William wasn’t pleased. “Christ,” he hissed. “I cannot imagine this is a good thing, Patrick. You will end up killing the man Magnus selected to marry his daughter. He is more than likely a young lord, or even an old lord, surely someone with some status who cannot compete with you in combat. What will you do if you are faced with a frightened young lord or, worse, a frightened old man?”
Patrick shrugged. “It was Magnus who demanded the fight,” he said. “I am simply following his command. Come with me; let me introduce you to him. As I said, he seems like a reasonable man. Mayhap you can talk him out of having me slay one of his lords.”
William was more than willing to meet Magnus and evaluate the situation. Therefore, Patrick headed back to the riverbank followed by his father, Paris, and Kieran. The old knights felt much better now that they weren’t locked away as Patrick dealt with the Northmen alone. Now, it was the four of them. Much better odds.
As the group drew close to the collection of men and boats, Magnus noticed the three older knights with interest. When Patrick came close enough, he began the introductions.
“My lord, this is my father, Sir William de Wolfe,” he said. Then, he indicated the other two. “These men are his brothers-in-arms, Sir Paris de Norville and Sir Kieran Hage. Good men, this is Magnus, King of the Norse.”
William bowed his head politely to the king. “It is an honor, my lord.”
He wasn’t really expecting a reply, unaware that Magnus spoke his language, but was surprised when Magnus answered. “Are you the man called The Wolfe?”
“I am, my lord.”
Magnus looked at him a moment longer before gesturing to Patrick. “I like your son,” he said. “What is it about my daughter that you found so offensive that you could not give the man permission to marry her?”
William remained calm but he was secretly ready to punch Patrick in the mouth for telling the Northman such things. Now he found that he had to defend himself.
“Your daughter is a lovely, bright, and delightful woman, my lord,” he replied. “I only had reservations in the very beginning because she was a ward of the church and we did not have permission for the marriage.”
“Was permission ever given?”
“Nay, my lord.”
Magnus looked at Patrick and grinned. “Then you must have wanted to marry her very badly.”
Patrick simply nodded. Still grinning, Magnus’ only reply was to shake his head as if in complete understanding of the impetuousness of youth. He had been young and in love, once, himself. There was almost a frivolity in his manner as he gestured to the group of men behind him, with the longships beyond.
“Then you can prove how much you wish to keep her,” he said, turning to the men behind him. “Elof!”
Patrick, William, Paris, and Kieran watched as the group of men behind Magnus shuffled around and then finally parted, revealing the longship behind them. Something was moving below deck; they could all hear it. Like great footsteps or the beat of a drum, it was something rhythmic and menacing. It was quite strange, really, and the English knights watched with interest as men began to appear from the lower deck of the ship. Two men emerged, carrying shields and swords, followed by a man.
But it wasn’t any man.
A warrior easily the size of Patrick emerged from the bowels of the ship, carrying a wooden shield and a short, broad sword with him. The banging noises they had been hearing had been the warrior beating his shield with his sword as he walked. He was grunting, too, working himself up into a fighting frenzy. When he finally came out onto the deck, the English knights got a good look at just how big the man really was; he was taller than Patrick. And heavier.
And meaner.
“Christ,” William hissed, standing next to Patrick. “Is this the man you must fight?”
Patrick didn’t have a ready answer because he was fairly shocked himself. Truthfully, he found something ironically hilarious about the situation. At seven inches over six feet, he had always been the tallest, broadest man in the room. He’d intimidated, squashed, and even sometimes bullied lesser men when the mood struck him. He’d never run into anyone as big as he was or as tough. But the half-naked warrior making his way off the ship had to be the biggest bastard he’d ever seen. He could hardly believe his eyes.
“Evidently,” he finally muttered.
William was genuinely trying not to react at the sight of the gargantuan warrior but, beside him, he could hear groaning and he knew it was coming from Paris. The man had never been very good at concealing his emotions.
“William,” he whispered. “Create a diversion. Give Atty a chance to run for his life!”
William glanced at him. “You create a diversion,” he countered. “Throw yourself at the man. Sacrifice yourself so that Patrick may live.”
Paris shook his head. “He would turn me into pulp,” he said. “Kieran, you still fancy yourself the most powerful warrior in the north. Do something!”
Kieran was watching the colossal Norse warrior as the man came onto the riverbank. “Not me,” he said. “You keep telling me I am an old man and no longer able to best the younger men. For once, I am going to listen to you.”
The words were softly uttered between the three older knights, the same camaraderie and levity they had always had when facing a serious situation. It was simply the way they dealt with such things. But the more William got a look at the muscular warrior dressed in skins and breeches, as barbaric as he had ever seen a man, the more fear he began to feel for his son.
But he couldn’t let Patrick know it. That was the main reason he was willing to jest in the face of such terror. Patrick had to believe he could beat this man and William would not take that away from him. To say anything negative, or fearful, would be to cast doubt on Patrick’s skills as a warrior, and William wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that. Therefore, he turned to his son, turning his head slightly so his voice couldn’t be heard by the Northmen.
