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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Most impressive, Atty,” Scott said, standing over near the tent flap. “As Henry’s Lord Protector, you have command of more men than we can imagine. It was generous of Henry to permit you to bring some of them north.”

  Patrick shook his head, preparing to deal the group another shock. “I am not Henry’s Lord Protector,” he said quietly. “I declined the position. It was more important to me to remain here at Berwick with Bridey than spend my time in London shadowing a dying king. I would have had no life of my own; you know that. My days and nights would have been spent at Henry’s side. While I was unmarried, I saw no issue with that. In fact, you all know how eager I was to assume my post. But once I took a wife… I would rather spend my life with her here in Berwick than enjoy the prestige in London of being Henry’s Lord Protector. I made a choice of the heart and I do not regret it.”

  No one said anything for a moment; it was more surprising information in a day that had been full of such revelations. They had all known of his royal appointment and they had also known how proud he had been to receive it. As Henry’s Lord Protector, Patrick would have enjoyed immense distinction. To hear that he declined it because of a wife told them all just how deeply in love he was with the woman. It spoke volumes.

  “So you have become one of us,” Paris finally said, his voice soft with humor. “One of the men who would do anything for the happiness of their women.”

  Patrick gave him a half-grin; there was some embarrassment there. “Did you ever think you would hear such things from me?”

  “Never.”

  “I assure you, it is true.”

  “It is,” Kieran confirmed. “I have met Bridey. She is a stunningly beautiful woman who has a sweet way about her. You will see what I mean when you meet her. It would not be difficult to fall for her charms.”

  Paris looked at Patrick as if still in disbelief that the man had not only married, but had declined his royal appointment. But, truth be told, he understood… and he was very glad to see it.

  “Then I congratulate you, Patrick,” Paris finally said. “I congratulate you on your marriage and on your happiness, and I look forward to meeting the woman who finally stole your heart. I never thought it would happen. If you recall, I tried to marry you off to a daughter but you refused. You also refused Kieran’s attempts. We thought that you would go through life without a wife so I am very glad to see that we were wrong.”

  Patrick grinned. “I hope you have forgiven me for refusing Helene and Rose.”

  Paris pointed at Troy. “Helene got a better husband than you in Troy,” he said firmly, but he didn’t mean a word of it. “And Rose married your brother, James. So in spite of you, the women married well. We did not need you, after all.”

  Patrick was still grinning as he drained his cup. “It all worked out for the best,” he said. “Now, can we discuss the siege? I would like to see my wife at some point soon but I cannot do that if the Gordons are surrounding Berwick, so what is the plan to remove them?”

  With the subject veered away from Patrick’s personal life and his declination of the royal appointment, they returned to the situation at hand. Paris turned for the map on the table.

  “We were just discussing that, in fact, when you came in,” he said. “I had my scouts draw a map of the castle and try to map out where the Scots are dug in. This shows where they all are, at least to the best of our knowledge. We could try to purge them now with the men we have, but our men have been fighting for nearly three weeks. They are exhausted, which is why I was sending for fresh men. But if Kevin is bringing fresh troops from London, then I suggest we wait for them. The more men we have, the easier this will be.”

  It wasn’t what Patrick wanted to hear but he understood. He stood up from the chair, wearily, making his way to the map to see what Paris and Kieran were looking at. Scott and Troy joined them and, together, the five of them looked over the map that had the Scots positions on it. Patrick could see that they were literally all around the castle with the exception of the chasm between the Douglas Tower and the donjon. But the city in front of the Douglas Tower was marked with Scots. He sighed.

  “So they made it into the city,” he muttered.

  Paris nodded. “They did, but only so far as the main gatehouse. They are dug in there, waiting for that gatehouse to open.”

  “Have they tried to ram the portcullis?”

  Paris nodded. “They have, but it held as far as we know. They’ve not managed to get inside the castle at all.”

  As they continued to discuss the situation at the Douglas Tower, from outside of the tent, they could hear a commotion rising. Men were shouting and it seemed as if something was happening. Curious, the knights left the map and proceeded to venture outside of the tent to see what the uproar was about. They were no sooner out of the tent than several soldiers came running up to them.

  “What is happening?” Paris demanded.

  The soldiers began pointing towards the west. “The Scots are fleeing!” the man said excitedly. “They have pulled from their position and are fleeing Berwick!”

  Startled, the knights tried to see what the men were talking about but so many of their own men were running to the west side of the encampment that it was difficult to see anything at all. But there was a huge sense of excitement in camp, something quite electric, and Patrick grabbed Troy.

  “Come on,” he said. “Get to the horses. We must see what is happening.”

  The knights broke for the corral where the horses were kept. None of the war horses were saddled, except for Patrick’s because they had not removed all of the tack yet, so the knights and grooms began putting bridles on the horses very quickly. Scott and Troy mounted their beasts without a saddle at all and Patrick leapt onto the back of his horse, gathering the reins and spurring the animal southward. Paris and Kieran followed and, soon, all five of them were charging southward, watching the Scots flee as they came up from the river and continued onward towards the west.

