PROLOGUE
1267 A.D.
Castle Questing
Northumberland
Whoosh!
The pebble caught him on the ear.
Oh, but it stung. It stung badly, like a wasp that was feeding on his flesh. But he refused to touch his ear or even acknowledge that he’d been struck, a victim of a focused attack.
He refused to let her know the pebble bloody well hurt.
He was in the stables of his father’s great castle of Questing, an enormous bastion of sand-colored stone that, when the sun hit it just right, appeared golden and glowing. At sunset, the entire western side of the castle would glow in the reflection of the sunset as if the angels themselves had built the castle with golden stone straight from Christ’s heavenly halls.
That was his home, Castle Questing. He’d been born there, along with many other cousins and children of his father’s knights. But the one who was shooting rocks at him had been born somewhere else.
Hades, perhaps?
Ooch!
Another pebble pinged him in the ear again, in nearly the same spot, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He was a de Wolfe, and de Wolfes didn’t flinch in the heat of battle.
Even if the battle was all one-sided.
Calmly, he continued checking the saddle of his brother Troy’s horse. He had four older brothers, in fact, all of them a good deal older than he was. He was part of what his parents liked to call their “second family”, the oldest of the last three children his mother and father had later in their life. There were five years between him and the last-born of his older brothers, and then after he was born, there were a few more years before his mother had another boy and another girl in quick succession. But he was kind of in a limbo between the “olders” and the “youngers”, as they were called.
Edward de Wolfe was a brother unto himself.
In truth, he didn’t much fit in with his older brothers because they were all so close. Scott and Troy were the twins and the eldest, and then came Patrick, known as Atty to the family because that was what he’d called himself when he’d been a child, and then James. The four of them were very close in age and close in general.
Then came Edward.
Ping!
Another pebble hit him, distracting him from his thoughts. Only this one bounced off his shoulder and headed off into the smelly depths of the stable. He was being harassed, but that was nothing new. He knew who was harassing him, too, and that was certainly nothing new. He was used to that horrid de Norville girl and all of the evil she entailed.
Well, not exactly evil.
Naughty was more like it.
She was going to get hers.
Edward’s task this morning was to make sure his older brothers’ horses were properly saddled and brought into the bailey of Castle Questing. His brothers were all here because their father, William, had called a meeting of his sons to discuss some increased reiver activity along the borders. As garrison commanders, the brothers needed to have the latest information to be able to protect their lands and their people.
This time of year, the reivers were usually fairly busy, taking advantage of the warmer weather. In fact, it was a bright morning in early summer and, so far, the season had been unusually warm with little rain. Everything was still green, but the roads and baileys were dusty and dry. Near the River Tweed, which ran to the north, the bright blue harebell flowers bloomed along the river’s edge, and the hills were colored with heather as far as the eye could see.
This was the land that Edward spent all of his time in, traveling back and forth between his father’s mighty outpost of Rule Water Castle, known as Wolfe’s Lair, and any number of his father’s other holdings. He was a squire, a novice knight, and did what he was told to do and went where he was told to go. His father was a mighty warlord here in the north; the Wolfe of the Border, they called him, and it was a mighty reputation he had.
It was also a mighty reputation for his sons to follow.
So far, they’d all done a splendid job of it. Scott, Troy, Patrick, and James were all the spit of the old man’s shine, and Edward, at ten years and five, wanted very much to be like them. He’d fostered at Kenilworth and Lioncross Abbey, two of the greatest military castles in all of England, and then last year he’d come north to serve at Wolfe’s Lair, one of the biggest castles along the border. He was wise beyond his years, tremendously skilled, and serious beyond measure.
And the little de Norville brat knew it. That’s why she was trying to get his attention.
Ooch!
There she went again.
The pebble had hit him on the neck this time and he’d had enough. Leaving the servants to finish with the horses, Edward proceeded from the stable but he didn’t go very far. He quickly pressed himself up against the wall next to the stable entry, waiting for his nemesis to come after him. It never failed; at family gatherings, like this one, if he was around, the youngest de Norville daughter wasn’t far behind him.
