The memory of the dog brought tears again and they spilled from her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. Even so, Tor was coming to get a broader picture of Steffan de Featherstone. Not only was he a man who broke his word, but he was a tormenter as well. There were probably darker secrets, even more than that. Men like that usually had a few. Before he could respond, however, she looked at him and spoke.
“Do you have sisters, Sir Tor?” she asked.
He nodded. “Five, but I lost one many years ago.”
“But you are kind to all of them? Even the one you lost?”
He nodded faintly. “I do not pull their hair if that is what you are asking,” he said, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “I love each one, my lady. I would kill or die for them.”
She gazed at him a moment with big, bottomless eyes, perhaps pondering a world where a brother could be kind to a sister. Or a family that loved one another. After a moment, she smiled weakly.
“They are most fortunate to have you for a brother,” she said. “I envy them. Will you go home to them now?”
He shook his head. “They do not live with me,” he said. “I live at Blackpool Castle.”
“Where is that?”
“About twenty miles north of here.”
“And you live there alone?”
He nodded. “Without my sisters and brothers and parents,” he said. “My cousin lives with me, however. Christian is my second in command. Blackpool is an important outpost, a military outpost, so it is heavily manned.”
“But you are happy there?”
He wasn’t sure why she was asking so many questions, but he sensed something behind her curiosity. It seemed she wanted to hear that someone was happy, somewhere, because she wasn’t particularly happy with her circumstances. A dead mother, now a dead brother, and a father who seemed distant at best. Perhaps she simply couldn’t believe there really were happy families in the world.
It was a foreign concept.
She was looking for happiness, somewhere, even through a knight she’d just met.
“I am happy there,” he said. “When my uncle purchased the castle, it came with herds of sheep with black faces. Funny little creatures. There are orchards and gangs of geese that like to congregate in my bailey and bite my soldiers. But it is a happy place, at least for me.”
Her face was still pale and her eyes a bit watery, but she smiled at the thought of such a place. “There are some people in London that keep geese for protection,” she said. “Sometimes they are better than dogs.”
“If I had thousands, I’d send them after the Scots.”
She giggled, displaying a sweet smile. He was simply glad that the mood was finally lightening. It had been touch and go there for moment.
“Good,” he said. “You’re smiling again. Now, shall we go into the hall and get out of this rain?”
She looked up at the dark sky. The rain still wasn’t falling heavily, but it was enough that she agreed with him. When he offered her his arm, she didn’t hesitate to take it and Tor realized, as he led her towards the entry to the hall, that he felt rather proud to have her on his arm. Little did he know that she was feeling the same way, too.
The unexpected day for them both was turning out even more unexpectedly.
CHAPTER SIX
Netherghyll Castle
“He attacked one of my nephews and was killed in the process,” Thomas said grimly. “You cannot know how badly I feel for this unfortunate incident, Kelton, but Steffan chose his own path. It was not forced upon him. He could have come peacefully with us and fulfilled his vow, but he chose not to. I am sorry to inform you of this.”
Kelton de Royans, Lord Cononley, was staring at Thomas rather dumbfounded. A middle-aged man, his blond hair mostly gone gray, he was genuinely shocked by what he was hearing. The unexpected appearance of the Earl of Northumbria should have told him something was amiss but, even so, he wasn’t expecting this.
Or perhaps he was.
Given that the subject was Steffan de Featherstone, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised at all.
“A betrothal to Isabella de Wolfe?” he said, incredulous. “I had not heard of this, my lord, and Steffan has served me for two years. When did this betrothal occur?”
Thomas could see that the man was being genuine in his disbelief. “Within the year is my understanding,” he said. “He pursued Isabella quite seriously, enough to compromise her so that her father gave in to the demands for marriage. Then, on the day of the marriage, Steffan was nowhere to be found. Forgive me for pointing this out, but he is your knight. Did you not wonder why he was not here with you at Netherghyll?”
Kelton sighed heavily. “He said that his father was ill,” he said. “He was traveling frequently to Featherstone to see to his father, but now I am guessing that was not true.”
Thomas shook his head. “It seems that it was not,” he said. “Steffan was pursing Isabella and then abandoning her. When we caught up to him, he chose to fight, as I said, rather than honor his promise. The decision cost him his life.”
Kelton’s expression of shock began to turn to one of rage. He turned to the five de Royans knights that had returned to Netherghyll with the earl.
“You lot were in Newcastle,” he said through clenched teeth. “You met Steffan there, did you not?”
The knight in the lead nodded to the question. He was young and intimidated by an angry lord but, then again, all five of them were young men newly knighted. Netherghyll was known as a training port for new knights, bachelor knights, and the like. In exchange for service, they received more advanced training from an arsenal of senior de Royans knights, much as Castle Questing and other castles provided. It was a way of strengthening ranks while giving new knights more experience, but the caveat was that sometimes those younger knights had a lot to learn in both battle and ethics.
This was clearly one of those times.
“We were in Newcastle, my lord,” the young knight said. “We were at Alnwick at your request, if you recall, but we were preparing to depart when we received de Featherstone’s missive to meet him in Newcastle.”
“Did he say why he wanted you to meet him?”
