It was a simple, concise story, but there were many things he had left out. Paris wasn’t satisfied. “Why did your father not give permission for the marriage?” he wanted to know.
Patrick held out his cup for more wine and Scott poured it for him. Then, he looked around, seeing a chair over near the bed, and went to sit down upon it. He was utterly exhausted.
“I must tell you the entire tale because that is why the Scots are here,” he said. “My wife is the bastard of Juliana de la Haye of Clan Haye and Magnus, King of the Norse. When Juliana gave birth to the child, she took her to Coldingham Priory to be raised by the nuns. As it turned out, the mother prioress, before she became a nun, was raped by a man from Clan Haye. She is also a sister to the chief of Clan Gordon. When my wife was brought to the priory as an infant, the mother prioress and her brother came up with a scheme to use my wife in vengeance against Clan Haye for the rape. In fact, the reivers that abducted my wife from Coldingham were paid by Clan Gordon. They were to bring her to the clan chief but we intercepted them and destroyed their plans. Now, they believe my wife is here at Berwick and they are here to take her.”
By the time he was finished, jaws were dropping. Scott and Troy were genuinely shocked and even Kieran had a bit of an astonished look about him. He’d known most of the story but not all of it; he knew nothing about the scheme by Clan Gordon against Lady Brighton because all of that had come to light after they’d left Questing. Paris simply stood there with his eyebrows lifted, shocked by the news.
“Is that why they have dug in?” he asked, aghast. “Because they believe your wife is in Berwick and they will not leave without her?”
“Aye.”
“Is she there?”
“She is.”
Paris started at him a moment longer before turning away, blowing out his cheeks in disbelief. “I must say that is not a story I expected to hear,” he said. “I thought this was a simple siege but it seems that there is far more to it.”
Patrick nodded. “Right before I left, a Scotsman came to Berwick and asked for my father,” he said. “He said he had information on the Coldingham lass, my wife, and he proceeded to tell us about the Clan Gordon plan. Evidently, their plan was to crucify my wife on Haye lands in vengeance for the rape. To tell you the truth, I was so swept up in the horror of what I prevented when I took her from the reivers that I did not stop to think about the Scotsman’s visit beyond the information he provided. Colm de Lara seemed to think that the Scotsman had come to assess Berwick and determine whether or not Bridey was actually there. An advance scout, as it were. He must have thought she was at Berwick because the Scots came shortly after I departed for London.”
Paris was listening intently to him. “Bridey?”
“My wife. Her name is Brighton but she is called Bridey.”
Paris understood. He also understood everything of what he’d been told, a harrowing tale, indeed. Scratching his head, he glanced at Kieran.
“That sheds more light on this, wouldn’t you say?” he said. “This is not a random siege. They want something.”
Kieran nodded, his manner grim. “Which means they will be more difficult to remove. That is why they have fought so ferociously.”
“Kevin said the combat had been brutal,” Patrick said, looking between the two old knights. “How many Scots are there?”
Kieran shrugged. “I would say a thousand, at the very least. They are dug in around most of the castle at this point.”
“How many English?”
“About fifteen hundred.”
Patrick sat forward in his chair. “Kevin is bringing another thousand from London,” he said. “He should have left with the men shortly after I departed. I did not want to wait for them; I wanted to return to Berwick and see for myself what had happened. But I would think that Kevin and the army are close behind me.”
Paris thought on that bit of information. “We could certainly remove the Scots with that number,” he said. “I was going to send to Questing and Northwood for more men but if Kevin is bringing a thousand men from London, then there is no need to risk more of our men than we already have. Besides… if Kevin is right behind you then I am not for certain we could get Northwood and Questing men here any faster.”
“Most impressive, Atty,” Scott said, standing over near the tent flap. “As Henry’s Lord Protector, you have command of more men than we can imagine. It was generous of Henry to permit you to bring some of them north.”
Patrick shook his head, preparing to deal the group another shock. “I am not Henry’s Lord Protector,” he said quietly. “I declined the position. It was more important to me to remain here at Berwick with Bridey than spend my time in London shadowing a dying king. I would have had no life of my own; you know that. My days and nights would have been spent at Henry’s side. While I was unmarried, I saw no issue with that. In fact, you all know how eager I was to assume my post. But once I took a wife… I would rather spend my life with her here in Berwick than enjoy the prestige in London of being Henry’s Lord Protector. I made a choice of the heart and I do not regret it.”
No one said anything for a moment; it was more surprising information in a day that had been full of such revelations. They had all known of his royal appointment and they had also known how proud he had been to receive it. As Henry’s Lord Protector, Patrick would have enjoyed immense distinction. To hear that he declined it because of a wife told them all just how deeply in love he was with the woman. It spoke volumes.
“So you have become one of us,” Paris finally said, his voice soft with humor. “One of the men who would do anything for the happiness of their women.”
Patrick gave him a half-grin; there was some embarrassment there. “Did you ever think you would hear such things from me?”
“Never.”
“I assure you, it is true.”