She’d been making a target out of him since she’d been old enough to walk.
He was going to pay her back this time.
He didn’t have long to wait. Pressed against the stone wall that was right next to the stable entrance, a young girl with messy hair and a hollow reed in her hand emerged from the stable. Edward caught sight of her reddish-gold hair and quickly stuck his foot out. Predictably, she tripped right over it, falling face first into the dirt.
Hands on hips, Edward hovered over her.
“That’s what you get,” he said, frowning deeply. “For every pebble you hit me with, I am going to make you fall into the dirt when you least expect it.”
Lady Cassiopeia de Norville rolled onto her backside, sitting up and scowling at Edward. A beautiful girl, but the youngest of six, she was fiery and bold. “You think you are so smart,” she said defiantly. “You cannot even stop me from shooting pebbles at you. What a worthless knight you shall be!”
For a lad who was known to be calm, wise, and diplomatic even at his young age, Cassiopeia had the ability to irritate Edward beyond reason. But he held his temper, mostly because she was a vindictive screamer and would probably tell her father that Edward had somehow affronted her.
He wouldn’t put it past her.
“I am a de Wolfe,” he said steadily. “We are never worthless. De Norvilles, on the other hand…”
Her eyes widened in outrage. “Do you think to insult my father, then? My brothers?”
He saw the opportunity to get the better of her. “If your father and brothers were so great, then they would have their own properties,” he said. “Instead, they serve my father and my brothers. They have nothing of their own and are insignificant paupers. A de Wolfe is better than a de Norville in all things.”
Enraged, Cassiopeia scrambled to her feet and charged him. Edward easily moved out of the way, sticking out his foot in the process. Considering he’d already managed to trip her once, one would have thought she would have been cautious of another trick.
But, she wasn’t.
Down she went.
“The next time you think to shoot pebbles at me, reconsider,” he said, going to stand over her again as she pushed herself up out of the dirt. “You are a nasty little lass, Cassie. I have no time for you or your foolery, and I shall outsmart you every time.”
“Cassie!”
Startled, both Edward and Cassiopeia turned to see Cassiopeia’s father, Paris, enter the stable yard. He was looking at his daughter with great concern as Edward lost some of his confidence in the situation. Cassiopeia, smart enough to realize this, began to wail at the top of her lungs.
“Edward pushed me!” she cried. “He pushed me down and told me he was going to beat me!”
Edward’s eyes widened dramatically as he looked between Paris, his father’s dearest friend, and Cassiopeia as she wept in the dirt.
“I did no such thing,” he insisted, but he knew his position was weak. It was Cassiop
eia on the ground, lending credence to her tale of woe. “She was shooting pebbles at me and I… well, I tripped her.”
Paris went to his daughter, pulling her up out of the dirt. “Is this true?” he asked her. “Did you shoot pebbles at him?”
Cassiopeia wept as if her heart were breaking. “He has blamed me for it, but I did not do it,” she cried. “Do not let him hurt me, Papa. He told me that a de Wolfe can always beat a de Norville in a fight. I think he means to fight me!”
With his daughter cradled against him, Paris turned to Edward, who was standing there trying not to look terrified. “Edward,” he said in a tone that was nearly scolding. “She is just a wee lass. You cannot possibly mean to bully her.”
Edward was in serious trouble and he knew it. “I swear to you, Uncle Paris,” he said. “I never threatened to beat her and she most definitely shot pebbles at me. She is lying.”
Paris’ expression suggested that he knew what a troublemaker his youngest daughter was. She was his baby, but she was also devious and unruly, so there was a great part of him that believed Edward.
Still… he’d found his little girl wallowing in the dirt.
Clearly, something had happened.
“Edward?” came a voice. “Paris? What goes on?”
