleased to hear the declaration. Finally, some justice would be served and it was better than he could have hoped for. Already, the court scribes were writing furiously on their vellums at the edge of the room, preparing missives and documents at the king’s command. He could see the men over near the western wall of the hall, monks from Westminster Abbey, scratching away with their swan quills.
“As you wish, my lord,” Patrick said. “And… thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for punishing the mother prioress. But…”
He hesitated and Henry lifted his eyebrows. “But what?” he asked knowingly. “But what about Richard Gordon? I have not overlooked that detail but I rather thought you would like to take care of the man yourself. It is your wife’s life he has threatened, after all. I would assume you want to punish the man personally.”
A twinkle came to Patrick’s eye. “It would not anger you if I did, my lord?”
Henry shook his head. “You have my blessing,” he said. “And I will even provide you with men to assist. De Lohr, how many men can you provide your old friend and ally, de Wolfe?”
Daniel, who had been listening to Patrick’s story with amazement and outrage, grinned. “I can have five hundred men here from Canterbury by early tomorrow morning,” he said, his gaze lingering on Patrick. “Can you wait that long, Atty? Methinks you want to return home to your wife at this very moment.”
Patrick smiled weakly. “I can wait until tomorrow morning,” he said, “and I am very grateful, my lord. My father will be most grateful, too.”
Henry sat back in his chair, waving a hand at Patrick. “For what your father has done for me all of these years, it is the very least I can do,” he said. “I will match de Lohr’s donation of five hundred men and send you back to Berwick with one thousand. That should be enough to march into Gordon lands and punish Richard Gordon however you see fit.”
Patrick was extremely thankful. “It will be more than enough, my lord,” he said. “Thank you again for your generosity and understanding in the matter.”
Henry’s gaze lingered on Patrick for a moment. “You know, a lesser man would have simply sent me a missive about the situation,” he said. “You showed great honor by coming to London when I know you did not want to leave your wife. That also shows courage. Are you sure you will not reconsider my appointment?”
Patrick gave him a half-grin. “As honored as I am by it, I must again decline for now. But who is to say what the future will hold? Mayhap Bridey would like living in London.”
Henry lifted his hands. “Why shouldn’t she?” he said. “Fine shops, fine homes, the Street of the Jewelers… any woman would love to live here.”
“Then give me a year or two and if you still wish to appoint me to your service, I would be willing to listen.”
Henry seemed satisfied with that arrangement. He must have been in a generous mood because he was not demanding that Patrick reconsider his stance. In truth, he understood what it was like to love a woman, so he had empathy for Patrick’s plight even if he was losing an excellent knight. Losing another de Wolfe, he thought with irony. When de Wolfe men fell for women, they fell hard. There was no turning back for any of them.
But Henry understood.
Rising from his heavily-cushioned chair, Henry made his way down the dais to Patrick as the man stood at the bottom of the steps. A tiny man when compared to Patrick’s bulk, he put his hand on the Patrick’s arm and began to walk.
“I want to know what this woman looks like who has taken you from me,” Henry said. “And we must discuss her father as well. Does Magnus know of his daughter?”
Patrick walked beside the king at a leisurely pace. “I do not know, my lord,” he said honestly. “The only person who would know that, I would assume, is the mother, Lady Juliana de la Haye.”
Henry pondered that as they headed for the large, heavy doors of the audience hall. “Is the mother still alive?”
“I would not know, my lord. The old nun, when she confessed Bridey’s true heritage, did not mention it.”
Henry was thoughtful. “Surely you realize that by marrying Magnus’ daughter, you have created an alliance with the Northmen. It might do well to inform Magnus that he has a bastard daughter married to an English knight. It might even bring about the grounds for a treaty with the Norse.”
Patrick could see that Henry was looking at the political side of things, as he very well should. It was his business to see potential alliances. But Patrick, truthfully, wasn’t so keen on it.
“He could also show up at Berwick and demand the return of his daughter, my lord,” Patrick pointed out as they passed through the doors, heading into the corridor outside. “If I would not return her to the church, I surely would not return her to a Northman.”
Henry rubbed his chin. “That could be quite a battle.”
“One I would wish to avoid, my lord.”
Henry pondered the idea a moment longer before lifting his shoulders. “It was a thought,” he said. “But you are correct – telling Magnus he has a daughter married to an Englishman could do more harm than good. And I do not believe you need any more trouble than you already have so far north in the wilds. The Scots are trouble enough.”
Patrick nodded fervently. “Indeed they are, my lord.”
