Magnus liked that idea a great deal. “You honor me,” he said. “We will drink, you and I, and speak of our countries and our women. And I would like to speak to your father of his land and his women.”
Patrick grinned as he turned to look at his father. “Do you hear that? He wants to speak of women.”
William laughed softly, standing up as many hands moved to help Patrick to his feet. “There is only one woman for me, my lord, as there is only one woman for my son,” he said. “A Norse princess he was fortunate enough to marry.”
Patrick was on his feet, but barely. He leaned heavily on Scott and Troy, beloved brothers who rushed up to brace him. In fact, all of his men had flooded out of the castle and he was swarmed by his knights who had seen the battle, men that were vastly proud of their commander and concerned for his health. There was also great curiosity with the Northmen, who seemed to be more relaxed now that the battle for Magnus’ daughter had finished. Even though they had lost one of their own, still, there didn’t seem to be any bitterness.
It was the way of their world, after all.
Through the crowds of men, Brighton stayed by Patrick’s side as he walked, gingerly, to the gates of the Water Tower. At that point, she had to stand aside while Scott, Troy, and Kieran helped Patrick navigate the stairs. As she stood and watched her husband make his way slowly up the steps, she felt a presence beside her and she turned to see Magnus standing next to her. He was with William but when their eyes met, he smiled at her. She smiled in return. When Magnus extended a hand to her, she placed hers in his warm, rough palm.
It was a gentle touch, father to daughter, for the very first time.
“Did you know that hawks have one mate for life?” he asked.
Brighton shook her head. “N-nay. I did not know that.”
“It is true. It would seem your Nighthawk has found his mate for life in you.”
Brighton’s smile grew. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek and fled up the stairs, after her husband and the men who were helping him. Magnus remained at the bottom of the steps with William, watching her go. When he finally turned away, he caught William staring at him. Embarrassed, he smiled.
“She looks so much like her mother,” he said. “I have difficulty taking my eyes from her.”
William smiled in return. “Then her mother must have been an exquisite woman.”
Magnus’ expression grew wistful. “I still long for those days when Juliana and I were very much in love,” he said. Then, he shook himself. “But it was not to be. I am glad our daughter found the love that we were denied.”
William couldn’t help but feel pity for the man who had loved and lost. “She is in very good hands with my son,” he said. “You needn’t worry about her, ever.”
Magnus nodded, his expression warm with gratitude. But then, his smile faded and he held up a finger. “That is not entirely true,” he said. “Who is this Richard Gordon that means to kill my daughter and where may I find him?”
William hesitated. “It is not only Richard Gordon, but the mother prioress as well.”
“Both of them are still a danger to Brighton.”
“Indeed, they are.”
Magnus leaned his head in to William as if to whisper to the man, lowering his voice as he spoke. “I’ll tend to Richard Gordon if you tend to the prioress.”
To protect his beloved son and his beloved daughter-in-law, William couldn’t refuse the offer. Patrick and Brighton had been through enough, in his opinion, and now it was time for him to help. He couldn’t help Patrick as he faced against Elof, nor could he do anything else for the man. Patrick was too stubborn to allow it. But with the man badly wounded, too wounded to do for himself, William took the opportunity to take care of business. He was The Wolfe, after all. And this was de Wolfe business.
“Agreed.”
Magnus discovered, through William, that the Gordon stronghold was north of Kelso. The River Tweed, in fact, ran through Kelso, and the river was wide enough to handle the longships. Magnus thanked William for the information and then shifted the subject to the barrels of mead and beer that he had in his hold, drink he wanted to bring to his daughter’s wedding feast. It sounded like a wonderful idea and, soon enough, both Englishmen and Norsemen were hauling up barrels of drink to the great hall in preparation of what turned out to be a four-day feast.
It was a celebration like nothing any of the English had ever seen. As Paris put it, the Norsemen had come to merrymake like no other. As injured as he was, Patrick could only stay for just an hour or two of the celebration, but he could hear the revelry from his bedchamber as he slept on and off for the next several days. As Brighton sweetly tended to her wounded husband, she could hear the merriment, too.
Lost in their own loving little world, they hardly seemed to care about the noise in the great hall. The only thing that mattered to them was that, for the moment, all was right in their world again.
But there were still outstanding issues, things that Patrick vowed to tend to once he was well enough. Yet, he never had the chance. When Kevin arrived from London the next day with the fresh army, bearing missives from Henry that included the arrest order for Mother Prioress, William took the arrest warrant and departed Berwick at dawn the next day. Even though he told Patrick he was departing for home, that wasn’t the truth. He left for Coldingham where he, Scott, Troy, Paris, and Kieran, along with about one hundred men-at-arms, arrested Ysabella Gordon and secured her for transport to York for her trial.
At the same time, Magnus departed his English hosts and traveled upriver, heading into the heart of England. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Patrick heard that the entire Gordon stronghold had been burned out and Richard Gordon killed. Everything the Gordons held dear had been wiped clean in a stunning attack. Northman raiders, some said, but it was a rumor. No one ever saw Northman raiders so far inland. Still, those at Berwick suspected the truth.
At least, Patrick and Brighton knew the truth.