They both turned to see William de Wolfe enter the stable yard. An enormous knight with dark hair that was streaked with gray, he was fixed on his son. He could clearly see Cassiopeia sobbing and Paris holding her rather protectively. Curious, he looked at Edward.
“What goes on here?” he asked again. “Why is Cassie weeping?”
“He pushed me!” Cassiopeia cried. “He pushed me and told me that he was going to beat me!”
William looked at his son. “That is not like you,” he said. “Why would you be so cruel?”
Edward was sinking fast. “I did not push her, Father,” he said. “She was shooting pebbles at me so I… I tripped her.”
William sighed heavily as a stern expression washed over his features. “Edward,” he said, disappointment in his tone. “I have raised you better than that. We do not push or trip girls, no matter what they have done.”
Edward looked at Cassiopeia in outrage. “So she gets to shoot me with pebbles and I cannot defend myself?”
“By pushing her?” William said. “Be glad I do not tell your mother. She would take a switch to you. Come along, now. Evidently, you cannot go unsupervised so let us find your brothers. You will be returning with Scott to The Lair.”
Outraged, and realizing he was taking the brunt of Cassiopeia’s actions, Edward started to protest but William grabbed him on the shoulder, by the neck, and pulled him along. It was a viselike grip from father to son, implying what could, and would, happen should Edward not behave himself.
Paris and Cassiopeia watched him go and from the way William was holding Edward, the young man was in for a row. Paris watched the pair disappear from the stable yard before turning to his daughter.
“I cannot help but noticed that you stopped your tears the moment William took Edward away,” he said to his daughter. “Cassie, I have warned you against harassing people. Edward is now in trouble because of you.”
Cassiopeia turned her wide-eyed gaze to her father. “But I did nothing!”
With an annoyed sigh, Paris grasped her by the wrist of the hand she was trying to keep behind her back, pulling forth a fist that was holding a hollow reed. He held it up between them.
“Then he was telling the truth,” he said.
Cassiopeia went from gloating to panic. “I… I found it,” she said, scrambling for an explanation. “When Edward pushed me, I fell on it. I… I…”
Paris grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her from the stable yard. “We shall see what your mother has to say about this.”
Cassiopeia began crying again, this time for real because her mother wasn’t afraid to use a switch. As Paris dragged her out of the stable yard and headed for the rambling keep of Castle Questing, her cries were enough to attract the attention of some of those in the bailey.
One of them was Edward.
Now over near the north side of the bailey where his brothers’ escorts were gathering, he listened to Cassiopeia’s cries with a good deal of satisfaction.
“I hope her mother whips her good,” he muttered. “The little tyrant.”
William was standing next to him. He, too, had noted Paris dragging his unhappy daughter towards the keep, and he simply shook his head.
“I do not know what it is about you and Cassie, but you two are like cats in a bag,” he said. “All you do is antagonize each other.”
Edward turned to him. “Father, I never do anything,” he said. “She is the one who antagonizes me.”
William held up a hand to silence his son. “Be that as it may, the sooner you return to The Lair, the better,” he said. “If you stay here any longer, she may have vengeance on her mind and I would be finding you tied up down a well, or worse. Cassie may be young, but she is clever in her ways to torment you.”
Edward turned for the stable yard, planning on collecting his horse now that Cassiopeia wasn’t anywhere near it. “I heard her mother tell Mama that they were sending Cassie away to foster finally,” he said. “Maybe she’ll learn how to behave herself.”
“Or she’ll have the whole of Somerhill Castle terrorized.”
Edward didn’t reply, mostly because where Cassiopeia de Norville was concerned, terror was a distinct possibility. Still, there was great relief in her going away to foster. He hoped she’d get her comeuppance, wherever she went.
The mere thought made him smile.
Vengeance, indeed.
CHAPTER ONE
1279 A.D.
The Lyceum (formerly known as Whitelee Castle, rechristened 1224 A.D. as The Lyceum)
29 miles southwest of Castle Questing
“There once was a lady fair,
With silver bells in her hair.
