“’T-tis an honor, my lady,” she said.
Jordan cocked her head curiously. “Do I hear Scots?”
Brighton’s smile grew, although it was modestly. “Aye, my lady,” she replied. “I have spent my life at Coldingham Priory.”
Jordan was quite interested in the beautiful young woman with the Scots accent. “Coldingham,” she repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of it. North, near Edinburgh, I believe.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“But ye dunna have much of the brogue, lass. Where were ye born?”
Patrick intervened at that moment; he had to. His mother was already leading into the very reason for his presence at Questing and he didn’t want to discuss it out here in the open.
“Later, Mother,” he said, putting himself between Brighton and his mother. “The lady is the reason why we have come. Would you be so kind as to take her inside and show her where she may rest? I must speak with Father.”
Jordan had the curse of curiosity in all things. She was obedient to her son in action but her mind was still very curious about the girl, even more curious after Patrick had said what he had. She took Brighton by the hand.
“Come along, my lady,” she said. “Come and rest after yer long journey.”
Brighton was willing to go with the gentle Lady Jordan. But the moment she took a step, she heard a loud and seemingly unhappy Scottish brogue among them.
“Alec?” a woman said. “Did ye think not tae come inside tae greet yer own mother? I had tae come out here tae find ye!”
There were so many people in the bailey greeting the incoming party that it was difficult to see where the voice was coming from. It was a loud voice, indeed. Brighton found herself being pulled away from Patrick, into the group of people, until they came upon Alec and Evelyn, who were hugging a tiny, dark-haired woman, heavy-set but still quite lovely. The little woman put her hand on Alec’s chest; in truth, she thumped him.
“Did ye not think tae send word of yer arrival?” the woman said after she pounded on his chest. “We’ve had no time tae prepare!”
Alec could see his aunt, Lady Jordan, with Patrick’s captive in-hand. He pointed to Jordan and Brighton. “Atty has a bit of an issue and he needs Uncle William’s counsel,” he said. “Mother, the woman with Aunt Jordan is Lady Brighton.”
The tiny woman whirled around, amber eyes fixing on Brighton. In fact, Brighton was probably more intimidated by the little Scotswoman than she was of all of the men around her. Around the same age as Lady Jordan, she nonetheless looked younger than her years, but something in the woman’s expression bespoke of fire and grit. She was tough, this one, and nothing to be trifled with. Brighton resisted the urge to shrink away from her.
“Is that Atty’s lass, then?” the woman asked, incredulous. Then, her cheeks reddened and she began looking about. “Where is that mountain of a man? He brings a lass with him and we know nothin’ about it? Atty!”
She was yelling and Brighton was cringing. Patrick, a head taller than nearly everyone else around him, pushed through the crowd of people, lifting up one of Katheryn’s boys when the child got in his way. He held the boy as he came near the little Scotswoman.
“It is good to see you, too, Aunt Jemma,” he said dryly, although he kept a distance from her. One did not enrage Lady Jemma Hage and live to tell the tale. “Did I hear you bellow?”
Jemma put one hand on her hip while the other pointed to Brighton. “Did ye take a wife and we are only now findin’ out about it?”
Patrick looked at Brighton in shock. “Wife?” he repeated. “God, no. Who told you that?”
Before Jemma could work up a righteous outrage, another man stepped in. He had been over by Katheryn’s other two boys, admiring their ponies, but now he stood beside Jemma, a massive hand on her shoulder. Sir Kieran Hage, Alec’s father, made an appearance at just the right time. Hearing his wife’s angry voice had forced his attention away from his grandchildren for the moment.
“I do not believe Atty has taken a wife,” he said calmly, his voice soothing and deep. He looked at Patrick. “Mayhap you had better introduce the lady and explain why she is here before your aunt blows the top of her head off thinking that you have gone and married without telling anyone.”