  It was like watching a flock of migratory birds; wave after wave of Scots were rushing off and it seemed as if the Scots had no interest in the English who were now thundering in their direction. Astonished, the knights pulled their horses to a halt on a rise that gave them a vast vista of the land beyond only to see that the fog, so heavy that morning, had finally lifted. That was the first thing they saw. The second thing they saw was a shocking vision none of them ever thought they would see. Certainly, Patrick had never seen it in his lifetime.

  Longships were approaching.

  In all of his years by the sea, manning the garrison of Berwick, Patrick had never seen longships heading up the river towards the castle. The vessels had been concealed by the fog. But as soon as the mist lifted sufficiently, massive boats bearing the carved dragon prow of the Northmen were revealed to be moving slowly up the river, bearing down on the city of Berwick.

  And that had been enough to scare the Scots away from the castle, for no one wanted to be caught outside of the walls when the Northmen attacked. Now, the fleeing Scots began to make sense. What over a thousand Englishmen couldn’t do in three weeks, longships in the river had managed to accomplish in three minutes once the fog lifted.

  The Scots were on the run.

  “My God,” Paris hissed. “Do you see them?”

  Beside him, Kieran nodded. “I see four of them,” he said, although there was no fear in his voice, only awe. “I have never seen such a sight, not ever. How many men does one of those ships hold?”

  Patrick, much like Kieran, was genuinely in awe of what he was seeing. “I have heard they can hold upwards of one hundred men,” he said. “But I do not know for certain.”

  Scott, who had been slightly in front of the group watching the longships row their way up the river, happened to look over at the castle. He pointed.

  “Look,” he said. “There is no longer a line of Scots around the castle. They are completely gone.”

  The rest of the knights looked to see wha
t he was gesturing towards and they, too, could see that Scots had mostly fled. There were a few lingering, but they, too, were running off, terrified by the sight of the Northmen. It made the way clear for the English to head to Berwick without a line of Scots to stop them and Paris turned his horse around.

  “We must make it to the castle,” he said, a sense of urgency in his tone. “The Scots had a good reason for fleeing and I will not be caught on open ground with Norsemen invaders on our doorstep. Scott, Troy; get the men moving now.”

  It was a command and Scott and Troy whirled their war horses around, charging back towards an encampment that was generally in turmoil. Evidently, a few of the men had also seen the longships and now the whispers of Northmen warriors were spreading through the encampment like wildfire. They could hear the frightened shouts of the men.

  Run for Berwick!

  With Scott, Troy, and Paris racing back to camp to begin moving the men out, Patrick lingered on the rise, watching the longships as they made slow progress against the river current. Kieran, who also hadn’t returned to the encampment yet, couldn’t help but notice that Patrick seemed unusually preoccupied by the sight. There was something in his expression that suggested… confusion?

  “Atty?” Kieran asked. “What is it?

  Patrick had an odd look on his face. “I am not sure,” he said hesitantly, “but it occurred to me that my wife’s father is a Northman, and now there are suddenly Northmen in the river where there have never been any before. Could this be some kind of bizarre coincidence, Uncle Kieran?”

  Kieran’s gaze lingered on the ships in the distance. “Has Bridey ever had any contact with her father?”

  Patrick shook his head. “Never,” he said. “She never even knew of her true heritage until the reivers abducted her from Coldingham. So how… how would Magnus even know of her? And even if he did, why would he come to Berwick?”

  Kieran shook his head. “Who is to say those ships belong to Magnus? There are any number of lesser princes or Norse lords who could have come. It may have nothing to do with your wife at all.”

  Patrick’s eyes never left the longships in the distance. “Possibly,” he said. Then, he turned to Kieran with something of an ominous expression. “I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

  Kieran didn’t think that sounded like a very desirable option, but it was one that would very well come forth once the Northmen docked their longships. Now, it was a race against time to move the Northwood and Questing armies inside the walls of Berwick before the Northmen launched their attack, if that was, indeed, their plan.

  As Kieran ran for the encampment, Patrick spurred his war horse straight to Berwick. Nothing in the world, short of the hand of God, could have stopped him at that moment. His only thought was of Brighton and it was a struggle to fight down the panic he felt. Panic for her safety, panic for protecting her from what was to come.

  He had to get to his wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Patrick!”

  Brighton was lifted up in his arms before she realized it. She’d heard the shouts of the sentries from her chamber window and she’d seen the gates on both the donjon and the Douglas Tower opening, allowing in men who seemed to be entering the castle grounds quite quickly. Soldiers were rushing in on horseback or in wagons, rushing in droves. As she watched curiously from the window, a man who looked very much like her husband came charging into the bailey on a horse that, coincidentally, looked very much like his. Curiosity turned to shock and shock to realization. Racing from the chamber, she met Patrick as he was just entering the keep.

  And now she was aloft in his arms.

  “God’s Bones,” Patrick hissed, his face pressed into the side of her head. “Are you well, sweetheart? Are you well and whole?”

  Brighton nodded her head even though he couldn’t see it. Surely he could feel it, the way she had him wrapped up in a death grip. “I am well,” she assured him. “I am even better now that you are here.”