“This should be a simple thing,” he muttered. “I would suggest you simply let the man wear himself out. Let him chase you if he must; fight him but do not fight hard. Then, when he has exhausted himself, strike and strike hard. Let this be a battle of wit, Patrick, and not brawn. You are smarter than he is; prove it.”
Patrick could hear the confidence in his father’s voice but he knew, deep down, that William was frightened for him. Truth be told, Patrick was a bit wary about what he had to face. But he knew his love for Brighton would keep him going, feeding his strength in a way it had never been fed before. All he had to do was think of his wife at the mercy of this animal and he was seized with rage and determination. He was the only thing that stood between Brighton and this monster.
He had to win, no matter what the cost.
“This is the man I have selected to marry my daughter,” Magnus said, cutting into Patrick’s thoughts. He gestured to the enormous warrior. “This is Elof Red Beard, Slayer of Beasts. He has killed many an enemy and has earned his place at my table. By gifting him my daughter, I honor him for his devotion to me. He is a man of honor but also a man of anger, and he wants what you have. If you do not want him to have it, then you will have to kill him.”
Patrick was more than ready to do what he needed to do. “As you say, my lord,” he said, his eyes never leaving Elof as the man stood there and glared at him. “What are the rules of this combat?”
Magnus gestured to the men who had brought the swords and shields from the lower deck of the longship. The men swiftly ran forward and dumped the weaponry at Magnus’ feet.
“Each of you will be given three shields and a sword,” he said. “When a shield is broken or smashed, the fight will cease and you will retrieve another shield. When all shields are smashed, the battle will continue on until one of you is dead. All combat must take place right here in front of the ship, so you may not run. You must face your opponent. Those are the only rules, Sir Patrick. Do you agree?”
Patrick nodded. “I
do.”
“When you are prepared, we will begin.”
Patrick stepped back, eyeing Elof and seeing that the man wore no armor while he had his mail on and his heavy tunics. Quickly, he turned to his father.
“Help me remove my mail,” he said.
William looked at him with concern. “But why?” he asked. “Patrick, you were trained to fight with protection on. If you remove it, then you are removing your chance of emerging from this unscathed.”
Patrick began pulling his cowl off and Kieran, standing behind him, began to help. “I am handicapped by the weight of it,” he said. “Look at Elof; he is wearing no protection at all. That means he will be more agile than I am. If I wear all of this protection, I will be more vulnerable to his attacks because I will not be able to move swiftly enough.”
As he began to untie his tunic with Kieran’s assistance, Paris stepped in to help as well. “He is correct, William,” he said quietly. “In order to fight that beast on his own terms, he will have to level the playing field. A knight on foot is a lethargic creature and you know it. He cannot go in fighting as an armored man if his opponent has none. It will not make this a fair fight.”
William reluctantly understood. As knights, they were trained to use all of the protection available to them but the Northmen didn’t fight that way. Their weapons were cruder, their tactics barbaric, but they were still just as effective and terrifying. If Patrick was going to fight on the Northman’s terms, and win, then he had to fight like a Northman. With that in mind, William began helping his son strip down.
The tunic came off followed by the mail coat, a padded under tunic and another tunic beneath that. When Patrick was finally stripped to the waist, left only in his breeches and boots, William went over to where the weapons and shields were laid out and selected a weapon for his son. Then he picked up a shield and carried it over to him.
“Since you are going to be in close quarters fighting, your broadsword will do you no good,” he said. “This sword is well-made and the style of the pommel will provide some protection for your hand. If you do not like this sword, you may choose another. There are a few others they have brought forth.”
With his broad chest and muscled arms gleaming beneath the mid-summer sun, Patrick took hold of the sword, getting a feel for the weight of it. It was fairly lightweight and not anything like his enormous broadsword, but he would be able to move faster with it and strike faster with it.
“The craftsmanship is excellent,” he said, inspecting it. “You have chosen wisely, Da.”
William smiled weakly as he handed him the shield. “Remember what I told you,” he said. “Let your opponent exhaust himself and then strike when he is too weak to fight back. Brains over brawn, Atty.”
Patrick looked over his shoulder at Elof, who was huffing and puffing, working himself up into a sweat. “I doubt he will exhaust himself,” he said casually, turning back to give his sword one last look-over. “He looks as if he eats small children for breakfast.”
The humor was still there. That was good; it showed that Patrick wasn’t feeling any real fear. Concern, perhaps, but not fear. It was time to begin.
“May God be with you,” William muttered. “I will see you at the end.”
Patrick looked at his father and, for the second time that day, felt inordinately sentimental towards the man. He knew his father was frightened for him and commended the man for not showing it. In the same situation, Patrick was quite sure he wouldn’t have been so calm. Leaning forward, he kissed him on the forehead.
“Not to worry, Da,” he said. “We will be roasting a Norse beast by sup tonight. But remember your promise to me.”
“What was that?”
Patrick’s humor left him and, for a split second, a flash of fear was in his eyes. But not for him; it was for his wife.
