Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Patrick’s grin broadened as he went to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently on the lips. “That is most kind, wife,” he murmured. “I have missed you today. I hardly had any time to see you or speak with you.”

  Brighton wrapped her arms around his neck. “I could see you most of the day through the window of the carriage,” she said. “But, alas, even in the carriage with your lovely sisters, I was still lonely for you.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, warming his heart, and Patrick kissed her again, feeling a spark ignite in his belly, a spark he was coming to equate with his feelings for Brighton. He’d felt that spark most strongly the night he bedded her and also last night when he had bedded her again. It was a very lustful spark and one he was more than happy to answer the call for, but the moment he bent over to kiss her more lustily, he caught sight of her open trunks in the chamber next to his and everything came to a halt.

  “What are your trunks doing in there?” he nearly demanded. “You do not think to sleep in there, do you?”

  Brighton shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “But I did not want to move my things into your chamber until you told me to. That would have been quite bold of me.”

  He scowled at her. “Bold?” he repeated, aghast. “You are my wife. You will sleep where I sleep. Start taking your things into my chamber immediately, you silly wench.”

  It sounded very much like a command and Brighton quickly turned for the chamber, yelping when Patrick swatted her on the behind with a trencher-sized hand as if to punish her for being so foolish. She giggled, and he grinned, as she went to collect her things.

  Seeing that she was doing as he had commanded, Patrick went into his big, cluttered chamber and began removing his mail. As he hung his mail coat on a frame near the door, he began to look around the chamber and think that, perhaps, this didn’t look much like an inviting chamber for a woman. It was dusty and had clutter in the corners. When Brighton scurried in with an armful of her new garments, he held out a hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “You may want to clean this room to your liking before you move your possessions in here. I do not spend much time here and the servants are not allowed to come in when I am not here, so it is a rather dirty room. You may wish to clean it up first.”

  Brighton looked around the chamber. It was very big, with an enormous bed and a huge wardrobe among other pieces of furniture, but it was also very dusty. There were no oil cloths covering the windows and no curtains around the bed. In all, it was a spartan chamber meant for a man. She turned to him.

  “I will not clean it up if you do not want me to,” she said. “If you are comfortable here, I see no reason to disturb it on my account.”

  He smiled faintly, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. “There is every reason to disturb it on your account,” he said. “A man-pig lives here. Feel free to do anything you wish to the chamber to make it more comfortable for us both. I give you permission.”

  Brighton turned to the room again, thinking that it did, indeed, need some sweeping and cleaning. Oddly enough, she was very excited at the prospect. Make it comfortable for us both.

  She would.

  “Tonight?” she asked.

  He gave her a squeeze and let her go as he prepared to remove his padded tunic. “Tonight,” he said. “Right now if you wish. I have some business with my father now, so do your worst.”

  Brighton beamed at him. “I will,” she said. “I have much to do.”

  He watched her scurry back into the other chamber where her items were laid out. “I will see you at supper.”

  She had her back to him as she dumped her garments back onto the bed. “Indeed, you will.”

  “Bridey?”

  She paused and stood up, turning to look at him. “Aye, Atty?”

  His gaze lingered on her a moment. “I am glad you are here. With me.”

  Her joyful expression softened, adoration filling her features. “As am I.”

  “I do love you. You know that.”

  She nodded. “And I love you, my husband. More than you can ever know.”

  They were words to fortify him, filling him with steel for a soul and granite for determination. Nothing on earth could crush him as long as he had her love. Hearing those words from her… he never knew anything could mean so much to him.

  Leaving his happy wife cleaning up their chamber, Patrick headed back down the corridor in search of his father. All he had to do was follow the clamor of children and he soon came upon his father being set upon by five grandsons. The older boys were trying to convince him that they needed his daggers while the younger ones were simply rifling through his saddlebags, throwing things aside on the hunt for something useful or valuable. Patrick stood in the doorway and shook his head.

  “You are being robbed and you do not even know it,” he said, pointing to the lads pawing through the saddlebags. “Eddie and Axel have you occupied while the younger ones steal your things.”

  William grinned, turning to see Christoph, Atreus, and Hermes pulling everything they could out of his saddlebags. He, too, shook his head.

  “They remind me very much of you and your brothers when you were their age,” he said. “As I recall, you stole many an item from me, not the least of which was my coin purse. Do you remember that? You were about three or four years of age. We searched for it for an entire week and only found it when your mother forced you to give it up. You had buried it in the stable beneath the feet of one of the chargers. It was very clever of you, actually.”

  Patrick laughed softly. “That is still where I keep my money,” he said. “Only a madman would go into the stall of a man’s war horse. In fact, that is why I came. I am preparing to pull forth my coin. Do you want to come with me?”

  William shook his head. “I had better not lest this group rob me blind while I am gone,” he said. “I will see you in the hall for sup.”

  “Very well.”