“Nay, my lord. I swear it.”
Kelton wasn’t convinced. “You were friends with de Featherstone, Powell,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me that you knew nothing of his activities?”
“He told me that he was visiting his sick father as well, my lord.”
The young man was pale with fear, but neither Kelton nor Thomas sensed he was lying. Just nervous. In fact, Thomas sought to take Kelton’s anger off the knight.
“I believe him,” he said quietly. “We had the opportunity to speak after the encounter at the tavern and I am convinced your men believed they were being attacked by de Wolfe knights for some unknown reason. They appear to know nothing about Steffan’s activities so I would say you have men who trusted the wrong companion. That is their only crime.”
Kelton still wasn’t convinced but he let it go. He knew that Powell and Steffan and another knight named Joah de Brayton had been good friends, so he honestly couldn’t believe that Powell knew nothing. After a moment, he waved them off.
“Go,” he said. “Out of my sight. But do not leave this castle. I may have more questions. Do you understand me?”
The five of them nodded fearfully. “Aye, my lord,” Powell said.
Dismissed, the five knights nearly ran from the room. An enraged de Royans was never a good thing. Four of the knights headed out into the bailey to tend to their horses but Powell paused a moment in the entry, sighing heavily as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. He felt as if he’d barely survived his bout with an angry lord. In fact, the entire situation had him reeling. Just as he went to follow his colleagues outside, he heard someone hissing.
Turning towards the sound, he could see an older knight standing in a doorway that led to a servant’s passage. The man was hissing at him and Powell looked
startled to see him. His eyes darted around to make sure no one was watching before he swiftly headed in the older knight’s direction. When he drew close, the man reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into the darkened passage.
“What happened?” he hissed. “Where is Steffan?”
Powell sighed sharply. “Dead,” he said. “The de Wolfe pack caught up with him and when he refused to return to marry the de Wolfe girl, he was killed.”
The older knight’s breath caught in his throat. That wasn’t the answer he had expected. His eyes widened and he slumped back against the passageway as the color drained from his face.
“Nay,” he breathed. “Tell me it is not true.”
“It is true,” Powell whispered. “I just lied to de Royans, Joah. I told him I knew nothing of Steffan’s activities and thank the sweet Lord that he believed me. Or mayhap he did not. I suppose time will tell, but I will deny any knowledge to my grave.”
Joah de Brayton put his hand over his mouth, closing his eyes as tears popped forth. He lost his composure while Powell stood there, completely unmoved by the tears. In fact, he yanked Joah’s hand from his face, his eyes blazing.
“Don’t you dare act as if you are crushed by this,” Powell hissed. “This was all a plot between you and Steffan to get your hands on a de Wolfe dowry and Steffan lost his nerve. I wish you had never spoken of it because now I am part of this… this dishonorable mess.”
Joah was a master knight at Netherghyll, a man with twenty years of training and battle experience. His credentials were good. But he was also a man who had grown disillusioned with his post. For the past few years, he wanted something better, the opportunity for riches and leisure. He found a partner in that dream, and in his bed, in Steffan de Featherstone.
But clearly, that dream had somehow shattered.
“You were agreeable enough to be part of it with the promise of the reward,” Joah reminded him. “You are not innocent, Powell. You overheard Steffan and me speaking of the de Wolfe lass and the dowry she would bring. You were eager enough to be part of it when we offered you a prestigious post with the de Wolfe army once Steffan married her. Nay… not only are you not innocent, you are complicit. Remember that.”
Powell knew that. God help him, he did. But he felt as if he were getting sucked deeper and deeper into a quagmire that he would have no hope of ever escaping. Joah and Steffan had been conniving, unscrupulous men and being young and ambitious, Powell had fallen into a dangerous trap.
Now, he was part of that filth.
“I have not forgotten,” he said after a moment. “But Steffan must have had a change of heart and ran out on the marriage at the last minute. We did not have time to speak in private before he was killed. We’ll never know why he decided not to marry the de Wolfe lass.”
Joah’s eyes started to well again as he thought on his lover. “How… how did it happen?” he asked. “His death, I mean. How was he killed?”
Powell couldn’t help the disgust in his eyes. “I do not know,” he said. “It looked as if his throat had been slit, but that was the only obvious wound. I do not know who did it, but we were set upon by the House of de Wolfe. They were all de Wolfe men.”
Joah wiped at his eyes, quickly. “Do you know who?”
Powell thought a moment. “The Earl of Northumbria was one,” he said. “I recognized several from a meeting with the king last year, when he gathered his northern warlords at Alnwick. They were all from Castle Questing or Berwick. I saw two Hage knights and the son of the Earl of Warenton was there; one of the older ones. I think he has his own command now near Carlisle, from what I heard. I think they call him Tor.”
Joah recognized the names. He’d served de Royans long enough to recognize most of the de Wolfe men and their allies – Hage, de Norville, and de Longley. They were all family, all thick as thieves.
“Isabella de Wolfe is the daughter of Blayth de Wolfe,” he said. “He’s the one who made a name for himself in Wales years ago, the de Wolfe brother believed to be dead. He is a powerful warlord. He was not part of this assassination contingent?”
