By dawn, there were quite a few dead and the fight continued well into the day. By early afternoon, men arrived from Pendragon Castle, a light brigade of two hundred about three hours before the bulk of a thousand-man army arrived. With their aid, Scott was able to completely rid himself of the raiders. Still, the sweet, green earth surrounding Castle Canaan was soaked with blood and men in pieces. As the eastern sky turned shades of pink and gold with sunset on the approach, Scott ordered St. Hèver’s army, complete with two catapults, to dig in around the moat of Castle Canaan. Though his own men were exhausted, he further ordered them to prepare for a siege.
One battle ended, another was about to begin.
It was the exact situation Scott had wished to avoid from the onset. Castle Canaan’s moat was formidable, at least thirty feet across and mysteriously deep. His men could not cross it on foot and horses would sink in the mud under their sheer weight. As funeral pyres began to burn on the early morning air, Scott faced the stark walls and moat of Castle Canaan, planning his next move. Stewart, bloodied and exhausted, came to stand beside him and, together, they evaluated the situation carefully. Scott had no intention of sparing the fortress, no matter how strong and valuable, and quickly came to the most logical conclusion.
“Burn it,” he growled.
Stewart cocked a blonde eyebrow. “You are serious?”
“Never more so. I want flaming projectiles on the catapults. If we cannot breach her walls, we are going to burn the damned thing from the inside out. There is enough to burn in that bailey that will turn the entire castle into a shell.”
Stewart was a little taken aback; Castle Canaan was a fine prize, held in high regard by the king. He wondered if Scott’s anger towards Jeremy Huntley was getting the best of his common sense.
“Scott, I do not mean to second guess you, you know that,” he said quietly. “But the king will be highly displeased should you raze Canaan. He made it very clear that Canaan should be held as a prize for the political marriage he wishes to make. He is a new king and eager to make alliances.”
“I know what he wants,” Scott snapped with uncharacteristic emotion. “But I must do what I feel is necessary. If Huntley resists me, he certainly has no loyalties to the king and must be punished. Edward will have no argument for that.”
Stewart wasn’t sure he agreed but he was not surprised. Scott’s decisions were most often harsh and succinct, on any matter. “Very well, then,” he said. “I’ll position the catapults myself.”
Scott growled low in his throat. “Damn Jeremy. My own catapults are inside Canaan along with my archers. Christ, I hesitate to think what he’s done with both.”
Stewart shrugged. “The catapults are undamaged, I am sure. Huntley will simply add them to the collection his father has designed. In fact, I’d give a month’s wages for one of Gordon Huntley’s catapults right about now.”
Scott nodded in agreement. “There are none finer. He promised to build me a few before all of this madness with Nathaniel. Now I’ll never have one.”
“You can steal Canaan’s from her own armory after the castle is breached,” Stewart said dryly. “Do I have your permission to begin, m’lord?”
“Indeed. Waste no time.”
Wasting time wasn’t quite what Stewart had in mind. He was as eager to get done with this nonsense as Scott was. In fact, he had more reason than the others; his wife back at Ravenstone Castle was due to give birth any day and he was anxious to return home to her side.
Exhausted from a night of battle, Stewart turned to the men hovering nearby and began issuing orders. St. Hèver’s two catapults and a row of archers were stationed on the north and south sides of Canaan. Great bonfires were lit to supply flame for the projectiles they would soon be hurling over the walls. With Auclair nursing his groin injury, Raymond Montgomery stood in to assist Stewart as the man organized the siege. Men were set to building rafts that could transport troops across the moat, who would then use grappling hooks to scale the sheer walls.
It was a great business going on, men running about, siege projects being built. Strangely enough, though, no one seemed to be watching from the battlements of Canaan. The castle was eerily still. After Scott finished glaring at the rebellious structure, mentally dismantling it and wishing death upon the occupants, he went in search of his steed and found the animal and his squire near the edge of the trees, away from the others.
Scott’s beast was so vicious that the squire, who had only marginal control of the horse, kept it far away from the bulk of the army. Yet when Scott marched up and rumbled a few words, the steed instantly became a pet. Mounting the feisty animal, he donned his helm, slammed the visor down, and charged towards the distant front where Stewart was preparing the first projectiles to be launched over the walls.
When the battle began in earnest, he wanted to be there.
The sun was rising, half-visible over the horizon. Stewart and Raymond were mounted, waiting for the projectiles to be loaded onto the wood-and-iron catapult arms. Once they were and doused with oil and lit, a volley of flaming projectiles was launched over the walls, announcing the intention of Scott de Wolfe to those who had locked him out of Canaan. They were warning shots, in truth, hoping that the first volley would be the last because Canaan would realize the destruction that was about to take place. Just as Scott rode up to the catapults, the great drawbridge of Canaan suddenly jerked. The sounds of chains running over wheels could be heard as the drawbridge jerked again and then slowly began to lower.
It was an unexpected sight and the men were understandably wary. In particular, the knights with command of the catapults were watching with great suspicion, holding off the command for the second volley.
“What’s this now?” Montgomery demanded. “What games are they playing?”