  Leaving his father to occupy the young boys, Patrick headed down to the stable where he had, indeed, buried his money in the ground of his war horse’s stall. The horse was the best possible sentinel. Once he reached the barn, he removed the horse from the stall with no issue before sweeping aside the hay and dung to reveal a stone laid flush against the floor of the stall.

  Beneath the panel lay a locked chest containing Patrick’s coinage. He pulled the chest forth, unlocked it, and opened it. Inside, there was an entire horde of silver dinars and two leather purses full of gold crowns. He pulled forth twenty pounds in silver and one of the gold coin-filled purses just in case he needed to sweeten the deal. Although his father was already doubling his twenty pounds, still, Patrick didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  Soon, the depression of what was to come hung over him. He’d avoided it most of the day, keeping himself occupied with other things. He thought of Brighton, now up in his chamber making it a place she would be comfortable to live in, and his heart swelled with happiness. Never had anything felt so right to him. He wanted this day to be normal, a glimpse of their life to come, with feelings of security and happiness in the life they’d chosen for one another. Thieving kids and all, this was the life he wanted, the life he adored, but none of it would be worth it without Brighton by his side.

  Was he frightened of what would happen at Coldingham? Of course he was. For a man who knew no fear in battle, he most definitely feared one small prioress because she had the power to rob him of everything he held dear. But quickly, his fear turned to anger; he simply wasn’t going to allow that to happen. If she wouldn’t accept his money, he had no problem slitting her throat and burning down the priory to cover his tracks.

  That was how strongly he felt for Brighton. No man, or woman, was going to deny him his wants and get away with it. He armed himself with that knowledge, that understanding, and it fortified his courage, for no matter what happened with the offer of compensation, he and Brighton would remain together as husband and
wife until death did they part. The Nighthawk had found his mate for life and he wasn’t going to lose her, not for anything.

  Rather than going to Coldingham seeking permission, he was now going to Coldingham seeking prey.

  The mother prioress’ answer would determine just how much longer she would live.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The night had seen a summer storm roll through and by morning, the sky was clear but there was a blanket of wet across the land as Patrick and William gathered in the bailey of Berwick to bid their family a farewell.

  While William spoke quietly to his daughters and sons-in-law, Patrick and Brighton were off to the side on their own. Patrick held Brighton snugly, his forehead against hers, feeling angst like he’d never felt in his life. It was purely due to the separation with Brighton and had nothing to do with the objective of the coming trip. After yesterday’s decision on what he would do if the prioress did not take his money, he was at peace with that. He knew what he had to do. Now, his anxiety had to do with leaving Brighton, if even only for a few days. He couldn’t imagine that what he had to do would take any longer.

  But even a few days was too long for him. He was wrought with the pain of leaving her, struggling to control it because Brighton had been verging on tears since they had awoken that morning. Lying in each other’s arms, they’d spoken of little things, trivial things, but the sorrow of the mood filled the room. If she wept, Patrick wasn’t at all sure he could even leave, so it was imperative to keep calm so Brighton would be calm.

  But it was a struggle.

  “Do you have everything you need?” Brighton asked, huddled against him, her hands on his woolen de Wolfe tunic. “You did not leave anything behind, did you?”

  Patrick grunted unhappily. “Aye, I did,” he said. “You.”

  She smiled wanly. “But I cannot go,” she said. “I have thought about this, Atty. As much as I would like to go with you to tell Mother Prioress that I am agreeable to this marriage so she will not think I have been forced into it, I am afraid that if I set foot in the walls of Coldingham, they might not let me out.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “If you think those puny nuns can hold you, then you are greatly mistaken,” he said. “I can take on a nun or two if it comes to that.”

  He meant it in jest, mostly, but she turned very serious. “You must promise me that you will not move against the priory,” she said. “You cannot harm them if they do not give you the answer you seek right away.”

  Because she was serious, he grew serious. “I will tell you now that I will do everything in my power to ensure I have their agreement,” he said. “Do you think for one moment I am going to leave there without a settlement in the matter? The mother prioress will give her permission or she will be very sorry.”

  Brighton knew he was determined but his words still frightened her. “What does that mean?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  She wasn’t in a mood to be teased or toyed with. She pushed out of his embrace, facing him with great concern on her features.

  “Patrick, what are you going to do if Mother Prioress does not accept your money?” she asked. “I want to know.”

  His gaze lingered on her, debating just how much to tell her. He’d come to his decision last night, but it was his decision alone. He didn’t want her to know anything about it or have any complicity in it. This was something he had to do, for his own sake. For their sake.

  There was no remorse in his heart whatsoever.

  “I will do whatever is necessary to convince her that you will never return to Coldingham, with or without her agreement on the subject,” he said after a moment. “What did you think I was going to do if she refused the money, Bridey? Take you back to her? Of course not. She will never see you again. I will therefore do what is necessary in order to gain her cooperation.”

  He was being vague, essentially letting her know it was none of her affair how he conducted himself. Brighton sighed heavily, thinking that it was, perhaps, for the best. Perhaps, she really didn’t want to know. Contrite that she had shown her temper to him, she fell back against him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to sound impudent. ’Tis simply that I am afraid of what will happen once you speak with her. She is a stubborn woman.”