If the King of the Northmen and The Wolfe of the Border had anything to say about it, the Nighthawk and his mate would know peace, forever more.
… and they did.
EPILOGUE
Haye Stronghold of Garvale
East Lothian
September 1270 A.D.
“Juliana de la Haye, did ye say?”
Brighton nodded. “A-aye,” she said. “My husband and son and I have traveled all the way from Berwick to see her. Can you tell me if she lives here?”
The man, older and bearing a big leather apron suggesting he was a servant, looked at Brighton rather dumbly. But he had answered the door of the large if not slightly run-down manor house of Garvale. It wasn’t too far away from Berwick, a little over thirty miles, but travel had been a little slower with the carriage carrying Brighton and her infant son. That, and the fact that about four hundred men had accompanied them considering they were heading into Scotland.
Patrick hadn’t wanted to take any chances with his wife and son on the journey even though he hadn’t wanted to bring them on this journey at all. But Brighton had insisted. She had been insisting for the past year. Having come to know her father, she wanted to know her mother. She wanted her mother to meet their son.
So off to Scotland they went.
Garvale. According to the register at Coldingham, Juliana de la Haye had lived at Garvale Manor in East Lothian. It was the seat of the Haye Clan in the lowlands of Scotland, so that was where Patrick had decided to start with the hunt for Brighton’s mother. Garvale Manor was more of a castle because it had a wall around it and two enormous towers on one side of the manse, the entire structure built with red sandstone that had worn to a dirty yellowish-gray over the years.
As Brighton spoke to the servant at the door, Patrick stood back behind his wife, in the yard of the manse, holding their son in his enormous arms as Brighton tried to find out anything she could about her mother. He would have been irritated with the situation had he not
been preoccupied making faces at his six-month-old son, Markus, who had the most delightful grin. A happy baby, he smiled at everyone and was quite possibly the most adorable baby ever born with his dark hair and blue eyes. At least, Brighton and Patrick thought so. Markus’ grandparents, William and Jordan, were simply wild about the lad.
So were Patrick’s knights. A little heir among them turned most of them into doting fools. They had all come with the family on the journey to Scotland, all except Anson, who had remained in command at Berwick. But Kevin and Apollo had come, as had Damien and Colm. Surprisingly, it was the serious-minded Colm who was the most enamored over the baby.
Even now, he stood next to Patrick, making faces at the child and then pretending to be serious if he thought anyone was watching. He and Patrick kept the baby entertained as Brighton tried to uncover information with a man who seemed to be very confused with her questions. In fact, Patrick had finally had enough of the man’s idiocy so he handed the baby over to Colm, who took him happily, and went to stand with his wife.
“I am Patrick de Wolfe, commander of Berwick Castle,” he said, butting into the conversation that was going on. “This is my wife, Lady de Wolfe. Her mother is Juliana de la Haye and we were led to believe that Lady Juliana lived here at some point. Where is your master? Bring him to me so that I may speak with him.”
Orders from an enormous knight were not meant to be disobeyed and the man in the leather apron scampered off. As he ran, Brighton looked at her husband with irritation.
“I was handling the situation just fine,” she said.
He peered down his nose at her. “I could see that from the way he was rushing to do your bidding.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “He would have if you had only been patient.”
Folding his enormous arms across his chest, he bent down so he could look her in the face. “I have been patient,” he whispered loudly. “I have been patient about this entire affair. I was patient when you demanded to come to Scotland and…”
“Demanded?”
“Aye, demanded. And I was patient when you wanted to bring my son because you could not leave him behind.”
“I am still feeding him! He is too young to be left behind!”
“You did not have to come now. You could have waited.”
Brighton’s entire face was a one big scowl that was now bordering on hurt. Too upset to argue with him, she simply turned away. He could see that he’d injured her feelings. Forcing himself to relent, which was difficult considering he knew he was in the right, he put his arm around her and pulled her to him.
“I am sorry,” he said, pretending to be contrite when he wasn’t in the least. “I did not mean to upset you. But you know I did not want you to come in the first place. This is something that could have easily been settled with a missive.”
Now Brighton was bordering on tears. “But I want to see her,” she whispered tightly. “I could not see her if I sent a missive.”
Patrick was feeling the least bit guilty now. He didn’t understand her drive to see a woman who had abandoned her at birth but perhaps that was because his own mother hadn’t. He still had her, and his father, and was secure in his relationship with them. Kissing the top of her head as an apology, he tried to hug her but she didn’t want to be hugged. In fact, she pulled away from him and now he was the one feeling badly. But the interplay between them was interrupted when a man suddenly appeared at the door.
“Who are ye?” he demanded in a throaty, ill-sounding voice. “What do ye want here?”
Both Patrick and Brighton looked at the man, seeing an individual who was an ashen gray color, with long, dirty hair and dressed in woolen clothing that looked as if he had been rolling around in the mud in it. He coughed again, spraying something out of his mouth. Patrick immediately pulled Brighton well back from the man. If he was sick, Patrick didn’t want either of them to contract it.
“My name is Patrick de Wolfe,” Patrick said steadily. “I am the commander of Berwick Castle and this is my wife, Brighton. My wife has come seeking Juliana de la Haye. Do you know her?”