Stewart shook his head, but Scott didn’t respond. He was keenly watching the drawbridge as it descended, wondering what in the hell was going on. Was an army about to charge out? It was his very first thought and he mumbled something to Stewart, who immediately began ordering his ground troops forward to meeting the oncoming tide of Canaan men.
Montgomery put a hold on the catapults purely out of curiosity. Whatever Canaan was about to do, it wasn’t a very smart move. With de Wolfe’s current attitude, he was unlikely to show any sort of mercy. With growing anticipation, they waited for the tide of men that was undoubtedly about to flow from the innards of Canaan.
The drawbridge leveled out with a loud boom as it hit the opposing shore. Slack was taken up on the ropes to stabilize it. Almost immediately, the portcullis began to lift and Scott’s men tensed. But instead of a flurry of screaming, weapon-wielding men, a single figure appeared.
It was a very small, cloaked figure, and the wind gusted gently to blow cascades of honey-blonde hair about. It took Scott all of a half-second to realize that the woman from the garden was emerging. That woman he’d held in his arms, the one who had made him feel things he’d long forgotten, was coming out of the castle. His heart began to beat faster. Before he even realized his actions, he had spurred his charger forward at a brutal gallop.
His horse was still moving as he reached the edge of the drawbridge and dismounted, shoving the beast in the head to turn the snapping animal away. Stewart was on his heels; he could feel it. Armor clanging, great swords slinging by their sides, Scott and Stewart marched upon the lady as if to run her down. But it was she who spoke first, with just as much determination as they were exhibiting.
The battle of wills had begun.
“My lords,” she greeted with surprising strength in her voice. “I would speak with Lord Bretherdale immediately.”
Scott couldn’t stop staring at her through the slit in his visor. Christ, she was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Cleaned up somewhat, the clumped hair had been brushed and the dirt washed from her face. That face… like nothing he’d ever seen before. And that sweet, honeyed voice was music to his ears. It was Stewart, however,
who responded first.
“Who are you?” he asked coldly.
“Lady Avrielle Huntley du Rennic,” she replied steadily. In fact, it was clear that Stewart’s threatening tone hadn’t intimidated her at all. “I would speak to Lord Bretherdale now.”
Lady Avrielle Huntley du Rennic. Scott was so stunned that he actually had to bite his lip to keep from gasping like an idiot. So his lady in the garden was none other than Nathaniel’s wife in the flesh. He’d had truly had no idea, although in hindsight he should have guessed. A distraught lady, weeping children… aye, he should have known.
Now, he found that a million thoughts were swirling through his mind, so much that he could hardly grasp one. He wasn’t even aware of how he was posturing, like a wolf ready to pounce. But one thing he gradually became aware of was the fact that he was smiling. Scott de Wolfe, who rarely showed any emotion, who provoked fear into the hearts of men and beasts alike with his brutality and warring ways, was actually smiling.
Beside him, Stewart was oblivious to how his liege was reacting to the woman. All the man knew was that he saw an enemy and he assumed that Scott saw the same thing. Stewart eyed the woman through his upturned visor, his blue eyes unusually hard.
“You will make no demands, lady,” he said. “You have grossly miscalculated de Wolfe’s mercy and now you and your men shall pay the price.”
Avrielle’s eyes flickered with panic or, perhaps, even anger. “I must speak to de Wolfe and explain what has happened,” she said patiently. “Will you take me to him or must I find him myself?”
At that point, Stewart wasn’t sure how Scott wanted him to respond. He didn’t dare look at him for fear of appearing weak or indecisive in front of Lady du Rennic. “There is no need for explanation, my lady,” he finally said. “All became evident when you closed de Wolfe’s army out of Canaan.”
She shook her head. “That was not my doing,” she said. “My brother, for reasons that are not yet clear to me, took it upon himself to make that decision. I am here to tell you that as the Lady of Castle Canaan, I do not resist de Wolfe’s presence. My husband was always a great supporter of Scott de Wolfe. So much so that he died for him.”
It was a deliberate shot to the heart to get their attention and it had the desired effect. Nathaniel did, indeed, die for Scott and that was the entire reason for their presence. Stewart did look at his liege, then. He wasn’t going to say another word. All was now up to Scott to decide what must be done. Stewart had to admit that he was genuinely curious how the man would react.
He waited.
But Scott knew that everything rested completely upon him at this point. The mention of Nathaniel’s death was very clever, he thought. Of course, how could they attack the home of a man who had sacrificed himself for his liege? Scott stared at the lady a moment longer, the tension in the air building. Would he show mercy? Or would he simply brush off the woman’s attempt at sympathy by mentioning her dead husband. As far as Scott was concerned, there was only one decision he could make.
One decision he was willing to make.
Silently, he lifted a hand and motioned the woman with a crooked finger. Avrielle, certain she was about to be taken to Baron Bretherdale, followed eagerly as he led her away from Stewart and the bulk of the army. Even as they passed the army and were in the clear, he continued to lead her out into the field of battle, still littered with men and gore.