Leave it to Uncle Kieran to defuse a situation. Patrick grinned. “Aunt Jemma, I assure you, I have not married without your permission,” he said somewhat mockingly, looking around to the group that had gathered in the bailey, a group that was now looking at Brighton. He cleared his throat softly, looking from his aunt to his uncle to his mother and finally to his father. “This is Lady Brighton de Favereux. Two nights ago, we received word that reivers had raided an English settlement and possibly had English captives with them. As it turned out, they had raided Coldingham Priory and took Lady Brighton as a prize. I rescued the woman, killed the reivers, and now Lady Brighton is my guest for a time. Lady Brighton, I am sure you have figured out that this is some of my family – you have met my mother, but the dark-haired spitfire is my Aunt Jemma and the man next to her is my Uncle Kieran. And this… this is my father, William de Wolfe.”
He said it rather proudly as he turned to the man standing next to him. Brighton, who had been rather overwhelmed with everyone’s attention suddenly on her, focused on the man beside Patrick.
The great William de Wolfe was an older man. Some might have even called him elderly. But he was still a very large man, powerful, and seemingly quite healthy. He stood a little shorter than his enormous son but they both had the same square jaw and big dimples in their cheeks, only in William’s case, age had carved the dimples deeper. He wore an eyepatch over his left eye and he seemed to be scarred, in general, from what she could see. Only so great a knight could wear such battle wounds so well. Instead of giving the appearance of a beaten man, it gave the illusion of an invincible one. Brighton didn’t even know the man but, already, she liked him.
“My lord,” Brighton dipped her head to the man politely. “It is a great honor to meet you.”
William regarded the stunning young woman for a moment; busty, pale-skinned, with luminous blue eyes and an angelic face, he was seriously wondering why Patrick had brought the woman with him. But his expression remained impassive, not revealing his confusion. He nodded his head in greeting.
“Welcome to Castle Questing, Lady Brighton,” he said. Then, he looked at Patrick. “She is from Coldingham?”
Patrick nodded. “Aye,” he said in a manner that suggested he didn’t want to spill his business for all to hear. “May we speak inside, Da?”
William was very curious about this quandary. “Indeed,” he said. “Alone? Or shall we invite Kieran?”
“I would like to have him there. The other men are welcome as well.”
William nodded, sensing something rather serious. Patrick wouldn’t have come all the way from Berwick, with a woman from Coldingham Priory no less, if it hadn’t been a serious issue. William very much wondered what it was.
“Then go into my solar,” he said. “I will meet you there. But first, I want to see my grandchildren for a moment. I promise I will not be long.”
The group began to dissolve a little bit, with Katheryn and Evelyn and their children ganging up on grandfathers while their husbands went about disbanding the escort party. Jemma was already over with Jordan and Brighton and Patrick, too, was focused on the woman. He thought she looked rather natural standing with his mother and aunt, as a fellow Scots. He thought she looked rather natural as part of the family.
… as part of the family?
He couldn’t believe that thought had just crossed his mind. God, what in the hell are you thinking? He scolded himself. If you continue to think such thoughts, you are going to ruin everything you’ve worked for! This woman was making him entertain ideas he’d never entertained before, thinking of things that weren’t part of his plan. More than once, he’d found himself thinking of the woman in ways he shouldn’t have been. He’d known other
women before, so what made Brighton so special, other than her obvious beauty? He didn’t even know that much about her, but therein was the problem.
What he knew of her, he liked.
Frustrated with himself, he yanked off his gloves and made his way over to where the women were standing. He thought not to look at Brighton, as maybe that would help his problem, but his eyes were drawn to her like a moth to flame. He couldn’t seem to not look at her. Before he could reach her, however, a little figure with a toy sword intercepted him. Patrick came to a halt, finding himself facing off against his baby sister.
His frustrated mood fled.