The man’s eyes narrowed at them both, suspiciously. “Why do ye want her?” he rasped. “Why have ye come?”
Patrick wasn’t sure he should divulge everything. After all, telling someone that he had come seeking a woman who had borne a bastard child was a rather touchy piece of information. As he thought on a way to tactfully explain their presence, Brighton spoke up.
“I-I am her daughter,” she said simply. “She left me at Coldingham Priory twenty years ago and the nuns raised me, but I have come to meet my mother. Is she here?”
The man in the doorway suddenly lost all of his annoyance. He stared at Brighton, his expression going slack, and Patrick could feel himself tensing for what was to come. If the man tried to verbally abuse his wife in any way, he was going to get his neck snapped. So, he waited; they both waited, until the man in the doorway seemed to overcome his shock.
“Ye… ye lived at Coldingham?” he finally asked, his voice considerably less hostile.
Brighton nodded. “Aye.”
The man seemed to stare at her an inordinately long time. “Juliana’s lass?”
“Aye!”
“Ye look like her.”
Brighton’s heart soared with hope. “P-please… do you know her, then?”
He nodded. Then, he lowered his gaze and pulled out a filthy kerchief from the top of his tunic, wiping his nose and eyes with it. When he finally spoke, he was looking at the kerchief.
“Lass,” he said, “ye dunna know what ye’re askin’.”
Brighton looked at Patrick in confusion before responding. “W-what do you mean?” she asked. “You do know her, don’t you?”
The man continued to wipe at his nose as if pondering the question, which put Brighton increasingly on edge. The hope so recently in her heart was fading quickly.
“I havena heard that name in a long time,” he muttered. “A very long time. Juliana.”
Even Patrick was becoming anxious. “Answer my wife. Do you know Juliana?”
The man stopped wiping his nose and looked up at them both. “Aye, I do,” he said. “She’s me sister.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s dead.”
Brighton’s heart sank and her hope was completely dashed. She sighed heavily, looking up at Patrick with such sad eyes that he immediately felt very sorry for her. He put his arm around her, comfortingly, feeling sadness that their quest for her mother had come to an abrupt end. Not that he was surprised, but it was still sad.
“Then I thank you for your time,” he said quietly, pulling his reluctant wife away from the door. “We are sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Dunna ye want tae know what happened?”
Brighton wouldn’t be so easily led away when the old man asked that question. She paused. “I-I do,” she said eagerly. “Would you please tell me?”
From the way the old man asked the question, Patrick wasn’t so sure it was a good idea for Brighton to know what had become of her mother. But he wouldn’t pull her away. He feared she would resent him if he did. She had been eager to know of her mother for well over a year, ever since her separation from Coldingham, so Patrick thought she’d better hear all of it. They’d come this far. Therefore, he paused right along with her, standing next to her as they waited for the old man to tell them.
It wasn’t long in coming.
“I’m Gilbert, Juliana’s brother,” he said. “I was here when Juliana returned from the land of the Northmen, pregnant with a bastard child. With ye. Before ye were born, she tried tae run away because she knew our da wouldna let her keep the bairn. But me da… he was a devil, he was. He brought her back and locked her away until she had her child.”
Brighton was listening to the tale with great distress. She could feel Patrick’s hand on her back, comfortingly. “A-and then… then he forced her to give me to Coldingham?”
Gilbert nodded
. “Right after ye were born,” he said. “He made her go. She was so weak; too weak tae travel but he made her go. I went with her. I was there when she handed ye tae the mother prioress.”
A mother prioress who was now locked away at York, doing a lifetime of penitence for her crime. Brighton actually found it both interesting and validating to finally hear of her delivery to Coldingham from someone who had been there, but she had no intention of telling Gilbert what they had actually delivered her into – into a plot of vengeance. Nay, she wouldn’t tell him that. There was no reason to. It was all in the past now.
“A-and then what?” she asked.
Gilbert leaned against the stone door jamb, weary in his recollection of a distant memory. “She came back here and me da locked her away again,” he said. “She was kept in the room as punishment for her sins, never leavin’. But me da… he was still seekin’ tae make an alliance with her, with someone who wouldna know of her shame. He finally found an alliance with the MacNaughton Clan far tae the north, where no one would know of me sister’s sin and of her bearin’ a bastard. But me sister had a mind o’ her own… she refused tae marry the man and the day before she was tae leave for the north, threw herself from the north tower. Killed herself, she did, and sometimes on moonless nights, ye can hear her screams as she plummets to the earth.”
Brighton gasped, a hand flying to her mouth in horror as Patrick simply closed his eyes with regret. Deep-seated regret that he permitted Brighton to hear the fate of her mother. He silently cursed the old man, knowing that those words would be the last and only memory Brighton had of her mother. In fact, he resisted the urge to strangle that foolish old man.
“O-oh… no,” Brighton gasped. “That is a horrible tale. My poor mother!”
Tears filled her eyes and Patrick came up behind her, putting his arms around her to comfort her. Brighton pressed her face into his tunic, turning her head away from the old man so he wouldn’t see her weep.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 171