“You promised me that you will not let them take Bridey,” he murmured. “If anything happens to me, you must hold true to that promise. If you do not, I will never forgive you.”
With that, he turned and headed over to the riverbank where Magnus himself was overseeing the start of the battle. As William, Paris, and Kieran watched Patrick take position against his opponent, Kieran leaned in to William.
“You will not stand by while your son is killed, will you?” he asked quietly.
William, his eyes riveted on Patrick, shook his head. “Never,” he murmured. “If it looks as if it is coming to that, I will intervene and I will kill anyone who gets in my way.”
Kieran breathed a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say that,” he said. “I will return to the castle and tell Bridey what is happening. It is her right to know.”
“While you are at it, arm the knights and tell them to be ready. If I must intervene, I have a feeling the Norse will not take it well.”
“We will be ready.”
“Good.”
As Kieran headed back to the castle, William found himself praying that this day wouldn’t bring any death to him or to his family. Scared to death, he struggled not to show it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I-I will not let this happen!” Brighton was in tears. “Why did he agree to this? Why did you allow it?”
Kieran was trying very hard to keep the woman calm but he wasn’t doing a good job of it. In fact, no one in the castle was calm about what was transpiring with Patrick, including Hector and Alec, who had converged on Kieran when the man had come back up from the Water Tower.
Kieran had been forced to tell them what was happening and that turned them into mad men, sending soldiers to call the knights away from their posts, bringing Scott and Troy on the run when they were told that Patrick was in a fight to the death against the man that Magnus had chosen to marry his daughter. The de Wolfe twins were in a fury over it, understanding it one minute and lamenting it the next.
But the worst reaction was yet to come. Brighton, informed that her husband was in the fight for his life, had no intention of remaining in the keep. Worse still, Katheryn and Evelyne agreed with her. The two sisters were weeping over Patrick’s situation while Brighton, a usually congenial and sweet woman, had turned into a tempest. The trouble was, no one blamed her, least of all Kieran.
“It was his choice, Bridey,” Kieran said, understanding a thing or two about agitated women because he had married one. “Those longships were, indeed, Magnus, your father, who had come to Berwick because he had received a missive from the mother prioress at Coldingham that his daughter – you – were in danger. He came here in good faith to save you, lass. What he did not expect was a happy daughter who was already married. He brought a husband he has chosen for you and, given the situation, Patrick chose to fight for you. He chose to prove to Magnus that he is the best husband for you.”
Brighton was beside herself. It was too much confusing and terrifying information, leaving her struggling to process it all. The more she built it up in her mind, the more frightened she became.
“B-but I do not understand,” she pleaded. “Mother Prioress sent a missive to my father? Why would she do such a thing?”
Kieran shook his head. “This we cannot know, lass. We have been trying to find an answer for the very same question.”
Not only was Brighton alarmed, now she was baffled. Nothing about this situation made any sense to her. “A-and now Patrick must fight to keep me? This is madness!”
“Madness or not, it is his choice.”
“B-but… fight for me? I am already his!”
Kieran sighed faintly, seeing that she didn’t fully understand the situation. “And he intends to keep it that way,” he said patiently. “You must understand something about men, Bridey. When something they love is threatened – a home, a wife, a king – they are compelled to protect it. To fight for it. This is no different from doing battle against Richard Gordon because the man wants to kill you. In this case, another man wishes to marry you. And Patrick will not permit that to happen.”
Brighton w
as trying to understand; she truly was. But this manner of thinking was incredibly foreign to her. All she could see was that she was already Patrick’s wife and for him to risk his life fighting off another man was lunacy.
She hated it.
“N-nay,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I cannot allow this to happen!”
She started running for the keep entry but Kieran grabbed her before she could get away. “You cannot stop it,” he insisted quietly, forcing her to stand still and listen. “It has already begun. If you go running down to the riverbank, you will distract Patrick and get him killed. Do you understand me? Seeing you or hearing your voice will distract him from defending his life in battle and that distraction will be deadly. Do you want to kill him?”
Brighton was looking at him fearfully, tears swimming in her big eyes now. “N-nay. Of course not.”
“Then do not distract him. If you want to watch what is happening, I will not stop you. But keep silent.” He paused, looking around him at the knights, the sisters, of Patrick. They were all in turmoil. “That goes for all of you. Watch if you will but if you utter a sound, you will kill him. Patrick cannot hear a sound from any of you.”
While Katheryn and Evelyn were gazing at Kieran much as Brighton was, with tears in their eyes, the knights were far more somber. They understood exactly what Kieran was saying; they understood that distraction was deadly when it came to a battle. As the seriousness of Patrick’s situation settled, Hector turned to his wife.
“You can watch from the keep if you have a notion to,” he told her quietly. “You will be able to see from the top level. But I do not want the children to watch. They are too young to understand it.”
Alec heard Hector and he, too, turned to his wife. “The boys are not to watch,” he said. “In fact, I would prefer you remain with them. I will come to you when it is over.”
Katheryn didn’t like the sound of that at all. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing openly. “Please do not let anything happen to my brother,” she whispered between her fingers. “Please, Alec.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 169