They came to another corridor at that point and Henry came to a stop, as did the dozen advisors who had been following him and Patrick from the audience hall. Henry happened to glance at the nearest window to see the angle of the sun to guess the time of day.
“I will return to my chamber now and rest,” he said. “You will do the same and I will see you tonight at sup. I will have the missives from Canterbury at that time regarding your marriage.”
Patrick bowed his head in gratitude. “To thank you does not seem quite enough, my lord,” he said. “Thank you for your understanding and your mercy. I am ever your loyal servant.”
Henry began to walk away f
rom him, his advisors closing in around him. “Remember that when I honor you with another royal appointment.”
“I will, my lord.”
“If you turn that one down, there may not be another.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Do you still want to keep the lands and titles? I will give them to you as an incentive.”
Patrick grinned. “And if I keep them and still decline the appointment, my lord?”
Henry’s old eyes were shrewd. “Hopefully, you will not.”
With that, Henry continued down the corridor surrounded by his advisors, following the man like loyal dogs. It took Patrick a moment to realize de Lohr was not among them; he was standing next to Patrick, watching the monarch walk away.
“That was quite a fantastic tale, Atty,” Daniel said. “You were fortunate that you caught him in a good humor. I’ve seen men come to Henry with lesser tales only to be called a liar. He likes you.”
Patrick emitted a heavy sigh, his relief evident now that Henry had gone. “That is well and good,” he said. “I am very grateful. And thanks to you for providing me with men. Any chance your foolish son will be among them?”
Daniel laughed softly. “Chad?” he asked. “Nay, he will not. He is off with the de Shera brothers trying to help them rebuild their legacy after the defeat of de Montfort. He is a bit of a wanderer, like his father, but he married a lovely woman recently, a de Shera relation, in fact, and he is very happy. It does my heart good to see that.”
Patrick thought of his own father and how the man had been proud to see that, in his words, his son had finally become a man after declaring his love for Brighton. It would seem that all fathers were happy to see their sons grow up, emotionally as well as physically.
“I am pleased to hear that he married,” Patrick said. “Give him my congratulations when you see him, will you?”
Daniel nodded. “And I am sure he would congratulate you as well on your recent marriage.” The conversation paused and he turned to look at the windows and the position of the sun, just as Henry had. “It seems as if there are a few hours before sup at the very least. Where will you go now?”
Patrick shrugged. “I was thinking on going to the Street of the Jewelers, as Henry mentioned, to purchase a wedding ring for my wife. She does not have one.”
“I should like to purchase something fine for my wife as well. It is her day of birth soon. May I join you?”
“I would welcome it.”
Together, the two of them headed out of Westminster, out into the wild world of London to purchase finery for the women they loved.
‡
It was dusk by the time Patrick and Daniel returned from the Street of the Jewelers, which turned into a bigger trip because the Street of the Merchants was nearby and, somehow, they ended up there as well, hunting for delightful things to buy their wives.
Patrick had never had the opportunity to buy for a woman before so he was a bit of a slave to the merchants who were trying to coerce his money from him. The merchants figured out early on that Patrick was willing to drop money on pretty things, so they bombarded him with many. When all was said and done, Patrick had purchased three necklaces, several bejeweled hair combs, scarves, two cloaks, and a lovely silver and garnet ring because that was what all of the fashionable young wives were wearing. He hoped that it would fit her but the jeweler told him that any reputable jeweler would be able to make it the proper size for her.
It was a large and expensive haul that Patrick took back with him to Westminster that night, all of it tucked into a lovely embroidered satchel that he’d purchased for his wife. Most large families had townhomes in the city, like the House of de Lohr. But the House of de Wolfe kept no such residence, so Patrick had been assigned a room at Westminster since he had nowhere else to stay other than a tavern and Henry wanted him close by. Therefore, he dumped out the satchel when he returned, inspecting the treasures and hoping that Brighton would like them. The more he looked at the gifts meant for her, the more he missed her.
As he’d told Brighton, he thought of her every hour of every day. There wasn’t a time when he wasn’t thinking of her, wishing he had brought her with him but, in the same breath, knowing it was better that she had remained at Berwick. He’d left her thirteen days ago and he’d felt that pain of longing every one of those days. Sometimes he’d lay awake, thinking of her, missing her so badly that his stomach ached. What was it that he missed so badly? Everything. Her beauty, her silly giggle, her quiet wisdom. She had a strength about her that awed him. He missed it all. He still could hardly believe his good fortune in marrying a woman he was mad about. And that madness grew by the day.