Penelope de Wolfe was a little over three years of age, an extremely late baby for her parents, but the cutest little creature on the face of the earth. She had dark hair and hazel-gold eyes, and was so bright that she could carry on a fairly serious conversation with an adult. But she’d been coddled and catered to and indulged to the point where it was well-known that little Penelope ruled Castle Questing, not William as most were led to believe. The child opened her mouth and everyone ran right to her.
But Patrick didn’t blame them, truthfully; he was one of those who ran right to her. He missed not seeing her day to day because of his appointment at Berwick. Other than his father, he’d been the first one to hold her after her birth and he was quite attached to her.
“Greeting, my lady,” he said to her, bending down to pick her up and kiss her. “It is good to see you again.”
But Penelope wanted none of his affection or greeting. She held the dull wooden sword out at him, tip pointing up at him.
“Halt,” she barked. “You shall not pass!”
Patrick’s face fell dramatically. “Why not?” he begged. “Aren’t I your favorite brother?”
Penelope shook her head, her dark hair wagging in her face. “Nay,” she said flatly. “Thomas gives me sweets. I love him best.”
Patrick fought off a grin at his utterly adorable, but naughty, sister. “If I give you sweets, will you love me best?”
She cocked her head, looking very much like their father in that gesture. “What sweets will you give me?”
“What do you want?”
“Candied grapes!”
Patrick had no idea where he was going to get candied grapes but he nodded. He simply couldn’t let Thomas be the favored brother. “I shall, I swear it,” he said. “Am I your favorite brother again?”
“What else will you give me?”
He burst out laughing. “I’ll give you my hand to your backside, you little thief,” he said, watching her squeal with laughter. “Come here and give me a hug!”
He swooped down on her, hugging her, pretending to bite her arm, and she screamed in delight. Penelope beat on his arms, on his armored shoulders, swatting him with her wooden sword as he carried her towards the inner ward. He was bringing up the rear behind his mother, aunt, and Brighton, but his focus shifted from Penelope’s antics to the sway of Brighton’s backside in a hurry.
Soon, he was back to thinking of the lady as he watched that sensual sway. It was rather like he was in a fog where the only thing clear to him was that heart-shape of her bottom. Meanwhile, Penelope started hitting him on the helm with her sword so he flipped her upside-down and carried her so she was facing away from him and unable to hit him with her sword any longer. Penelope screamed in both glee and frustration, enough so that Jordan turned around to see what had her youngest daughter so upset. She came to a halt, and Jemma and Brighton with her.
“Penelope?” she asked, bending her head downward to look at her daughter in the face. “Why are ye screamin’ so, lass?”
Penelope was swinging that sword around as Patrick flipped her upright and set her to her feet. She immediately charged him angrily, smacking her sword against his mailed legs.
“Bad Atty!” she said. “You are bad!”
He pushed her away by the head, gently, but it was enough to nearly send her onto her backside. “And you are a spoiled little goose,” he said.
She charged him again and would have made contact had Jordan not grabbed her child. She yanked the sword away and handed it over to Jemma, who was more than happy to take it. Neither one of them approved of the lass’ toy sword, so any chance to take it away from her was happily taken. Jordan scowled at her rambunctious daughter.
“What have I told ye about hitting with yer sword?” she scolded. “Now, ye’ve lost it. I’ll not give it back tae ye for the rest of the day.”
Penelope immediately broke down in tears. “It’s mine!”
Jordan wouldn’t have any of it. Grasping her daughter by the hand, she dragged the girl into the inner bailey as Penelope’s wailing echoed off the walls. It was loud enough that her brothers, uncle, and father began to gravitate in her direction, all of them wondering why the baby was so unhappy. Jordan had to fight off William because he wanted to comfort his youngest and as Brighton watched, she saw Jordan give William a good scolding about spoiling his child. William simply grinned.
It was all quite humorous to watch but it was also very sweet. Brighton could see that the love and affection between Patrick and his knights and their wives wasn’t simply limited to them. It was clear that, here at Castle Questing, there was much familial love and affection as well.