“It is,” Kieran confirmed. “I have met Bridey. She is a stunningly beautiful woman who has a sweet way about her. You will see what I mean when you meet her. It would not be difficult to fall for her charms.”
Paris looked at Patrick as if still in disbelief that the man had not only married, but had declined his royal appointment. But, truth be told, he understood… and he was very glad to see it.
“Then I congratulate you, Patrick,” Paris finally said. “I congratulate you on your marriage and on your happiness, and I look forward to meeting the woman who finally stole your heart. I never thought it would happen. If you recall, I tried to marry you off to a daughter but you refused. You also refused Kieran’s attempts. We thought that you would go through life without a wife so I am very glad to see that we were wrong.”
Patrick grinned. “I hope you have forgiven me for refusing Helene and Rose.”
Paris pointed at Troy. “Helene got a better husband than you in Troy,” he said firmly, but he didn’t mean a word of it. “And Rose married your brother, James. So in spite of you, the women married well. We did not need you, after all.”
Patrick was still grinning as he drained his cup. “It all worked out for the best,” he said. “Now, can we discuss the siege? I would like to see my wife at some point soon but I cannot do that if the Gordons are surrounding Berwick, so what is the plan to remove them?”
With the subject veered away from Patrick’s personal life and his declination of the royal appointment, they returned to the situation at hand. Paris turned for the map on the table.
“We were just discussing that, in fact, when you came in,” he said. “I had my scouts draw a map of the castle and try to map out where the Scots are dug in. This shows where they all are, at least to the best of our knowledge. We could try to purge them now with the men we have, but our men have been fighting for nearly three weeks. They are exhausted, which is why I was sending for fresh men. But if Kevin is bringing fresh troops from London, then I suggest we wait for them. The more men we have, the easier this will be.”
It wasn’t what Patrick wanted to hear but he u
nderstood. He stood up from the chair, wearily, making his way to the map to see what Paris and Kieran were looking at. Scott and Troy joined them and, together, the five of them looked over the map that had the Scots positions on it. Patrick could see that they were literally all around the castle with the exception of the chasm between the Douglas Tower and the donjon. But the city in front of the Douglas Tower was marked with Scots. He sighed.
“So they made it into the city,” he muttered.
Paris nodded. “They did, but only so far as the main gatehouse. They are dug in there, waiting for that gatehouse to open.”
“Have they tried to ram the portcullis?”
Paris nodded. “They have, but it held as far as we know. They’ve not managed to get inside the castle at all.”
As they continued to discuss the situation at the Douglas Tower, from outside of the tent, they could hear a commotion rising. Men were shouting and it seemed as if something was happening. Curious, the knights left the map and proceeded to venture outside of the tent to see what the uproar was about. They were no sooner out of the tent than several soldiers came running up to them.
“What is happening?” Paris demanded.
The soldiers began pointing towards the west. “The Scots are fleeing!” the man said excitedly. “They have pulled from their position and are fleeing Berwick!”
Startled, the knights tried to see what the men were talking about but so many of their own men were running to the west side of the encampment that it was difficult to see anything at all. But there was a huge sense of excitement in camp, something quite electric, and Patrick grabbed Troy.
“Come on,” he said. “Get to the horses. We must see what is happening.”
The knights broke for the corral where the horses were kept. None of the war horses were saddled, except for Patrick’s because they had not removed all of the tack yet, so the knights and grooms began putting bridles on the horses very quickly. Scott and Troy mounted their beasts without a saddle at all and Patrick leapt onto the back of his horse, gathering the reins and spurring the animal southward. Paris and Kieran followed and, soon, all five of them were charging southward, watching the Scots flee as they came up from the river and continued onward towards the west.
It was like watching a flock of migratory birds; wave after wave of Scots were rushing off and it seemed as if the Scots had no interest in the English who were now thundering in their direction. Astonished, the knights pulled their horses to a halt on a rise that gave them a vast vista of the land beyond only to see that the fog, so heavy that morning, had finally lifted. That was the first thing they saw. The second thing they saw was a shocking vision none of them ever thought they would see. Certainly, Patrick had never seen it in his lifetime.
Longships were approaching.
In all of his years by the sea, manning the garrison of Berwick, Patrick had never seen longships heading up the river towards the castle. The vessels had been concealed by the fog. But as soon as the mist lifted sufficiently, massive boats bearing the carved dragon prow of the Northmen were revealed to be moving slowly up the river, bearing down on the city of Berwick.
And that had been enough to scare the Scots away from the castle, for no one wanted to be caught outside of the walls when the Northmen attacked. Now, the fleeing Scots began to make sense. What over a thousand Englishmen couldn’t do in three weeks, longships in the river had managed to accomplish in three minutes once the fog lifted.
The Scots were on the run.
“My God,” Paris hissed. “Do you see them?”
Beside him, Kieran nodded. “I see four of them,” he said, although there was no fear in his voice, only awe. “I have never seen such a sight, not ever. How many men does one of those ships hold?”
Patrick, much like Kieran, was genuinely in awe of what he was seeing. “I have heard they can hold upwards of one hundred men,” he said. “But I do not know for certain.”