  Patrick wrapped his arms around her again, giving her a squeeze. “I understand,” he said. “But you must trust me in this matter. Your trust and your love mean everything to me, Bridey. You must never lose either in me.”

  She shook her head, her eyes closed as she held him tightly. “I will not, I swear it.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Good lass,” he said. “Now, do you want to wish my father a farewell? He is going on your behalf, after all. It would be polite of you to thank him.”

  Brighton nodded eagerly as Patrick took her by the arm and escorted her over to where William was standing with his children. As soon as William saw them approaching, his attention was diverted and he smiled faintly.

  “All is well, I hope,” he said, looking between Patrick and Brighton. “Are we ready to depart?”

  Patrick nodded. “We are,” he replied, “but Bridey has something she would like to say to you.”

  All eyes turned to Brighton as she gazed up at William. Realizing that everyone was suddenly watching her, she was a bit hesitant but forced herself to speak.

  “I-I wanted to thank you for all you have done for me, my lord,” she said. “I have not had much opportunity to speak with you but I would like to say that you have my undying gratitude. Patrick holds you in great esteem and I do, as well.”

  William smiled at the woman with the nervous catch in her speech. “Thank you, Bridey,” he said, “and if you do not call me William or Papa soon, I shall be very disappointed.”

  Brighton smiled, relief in her expression. “I-I would be pleased to call you either,” she said. “Since I have never had a father, mayhap you will not mind if I call you Papa?”

  William shook his head, putting a hand on her cheek and kissing her on the forehead. “I would be honored.”

  Brighton’s smile broadened and she looked at Patrick to see the approval in his eyes. He was quite happy to see that Brighton and his father were coming to like one another, thrilled, in fact. But Patrick couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to speak perfectly to him, yet that slight stammer returned when she spoke to anyone other than him. Not that he cared, for he loved her with a catch in her speech or not, but he felt rather special that he seemed to be the only one who heard her perfect speech.

  Or did he…?

  Was it imagined or not? Was it because he simply found her perfect in all ways that he didn’t hear the stammer in her speech any longer? He didn’t know and, frankly, he didn’t care. He loved her and was proud of her, regardless.

  “Papa and I must be going now,” he said, tugging on his father’s arm, calling him “Papa” in a teasing tone because that was what his sisters called him. “I would like to make it to the priory before the nooning meal and we have a ways to go this morning, so we must depart.”

  William began moving towards his silver steed as Patrick grasped Brighton’s hand and pulled her along with him as he headed towards his great muzzled beast. The saddlebags were full of provisions and loaded onto the animals, as were an impressive array of weapons including broadswords. William and Patrick were prepared for any hazards or circumstances that might come their way, including marauding Scots. They were heading into Scotland, after all. It was best to be prepared.

  Brighton paused next to the horse while Patrick made a final check on the saddle cinch. When he was satisfied, he looked up to see Brighton smiling at him. But it wasn’t a natural smile; it was forced, as if she was only smiling because he expected it.

  “God speed you on your journey, husband,” she said softly. “I will pray for you every day.”

  Patrick cupped her face with his gloved hands and ki
ssed her gently on the lips. It was a lingering kiss, of painful sweetness, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

  “And I will see you in my dreams,” he whispered. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  With that, he mounted his horse and prepared to move out. Everyone stood back as the war horses danced. Katheryn reached out to take Brighton’s hand, pulling her away from the animals. Everything seemed set until shouts from the inner gatehouse caught their attention. The group looked over to see Anson and Colm coming towards them.

  Patrick’s knights had been in command of Berwick ever since his journey to Castle Questing and it seemed as if they would continue to be in command for the time being, considering he was about to head into Scotland. But he was concerned with their shouts and the fact that the men at the main gatehouse seemed to be excited about something. He could see them shuffling around from where he sat.

  Something was in the air.

  “What is it?” he called to Anson.

  “A rider,” Anson replied. “Wearing braies and a leine and riding one of those stout Scottish ponies. Clan Gordon, he says.”

  Patrick didn’t seem particularly interested. “I see,” he said. “Well, I do not have time for him. My father and I shall return in a few days. You can tell me then whatever the man wanted.”

  Anson and Colm crowded around the side of the horse that was opposite Brighton, who was over on the left side. “Nay, Patrick,” Anson said, his dark eyes intense as he lowered his voice. “He told me that he wants to speak of the Coldingham lass. I think you should make time.”

  That information drew Patrick’s attention immediately. His brow furrowed and he slid off the horse, rounding the beast to speak to his men. “He what?” he hissed. “What in the h-? When did this man arrive? I heard nothing about a rider entering the gatehouse!”

  “It was only a few minutes ago,” Colm said. “I was at the mouth of the gatehouse and saw him coming through the town. He came right up to the gate and said he wanted to know if this was a House of de Wolfe. When I told him it was and told him to be on his way, he said that he needed to speak with de Wolfe about the Coldingham lass.”