Powell shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I believe his eldest was, Ronan. The lad looks just like him.”
“Ronan,” Joah repeated slowly. “How young?”
“Mayhap seventeen or eighteen years.”
Joah grunted. “Young and impressionable,” he muttered. “They are teaching him to be a good little killer, just like the rest of the de Wolfes.”
Powell wasn’t sure what to say to that, but something told him that Joah was sinking into the well of blame. It would consume him, surround him, and cover him. He would hold Steffan completely blameless for his own death.
“Northumbria is in the solar with de Royans,” Powell said. “If I were you, I would distance myself from Steffan. De Royans is not pleased and he knows that you are close to Steffan. He will ask you what you know.”
Joah was calming somewhat, but it was only the first wave of peace before the grief hit him again, later, and he would be swamped with it. But at the moment, he was looking to place the blame for his beloved’s death. In his mind, Steffan wasn’t to blame. He surely had a perfectly good reason for fleeing Isabella de Wolfe before the marriage could take place. What that reason was didn’t matter.
In fact, there was part of him that was glad Steffan fought marriage to a woman. Joah didn’t particularly want to share his lover, but the lure of de Wolfe wealth and prestige had been great. It would have taken him away from de Royans, where his talents and life were stagnating.
Perhaps Steffan had come up with a better idea or had a better offer.
Better than a de Wolfe.
And they had killed him for it.
“Do not worry about me,” he said after a moment. “Go, now. Tend to your horse and your men. I can handle de Royans and Northumbria if they come calling. You needn’t worry.”
Powell studied the man for a moment, wondering where the suddenly burst of steeliness had come from, but he didn’t have the inclination to ask. The further he remained away from de Brayton, the better.
The man was trouble.
Without another word, Powell headed out into the bailey, leaving Joah still in the servant’s passage because he could hear anything coming in and out of the solar.
He wanted to hear what Northumbria and de Royans had to say.
This may have been the end of Steffan, but it was not the end of the situation. Steffan was, in all things, above reproach in Joah’s mind. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that the de Wolfe pack must have unfairly cornered him. He was positive that Steffan had a good reason for running.
He only wished he knew what it was.
But that was of little consequence now. His lover was gone, his plans were laid to waste, and the common denominator to both of those things was the House of de Wolfe. Certainly, Joah could not attack any number of their fortresses to exact his revenge. He had no army, no men sworn to him. He was only one piece of a much larger war engine, a war engine that the House of de Royans controlled. Personally, he had nothing.
It was that sense of emptiness that had started this entire scheme.
He’d lost whatever connection he was going to have to the House of de Wolfe. He had lost a man he had loved very much for the past two years. Now, he had nothing more to lose, but that did not stop his sense of vengeance. As he saw it, Steffan was a victim in all of this. A victim of de Wolfe greed and ambition. They had everything – money, power, properties, and titles. They had everything and Steffan would have asked for so little. Marriage to a de Wolfe daughter would not have mattered in the grand scheme of the House of the Wolfe.
It would have been hardly nothing.
But now that nothing was gone.
Joah was, if nothing else, sly. He knew how to manipulate men and he knew how to concoct a scheme. This entire de Wolfe betrothal had been his idea, after all.
He was going to have to think of something else to get b
ack what he had lost.
The House of de Wolfe had outposts and castles all along the Scottish Marches, including two that were closer to Carlisle. Everyone knew of Rule Water Castle, known as Wolfe’s Lair. That was perhaps their biggest outpost. There was another one they had acquired a couple of years ago near The Lair and Joah remembered this because at the same gathering at Alnwick when King Edward gathered his warlords, he had heard talk of Blackpool Castle and that the de Wolfe family had purchased it.
The House of de Wolfe just got richer and richer.
Joah wasn’t sure who the garrison commander was, but surely it was another de Wolfe. Perhaps if he made his way to Blackpool, which was about one hundred miles directly north, he could pose as an injured allied knight and seek shelter. The land up there was fairly remote, so perhaps there would be an opportunity for him to seek a little retribution against those who had ruined his plans and killed his lover. If not, then he’d move on to the next de Wolfe property and seek opportunities there. After twenty years as a de Royans knight, he was ready to move on.
He was finished with Netherghyll.
More than that, it was time for Joah de Brayton to evolve.
With as big as the de Wolfe family was, perhaps he could find a bride amongst them. Where Steffan had failed, he would not.
He was going to make them pay.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Featherstone
“Is this usual?”
The question came from Tor. On a misty morning, with a heavy layer of dew covering the countryside, Tor and Fraser stood in the muddy courtyard of Featherstone, waiting for their horses to be brought out.
“Aye,” Fraser said, resignation in his voice. “Ever since Lady Isalyn arrived, she has thrown all of Featherstone into turmoil. She is used to doing as she pleases and sees no need for an escort in anything she does. She doesn’t even see any reason to tell anyone where she is going.”
Tor wasn’t surprised to hear that and Fraser sounded genuinely worried. “She is a woman of independence,” he said. “I recall hearing stories of my grandmother also being a woman of independence, escaping my grandfather and doing as she pleased.”
WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 10