It was all quite astonishing, truly. More and more, Brighton was coming to see what her affectionless days at Coldingham had cost her. Outside of those austere walls, there was life and love. She’d had no idea how much. People cared for one another and they laughed together, and the de Wolfe group seemed to be the most loving and joyful of all. It was true that she had nothing to compare it to, but she couldn’t imagine anyone, anywhere, had more joy than this family did.
Lord, did you send those reivers to free me from Coldingham to discover what I have been missing? Is this truly what life should be like?
She wondered.
“In case you did not realize it, that is my baby sister, Penelope,” Patrick said, coming up beside her. “My mother will be stern for an hour or two and then my father will take over and ruin everything she has done. Penelope is his angel.”
Brighton grinned. “S-she is terribly cute,” she said. “She seems to want her sword back very badly.”
“She willna get it,” Jemma said sternly. “I should burn the thing.”
Patrick shook his head. “If you do, Father will just have another one made for her,” he told his aunt. “Let her have it. She will soon grow weary of it.”
Jemma wasn’t so sure. “She’s attached tae it as yer father is attached tae his,” she said with disapproval. “The lass has too much William de Wolfe in her.”
“She is his daughter.”
Jemma pursed her lips irritably at her mountainous nephew with the smart-aleck replies. “Go about yer business,” she said, swishing her hands at him. “I will take Lady Brighton inside and find Moira and Rosie.” She turned to Brighton. “Would ye like some other lasses tae talk tae?”
Brighton wasn’t sure what to say to that. More new people? Did the parade of Patrick’s relatives never end? She simply forced a smile and allowed Jemma to pull her through the inner ward, towards the buildings that housed the great hall and the family apartments, following the weeping Penelope and Jordan as they went.
Patrick simply stood there and stared, his gaze on Brighton’s backside again, watching her until he could watch no more. In fact, when she disappeared into the building that housed the great hall, he was forced to look away only to realize that his father was standing next to him, studying him closely. Realizing he’d been caught staring at a woman, Patrick smiled weakly and tried to cover it up.
“Let us go inside and speak, Da,” he said, grasping his father by the arm. “Much has happened since I rescued Lady Brighton from the reivers. You are going to want to hear this because I very much require your counsel on it.”
William wasn’t stupid. He knew that Patrick was trying to distract him from what he’d witnessed, which
was his powerful, invincible son seemingly besotted with a woman. He could tell simply by the expression on Patrick’s face. William had always hoped for a great marriage for his greatest son, but he wanted a marriage as befitting Patrick’s destiny in life. The man needed a fine wife from a fine house, a marriage that would make his son wealthy and even more prestigious.
But the way Patrick had been looking at that woman he’d saved from the reivers… aye, William knew that look. He’d seen it before on other men but never on Patrick. It was the look of attraction. The look of surrender. Although William didn’t know anything about Lady Brighton, he was fairly certain she wasn’t the impressive marriage he was looking for when it came to Patrick.
Whatever was going on, he wanted to know about it.
And then he wanted to end it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Later that evening
“What is so important that you’d trek halfway across Northumberland with women and children, Atty?” William asked his son quietly. “What has happened? And who is this young woman you have brought with you?”
They were standing in his father’s solar. Patrick had always loved the smell of the dark, cluttered chamber. Something between leather and steel. Still, it was difficult to describe but as a child, he’d always derived a great deal of comfort from the scent. To this day, the smell of leather reminded him of his father.
It was the smell of power.
The question William asked hung in the air, expectantly. There were others in the solar as well – Kieran, Alec, Hector, Kevin and Apollo. Thomas and Nathaniel and Adonis had not been invited because they were really little more than children themselves and William didn’t want young men involved who hadn’t yet learned to keep their mouths shut. He wasn’t sure what troubles Patrick had brought with him and Patrick was well aware of his father’s wariness; he could see it in the man’s face.
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 11