So he packed her jewelry back into the pretty satchel and tucked it away into his saddlebags, making sure everything he owned was in those saddlebags so he could leave London as soon as the de Lohr troops and crown troops were assembled for him. He hoped those men were prepared for a hard march because he planned to make it back to Berwick in twelve days or less, a swift march, indeed. Those who couldn’t keep up would be left behind.
He wasn’t going to delay returning home again.
It was well after sunset and Westminster was alight with torch and candle light, giving the structure a rather ethereal glow. Sentries walked their rounds or manned their posts around the palace.
Patrick found himself standing at the window, watching the men at their posts, marveling at the size of the palace and the city beyond. London was growing steadily and it had since the last time he’d seen it, spreading out further and further into the surrounding countryside. Someday, it might take up the very length of the Thames, he thought. He found himself wondering what his children or his grandchildren would see.
Turning away from the window, he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in a polished bronze mirror that was near the bed. He peered at himself, thinking he looked rather slovenly with his overgrown hair and a beard that was growing in. He’d not taken much time to shave during the course of his trip south and his heavy beard was growing in quite nicely. He looked like a wild man. Grinning, he thought he might keep it and see if Brighton recognized him when he returned home.
A knock on the chamber door roused him from his thoughts of his dark beard. Thinking it was de Lohr, he casually made his way to the door and opened it only to find a familiar face gazing back at him. Patrick’s eyes widened.
“Kevin!”
Kevin Hage looked as if he’d hadn’t slept in days. He was haggard and pale, and Patrick was instantly seized with panic. Before he could say a word, however, Kevin pushed his way into the chamber.
“Thank God,” Kevin breathed. “The sergeant at the gate said I could find you here. Gather your things, Patrick. We must return to Berwick immediately.”
Stunned, Patrick realized he was shaking at Kevin’s unexpected appearance. “Why?” he gasped. “What has happened?”
Kevin sighed heavily, clearly struggling to stay on his feet. The man was exhausted to the bone. “Scots,” he said. “Hordes of them. Berwick is under siege. You must come home.”
Patrick’s heart was in his throat. For a split second, he simply stood there, staring at Kevin as he tried to process the information. Then, he was moving for the bedchamber in a rush, going to collect his saddlebags because he had been told to. But he pulled Kevin along with him as he moved.
“What in the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Tell me everything.”
Kevin couldn’t make it much further. He saw the bed and ended up collapsing on it, staring at the ceiling as Patrick began to don his mail. Kevin couldn’t even spare the strength to help the man.
“It started a few days after you left to come to London,” he said, his voice without energy. “I am not for certain exactly when, but I was still at Northwood Castle when Uncle Paris received word that Berwick was being attacked. From what we could understand, Uncle William was still at Berwick when the siege started, so Uncle Paris sent word to your brothers and al
so to Castle Questing, requesting men. We marched on Berwick with nearly five thousand men but when we got there, the place was being overrun. That was when Uncle Paris sent me to London to find you.”
Patrick had been listening to the tale with a myriad of emotions – initial disbelief, fear, then relief his father had been at Berwick when the battle started. But when Kevin mentioned that the castle had been overrun, he stopped in mid-motion.
“Dear God,” he breathed. “Tell me that my castle was not breached.”
Kevin rubbed his eyes wearily, too tired to be gentle in his delivery of the news. “When we arrived, the Scots had ladders on the walls but the ladders were not quite tall enough so they pulled them down and built extensions on them to try and reach the top,” he said. Then, he angled his head back so he could see Patrick. “This was a well-planned operation with thousands of Scots, Atty. I have never seen so many Scots in my entire life, as if half of the lowlands had suddenly converged on Berwick. We believe there was a small breach on the northeast wall because we could see a good deal of fighting on the battlements, but when our armies arrived, we created a second front so we diverted the Scots and they turned on us. I cannot tell you what has happened inside of Berwick because we have not been able to get close enough to tell. All I know is that Berwick is surrounded by Scots, and we are surrounding the Scots, and it has been some of the most intense fighting I have ever seen. Uncle Paris sent me to bring you home.”
Patrick was feeling oddly numb as he finished dressing, pulling on his mail cowl and adjusting his de Wolfe tunic. He was absolutely shocked to hear what was going on at Berwick because, in the years he had been in command, they’d never had a credible siege. The Scots had stayed away and, with the exception of a few minor skirmishes, they’d never seen a serious attack. But the moment he left, the Scots bastards converged on his garrison in a battle that had already been going on for almost two weeks. It was a struggle not to become completely overwhelmed with the news.
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 56