  Patrick couldn’t even put her down to reply. All he wanted to do was hold her, to reaffirm that she was truly safe. His sisters and their children were coming down the stairs, clamoring around him, as their fathers came in from the bailey. Everyone was gathering in the entry of the keep as the commander of Berwick returned, triumphant. After twenty days of a siege, there was much joy to be had.

  “Patrick,” Alec said, trying to look the man in the face with his wife all wrapped up around him. “How is my father? Is he here with you?”

  Patrick turned slightly so he could look at the man. “He is well and whole,” he assured Alec. “He and Uncle Paris should be a few minutes behind me. They went to rally their armies to run for the castle.”

  “Run?” Brighton pulled her face from the crook of his neck. “We heard that the Scots have left. Why should they run now?”

  Patrick lowered her gently to the ground. It occurred to him from her question that she had no idea what was in the river. Perhaps she had been kept away from the windows of the keep, bottled up where no enemy could get to her. If that was the case, then she was totally oblivious to the fact that death had just arrived in longships.

  His focus shifted to Alec and Hector, having just come in from outside.

  “Did you see the longships?” he asked them.

  The knights nodded grimly. “We could see them from the wall,” Alec said, nodding his head in the direction of the women. “We noticed them just after we saw the Scots begin to flee. But we have not told the women yet. We had only just come down from the wall when the army started entering.”

  Patrick understood, but now he found himself facing his wife and sisters, who heard the mention of a longship but truly had no idea what anyone was speaking of. Still, he could see the fear beginning to creep onto their features and he sought to clarify before it took over completely.

  “The Scots fled not because of the brilliance of the English armies, but because of something else,” he said calmly to the women. “When the fog lifted, it revealed four longships rowing upriver. They were just south of the city when I saw them so they should be fairly close to the castle by now.”

  Because he was calm, the women remained moderately calm. Still, they were clearly worried and that was natural. But the fact that the men didn’t seem overly agitated about the situation kept them from growing hysterical.

  “I have not sent men to the jetty,” Hector said, referring to the walled and protected jetty on the river that was meant for boats on the river to dock at the castle in safety. “I assume it would be better to keep everyone inside. Until we know their motives, we should keep the castle locked up tightly.”

  Patrick nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “Where is my –?”

  He was cut off as William entered the keep and the grandchildren began to squeal, running towards him. William bent over to embrace his excited grandchildren and then stood straight, with children still clinging to his legs, to embrace Patrick.

  Patrick threw his arms around his father. It was, perhaps, one of the most satisfying embraces of his life, feeling his father alive and warm and well in his arms. It was a huge relief.

  “Da,” he breathed. “I am very glad to see that you are well. After I heard that the castle might have been breached, I had my doubts.”

  William squeezed his son, finally letting the man go. “It was a very small breach and hardly worthy of note,” he assured him. “In fact, there were so few Scots we had to take turns throwing them off the wall. Very unsatisfying.”

  Patrick grinned. “I am glad to hear that,” he said, reaching out to pull Brighton against him. He didn’t want the woman away from him, not even an arm’s length. “It took me nine days to return from London and every second of those days was filled with fear for my family, wondering what I would find when I arrived. I cannot tell you how relieved I am.”

  William lifted a dark eyebrow. “Save that relief, lad,” he said. “The Northmen are at our door. We may yet have a bit of trouble tod
ay.”

  Brighton, who hadn’t quite overcome her great surprise and joy at her husband’s return, was now distracted with talk of longships and Northmen. Patrick had been unruffled about it but William’s comment set doubt in her heart. “Have they truly come?” she asked, looking between Patrick and William. “But I do not understand – why are they here? What do they want?”

  Patrick looked down at her, cradled against his torso. He shook his head. “I have not seen Northmen here, ever,” he said. “In fact, I cannot remember hearing of them along these shores during my lifetime. Do you, Da?”

  William also shook his head. “Not in my entire life here on the border,” he said. “I have heard of them much further north and I know that some of the outlying islands of Scotland are ruled by Norse princes, but they have not been this far south since I have been alive.”

  Patrick thought on the longships that, as he had mentioned, were undoubtedly close to the castle now. “Then mayhap we should go and see what they want,” he said. “It would be the prudent thing to do.”

  William agreed. “Indeed,” he said. “But I would have the women and children locked in the keep as a safety measure, not to open the door to anyone but the men they know.”

  Patrick looked around at his sisters, his wife. Katheryn was in Alec’s arms and Evelyn was in Hector’s. He could see the fear in the women, the comfort in the men. Then he looked down at Brighton, thinking of the longships and reverting back to the thought he’d had earlier – Magnus.

  What if Magnus had come for his daughter? With all of the years that the Norse had stayed away from Berwick, he couldn’t help but feel that all of this was connected. He didn’t know how, or why, but he wasn’t willing to believe this was a coincidence. If it was, indeed, Magnus, and the man had come to collect his daughter, then there was about to be one hell of a fight, worse than anything the Scots could ever throw at them.