The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “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 also 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.

  But then, it started to occur to Patrick… Colm had suggested that Tommy Orry had come to Berwick to scout it from the inside. He’d been looking for William and had spoken of the Coldingham lass. Perhaps Colm had been right all along and Tommy’s presence had been the harbinger of things to come. The Scots, all along, had been focused on Berwick. Was it really true? Now, all of it was starting to make some sense and his stomach began to twist into knots of horror.

  “Did you identify the Scots?” he asked Kevin. “What clans?”

  Kevin was struggling to sit up because he was close to falling asleep. “Our scouts have told us they recognized MacKay and Gordon.”

  Patrick looked at him in utter horror. “Gordon?”

  “Aye. Why?”

  So much for trying to remain calm. Patrick stared at Kevin, hardly able to speak for the terror racing through his mind.

  “You were not at Berwick when a man from Clan Gordon came to tell us….” He couldn’t even finish. “They want Bridey. My God… they want my wife.”

  Kevin peered at him in confusion. “Why would they want her?”

  Patrick struggled to bring forth the explanation. “Because the mother prioress of Coldingham was raped by a member of Clan Haye years ago,” he said haltingly. “When Bridey was brought to Coldingham by her mother, who was a member of Clan Haye, the mother prioress and her brother came up with a plot to use my wife in vengeance against Clan Haye. Before I left for London, we had a visitor from Clan Gordon who came to Berwick to tell us of this plot. Colm thought the man was there to scout Berwick, to see our strengths and weaknesses, but I discounted that. And now… oh, Sweet God, now I see that I must have been wrong. They waited until I left to attack the fortress, hoping it would be easier to get to Brighton.”

  Kevin could see how distraught Patrick was, now coming to understand why the man was more distressed than he should have been. Something evil was centering around the woman he married, something unspeakable and dark.

  “We haven’t been able to speak with anyone inside of the fortress,” he said. “We have been separated from the castle by a line of Scots. Are you telling me that they are there to target your wife?”

  Patrick could only nod. Not having contact with anyone inside the fortress, Paris and Patrick’s brothers, and anyone else, wouldn’t know that the ultimate goal of the siege was to get to Brighton. They would think it was simply a nasty siege, like any number of sieges the Scots were so capable of. They wouldn’t know that it was Patrick’s wife who was in danger, the very woman who breathed life into his veins.

  He had to get home.

  “Listen to me,” Patrick said, reaching out to pull Kevin off the bed. “I want you to find Daniel de Lohr. He is here, somewhere. I want you to tell him what has happened and tell him I am leaving for Berwick tonight. The man was supposed to supply me with troops to take with me to the north, but I cannot wait for them. You will stay here and bring the troops north, do you hear? I cannot wait, Kevin. I must go home.”

  Kevin lurched to his feet, weaving wearily. “I will find him and tell him,” he said. “But I am going with you. You cannot go alone.”

  Patrick was in no mood to argue. “Do as I say,” he snapped. “After you find de Lohr, find Henry and tell him also, for he will want to know. Tell Henry… tell him that the Gordon has attacked Berwick in an attempt to get my wife. Tell him I have already left for Berwick. He will understand.”

  Kevin wasn’t happy with the command but he nodded his head. “As you wish,” he said reluctantly. “Is there anything else?”

  Patrick shook his head, grabbing his saddlebags and slinging them over one broad shoulder. “Nay,” he replied. “Just do as I ask and come as quickly as you can.”

  With that, they fled the room. Kevin followed Patrick all the way down to the stable block, remaining with Patrick in case there were any last-minute orders. But none were forthcoming and Patrick eventually chased Kevin away to carry out his existing orders.

  As Kevin headed off into the torch-lit grounds of Westminster, Patrick finished saddling his excitable beast. He was fairly excitable himself, hating that it would take so long to reach Berwick and wondering what he would find when he arrived. But above all of his fears, he was grateful for one thing – that his father and his knights were there to protect Brighton from men who wanted to kill her. They knew the grisly story of Gordon vengeance and they knew why the Scots had come. Patrick knew they would do everything in their power to keep his wife safe. It was, perhaps, the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

  He’d been gone from Berwick thirteen days. Kevin had said that the siege had been going on since a few days after he’d left, which meant it was almost a two-week siege at best. But he took comfort in his father being at Berwick and the great de Wolfe and de Longley armies there to engage the Scots and, hopefully, chase them away.

  In fact, that could have already happened and he would return to a fortress that was picking up the pieces but mostly sound and whole. That was the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario, he couldn’t bring himself to entertain.

  By the light of a three-quarter moon, Patrick set off for Berwick.

  Have faith, Bridey, he prayed over and over. I am coming!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nine days later

  Berwick Castle

  Berwick Castle, if nothing else, was built to withstand anything.

  A bombardment from archangels notwithstanding, the walls had held off the Scots for nearly three weeks. The first few days of the siege had been somewhat sporadic and unorganized, but then a second wave of Scots appeared and the battle began to take some form. There were ladders, many of them, and the Scots were attempting to mount the walls with them but they weren’t quite tall enough, so the ladders disappeared for a day or two only to reappear with extensions on the ends, making them very tall and very unstable.

  Truthfully, William wasn’t all that concerned. He’d fought Scots for more years than he cared to recall and he’d seen their tactics, including the unstable ladders. The walls of Berwick were enormous, more than twenty feet in height in some places, with some of the towers nearly sixty feet in height, so William knew that the Scots wouldn’t be able to easily mount the walls much less breach them. They either had to go over them or under them, and either one of those choices was nearly impossible. Frankly, he was surprised they were making the attempt. Still, every time they drew close, William and the knights were ready for them.

  Flaming arrows were launched by the archers in the center of the bailey at the Scots on the exterior of the castle, and more than one met its target. Being that the castle was now locked away from the world, William was careful with the ammunition, for arrows were valuable, so he conserved as much as he could. The men of Be
rwick spent most of their time on the walls, shoving away those unstable ladders and generally doing a good deal of damage that way. In fact, other than the arrows lost, the men of Berwick hadn’t had all that difficult time of it with the Scots.

  Then, the English armies arrived.

  William had seen the massive army approaching from the west, lines of men in battle formation as they approached the castle, and he saw the standards of de Wolfe and de Longley and Teviot. Confidence filled him in knowing that his oldest and dearest friend, Paris de Norville, had made an appearance with the army from Northwood and also that Kieran had brought his own troops from Castle Questing. It was a prideful sight, indeed, to see the two armies merged and heading towards Berwick like a great steel tide.

  The Scots, however, weren’t so impressed. It was a sight that should have made them withdraw but, instead, they rushed out to attack the English army and as William and the knights of Berwick watched with some fascination, the Scots engaged the incoming English armies in hand-to-hand combat that grew nasty very quickly.

  It went off and on for days, men fighting one another, killing each other, and soon the dead began to pile up. The armies had met to the north of Berwick on a great hilly, grassy plain, and the attack on the castle eased up because the Scots were diverted to the incoming English armies.

  And William hardly slept because of it. He spent his time on the battlements watching the ebb and flow of the fighting, knowing that his dear friends, Paris and Kieran, were in the middle of it, older men who should be enjoying their advancing years but, instead, were in the midst of a battle because William was in need of them.

  William also suspected that his sons, Scott and Troy and possibly even James, had come because the army of de Wolfe was quite vast and the banner they flew from garrison to garrison was always the same, so it was quite possible all of William’s border garrisons had spared men to defend Berwick. It concerned William a great deal that his sons were in the midst of the battle, too, so he stayed awake, watching, trying to determine if the English were making headway against a particularly vitriolic band of Scots.