Scott, who had been slightly in front of the group watching the longships row their way up the river, happened to look over at the castle. He pointed.
“Look,” he said. “There is no longer a line of Scots around the castle. They are completely gone.”
The rest of the knights looked to see what he was gesturing towards and they, too, could see that Scots had mostly fled. There were a few lingering, but they, too, were running off, terrified by the sight of the Northmen. It made the way clear for the English to head to Berwick without a line of Scots to stop them and Paris turned his horse around.
“We must make it to the castle,” he said, a sense of urgency in his tone. “The Scots had a good reason for fleeing and I will not be caught on open ground with Norsemen invaders on our doorstep. Scott, Troy; get the men moving now.”
It was a command and Scott and Troy whirled their war horses around, charging back towards an encampment that was generally in turmoil. Evidently, a few of the men had also seen the longships and now the whispers of Northmen warriors were spreading through the encampment like wildfire. They could hear the frightened shouts of the men.
Run for Berwick!
With Scott, Troy, and Paris racing back to camp to begin moving the men out, Patrick lingered on the rise, watching the longships as they made slow progress against the river current. Kieran, who also hadn’t returned to the encampment yet, couldn’t help but notice that Patrick seemed unusually preoccupied by the sight. There was something in his expression that suggested… confusion?
“Atty?” Kieran asked. “What is it?
Patrick had an odd look on his face. “I am not sure,” he said hesitantly, “but it occurred to me that my wife’s father is a Northman, and now there are suddenly Northmen in the river where there have never been any before. Could this be some kind of bizarre coincidence, Uncle Kieran?”
Kieran’s gaze lingered on the ships in the distance. “Has Bridey ever had any contact with her father?”
Patrick shook his head. “Never,” he said. “She never even knew of her true heritage until the reivers abducted her from Coldingham. So how… how would Magnus even know of her? And even if he did, why would he come to Berwick?”
Kieran shook his head. “Who is to say those ships belong to Magnus? There are any number of lesser princes or Norse lords who could have come. It may have nothing to do with your wife at all.”
Patrick’s eyes never left the longships in the distance. “Possibly,” he said. Then, he turned to Kieran with something of an ominous expression. “I suppose we will find out soon enough.”
Kieran didn’t think that sounded like a very desirable option, but it was one that would very well come forth once the Northmen docked their longships. Now, it was a race against time to move the Northwood and Questing armies inside the walls of Berwick before the Northmen launched their attack, if that was, indeed, their plan.
As Kieran ran for the encampment, Patrick spurred his war horse straight to Berwick. Nothing in the world, short of the hand of God, could have stopped him at that moment. His only thought was of Brighton and it was a struggle to fight down the panic he felt. Panic for her safety, panic for protecting her from what was to come.
He had to get to his wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Patrick!”
Brighton was lifted up in his arms before she realized it. She’d heard the shouts of the sentries from her chamber window and she’d seen the gates on both the donjon and the Douglas Tower opening, allowing in men who seemed to be entering the castle grounds quite quickly. Soldiers were rushing in on horseback or in wagons, rushing in droves. As she watched curiously from the window, a man who looked very much like her husband came charging into the bailey on a horse that, coincidentally, looked very much like his. Curiosity turned to shock and shock to realization. Racing from the chamber, she met Patrick as he was just entering the keep.
And now she was aloft in his arms.
“God’s Bones,” Patrick hissed, his face pressed into the side of her head. “Are
you well, sweetheart? Are you well and whole?”
Brighton nodded her head even though he couldn’t see it. Surely he could feel it, the way she had him wrapped up in a death grip. “I am well,” she assured him. “I am even better now that you are here.”
Patrick couldn’t even put her down to reply. All he wanted to do was hold her, to reaffirm that she was truly safe. His sisters and their children were coming down the stairs, clamoring around him, as their fathers came in from the bailey. Everyone was gathering in the entry of the keep as the commander of Berwick returned, triumphant. After twenty days of a siege, there was much joy to be had.
“Patrick,” Alec said, trying to look the man in the face with his wife all wrapped up around him. “How is my father? Is he here with you?”
Patrick turned slightly so he could look at the man. “He is well and whole,” he assured Alec. “He and Uncle Paris should be a few minutes behind me. They went to rally their armies to run for the castle.”
“Run?” Brighton pulled her face from the crook of his neck. “We heard that the Scots have left. Why should they run now?”
Patrick lowered her gently to the ground. It occurred to him from her question that she had no idea what was in the river. Perhaps she had been kept away from the windows of the keep, bottled up where no enemy could get to her. If that was the case, then she was totally oblivious to the fact that death had just arrived in longships.
His focus shifted to Alec and Hector, having just come in from outside.
“Did you see the longships?” he asked them.
The knights nodded grimly. “We could see them from the wall,” Alec said, nodding his head in the direction of the women. “We noticed them just after we saw the Scots begin to flee. But we have not told the women yet. We had only just come down from the wall when the army started entering.”
Nighthawk: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 7) Page 33