Puzzled, Avrielle followed, although she was becoming increasingly disturbed. All around her were men, or pieces of men, and blood saturating the ground. The smell rose up, death and blood, filling her nostrils with its stench. The further she followed him, the more sickened she became. Blood and guts had never bothered her until she had become pregnant. Now, everything bothered her and it was an effort not to vomit.
“Knight?” she called after Scott. “Knight, where are you taking me? Surely de Wolfe is not out here, among the dead.”
Scott didn’t answer. He simply continued to lead her. Pale, Avrielle followed without another word until a half-dead soldier reached up and grabbed the hem of her cloak. The shriek had barely left her lips before Scott was at her side, dispatching the moaning man mercifully. As she turned to thank him, he turned away from her and continued to walk in silence. But Avrielle was too shaken to continue. She teetered after him, stumbled, and he eventually came to a halt. When he turned to look into her brilliant blue eyes, he could see a bevy of emotions in the depths. The woman had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
But they were eyes capable of breaking through that façade he kept so carefully around him. He’d discovered that last night; her voice, her softness, had managed to crack that rock-hard veneer. The more he looked at her, the more he came to realize something that had never occurred to him in his entire life – he was being cruel. The stab he felt to his heart was the alien emotion of pity. Retracing his steps, he swept her up into his arms in one smooth motion and carried her from the battlefield and into the shielding trees.
Avrielle didn’t say a word as the knight carried her into the cool bramble. In truth, she didn’t want to say anything that might provoke him. The man was absolutely enormous, just as all of de Wolfe’s men seemed to be. She was only concerned at the moment with speaking to de Wolfe and saving her family. Ever so gently, the knight placed her on her feet when they were well into the trees and Avrielle glanced about, looking for a man in robes and silks that would undoubtedly be Baron Bretherdale. When no man was forthcoming, she looked at the knight curiously.
“Well?” she half-asked, half-demanded. “Where is de Wolfe that I might speak with him?”
Scott was silent a moment. Perching his massive bulk atop a rotted tree stump, he slowly removed his helm. As his features became clear, Avrielle stared at him, recognition and embarrassment flushing her cheeks a bright red; the knight from the garden gazed back at her with a flicker of curiosity, perhaps even amusement. She could see a bit of his golden-blonde hair from beneath his mail hood and a heavy stubble of dark-blonde bearding covered his square-jawed face. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him the night before in the garden. But now as she inspected him, it occurred to her that everything about the knight reeked of masculinity and power. Strange how she couldn’t seem to remember anything from their encounter in the garden other than his powerful arms around her. But now, she was able to observe the entire package and realized that her heart was leaping strangely.
“It’s you,” she murmured.
Scott studied her flushed face with some amusement. “You may speak with me,” he said in a soft tone that he’d never heard from himself before. He almost looked around to see if someone else had uttered the words.
But Avrielle didn’t notice his tone. She felt like a fool for staring at him so long. But she was here for a serious reason and struggled to maintain her focus.
“Nay,” she shook her head. “I must speak with de Wolfe. ’Tis a matter of life or death, my lord.”
“You may call me Scott.”
She stared to refuse again, but the impact of the name swept her and her eyes widened so that he thought they might pop out of her head. “Scott?” she whispered. “Scott… de… de…?”
“De Wolfe, aye.” He couldn’t help the smile playing on his lips. “I am he.”
Avrielle’s mouth popped open to match her bulging eyes. Her knees shook and her palms began to sweat. “M-My lord,” she stammered. “I had no idea… that is to say, I did not know you were…”
He put up a hand to ease her. She suddenly seemed so nervous that he was sure she was about to faint. “I know you did not know,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “So tell me, Lady Avrielle of the Dead Garden – what it is you must speak to me about?”
Avrielle couldn’t focus on what she needed to say. At the moment, she could only focus on what she was feeling. Shock, surprise, and wild, unadulterated embarrassment. In a burst, her words exploded outward. “Dear God,” she gasped, turning away from him and slapping a hand to her
forehead. “I feel like such an… an idiot!”
His grin was full-blown. “Why?”
“Why?” she repeated, throwing her hands up. “Because you are de Wolfe. You entered my garden and I permitted you to… to…”
“Hold you?” he offered helpfully.
“Aye!” she almost yelled at him. “You held me. You… you comforted my children. And I wept and wept on you and… and…”
He snorted at her then. He almost startled himself because he truly hadn’t laughed at anything in years. But she was very humorous. He liked her animation, her embarrassment. He liked the look of her sweet face with her cheeks so pink.
“I promise that I will not hold that against you, my lady,” he said. “No harm done.”
She eyed him but couldn’t bring herself to reply. She was so embarrassed she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Still, she had come here for a reason and she fought back her chagrin in lieu of more important matters.
“As you say, my lord,” she said, though she didn’t look him in the eye. “I’ve come to speak with you for a most important reason.”
She was changing the subject, quite noticeably. It was apparent she didn’t want to speak about their meeting in the garden and he realized that he was disappointed. He had wanted, or expected, more of a response, though he couldn’t exactly say of what sort. Strange how he was looking for acknowledgement, but what kind, he didn’t know. Still, he would indulge her simply because he couldn’t help himself.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 179