I knew her to have,
A luscious kiss… it drove me mad!
But she denied me… and I was so terribly sad.
Lily, my girl,
Your flower, I will unfurl
With my cock and a bit of good luck!
Your kiss divine,
I’ll make you mine,
And keep you a-bed for a fuck!”
The hall exploded with laughter as James de Wolfe, a man of extraordinary singing talent, and Adonis de Norville, a man who thought he had extraordinary singing talent, coerced one side of the great hall, the side where it was all men and most of them drinking steadily, into singing the bawdy song that had them laughing wildly when it was finished.
But that moment of joy wasn’t enough to deter James’ mother and her retaliation.
Jordan, Lady de Wolfe, had been near the dais that glowed with the light of a hundred fatty candles, speaking to a few other noblewomen who had been invited to the feast to celebrate the marriage between her nephew, Gerard de Wolfe, brother to the Earl of Wolverhampton, and Lady Alys de Royans of The Lyceum. She’d heard her son as he’d strutted through the hall with a citole he’d stolen from one of the minstrels, singing and entertaining the crowd.
At first, it had been rather tame and lovely. James was an entertainer all to himself; he could sing beautifully, and tell stories, and was generally a man of great congeniality and skill. But he was also young and lacked restraint, and that lewd song was an exceptional example. In fact, when James saw his mother coming in his direction, he tossed the citole to the nearest man and made haste to leave the hall.
He was so eager to avoid his mother’s wrath that both he and Apollo leapt onto the feasting table where dozens of men were sitting, enjoying their drinks and the entertainment. The men laughed and threw bread at the two young knights, causing Apollo to slip and fall onto the tabletop.
He landed heavily and what food there was on the table sprayed everywhere. Covered in butter and a boiled apple compote, Apollo never missed a step as he slithe
red off the table, after James, as the two of them ran from the hall with Jordan very quickly walking after them, murder on her mind. She chased them to the door, but they were already gone, out into the night beyond, giggling because they’d outrun her.
“My ears shall not be boxed tonight, Mother!” James shouted.
It was very difficult for Jordan to keep a straight face at her cheeky boy. “Mayhap not,” she shouted back. “But be prepared tae defend yerself the next time I see ye!”
“I love you, old girl!”
Jordan’s smile broke through. “Come back here and I’ll show ye just how old I am!”
“He is too big to be beaten, love.”
The voice came from behind her. Jordan turned to see her enormous husband standing in the great Norman archway of the hall, his gaze twinkling at her. Tall, dark, and handsome, William de Wolfe’s male beauty was legendary, even in his advancing years. There wasn’t a man who could touch him, as far as Jordan was concerned, and the love they shared was a legendary thing.
A blessing few couples shared.
But as wonderful as William was, he was far too lax with his sons in Jordan’s opinion. They could get away with almost anything and William would hardly lift a finger in punishment. Unless it was something quite serious, of course, but even then, Jordan and William had differing opinions about what was serious. Boyish pranks and discipline, even though the sons were adults, were still things Jordan and William wrestled with.
Like now. When Jordan frowned with exasperation at her husband, he laughed softly.
“He is a grown man,” William said pointedly. “If he wants to sing a naughty song, then ’tis his right.”
Jordan wasn’t any less irritated with her husband than she was at her son at the moment. “This is not a gatherin’ of only fightin’ men,” she pointed out. “This is a betrothal celebration and there are women here. I willna let him shame us with his nasty songs, English. And ye shouldna let him, either.”
“It was harmless fun.”
“It was shockin’.”
As Jordan was scolding her husband, more de Wolfe sons came up behind him, all of them somewhat hiding behind their father because an angry mother was never a good thing. They had seen Jordan charge off after James and, like good brothers, they came to his aid. Jordan could see her eldest boys, twins Scott and Troy, as well as brother Patrick ganging up behind her husband. Bringing up the rear were her younger boys, Edward and Thomas.
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