Andreas snorted. “Faith,” he muttered. “Is that what I am to tell her? That we must have faith in God because he has allowed another tragedy to befall her? What should I tell her that purpose is, Sister?”
Sister Fiona didn’t have an answer. “She is young to know such hardship.”
Andreas turned his head as if to see her through the wall that separated them. “She is young and compassionate and sweet, and she has never committed a sin in her life, yet bad things seem to find her,” he said. “I told her I would protect her, but I cannot protect her from this. I do not even know how. Already, I feel as if I have failed her.”
“She loves her son very much?”
“Very much. You said yourself how heartbroken she was when they were separated.”
Sister Fiona watched him struggle with his emotions, his faith, his everything, and an idea occurred to her. A mother without a child… and so many children in her care without mothers.
Perhaps she could fix what Andreas could not.
“Go to her,” she said. “But do not tell her what I have told you. Not yet.”
He looked at her, torn between grief and curiosity. “Why?”
Sister Fiona was already heading out of the chamber. “Please,” she said. “Have faith, Sir Andreas. I will only be a moment.”
By that time, she was into the entry, heading for the stairs. Andreas came out after her, watching the woman with confusion as she disappeared up the steps. But Gavriella rushed to him, distracting him.
“Where is she going?” she asked.
Andreas had no idea what to tell her. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “She told me to wait a moment before…”
Gavriella’s features lit up. “She is going to retrieve him!”
Andreas looked at her and he could see the unrestrained joy. Utter, complete joy. She dashed away from him, running to the base of the stairs and looking up the stairwell eagerly. As he stood there, Will came up beside him.
“What’s wrong?” he hissed.
Andreas’ gaze was fixed on Gavriella as she literally trembled with joy. “The worst thing you can possibly imagine,” he whispered. “The baby is dead.”
He heard Will grunt, as if in pain. “God,” he muttered. “Then where did the nun go? Not to get the body, I hope.”
That thought hadn’t occurred to Andreas. “Christ,” he hissed. “If she does, I’ll kill her where she stands and answer for it later.”
There was rage in that statement. Will backed off, feeling a great deal of pity for his cousin and Gavriella. In silent support, he remained by Andreas’ side, both of them watching the stairwell until Gavriella final shrieked because she saw something moving up in the stairwell. As they watched, Gavriella burst into quiet tears as Sister Fiona came down the stairs with an infant in her arms.
A dark-haired, blue-eyed boy.
Weeping with joy, Gavriella took the child out of Sister Fiona’s arms and held him up to get a good look at him before hugging him tightly. The babe was clearly still very young, a stout little lad who was wrapped tightly against the cold weather. As Gavriella hugged the baby and rocked him gently, Andreas came to stand next to her.
“Look at him,” Gavriella wept happily. “He’s so big! When he was born, he had light hair, but it has turned darker over the months. My mother had dark hair, you know. I think he looks a little like her now. He’s more beautiful than I remembered!”
Andreas was trying not to look too stunned and too confused. He forced a smile as she held the lad up so he could get another look at him. He really was a gorgeous little thing with dark hair against his pale skin, chewing his hands and wide-eyed at all of the activity.
“He’s quite handsome,” he concurred, putting a big hand on the baby’s head, dwarfing it. “Why not sit down with him and become acquainted? I must speak to the sister about… a donation.”
Gavriella didn’t notice the tone of his voice, as if he were both confused and annoyed. She was too focused on the baby. As she went to sit in the chair next to the hearth, setting the baby on her lap and speaking sweetly to him, Andreas made his way over to Sister Fiona, who was watching the exchange carefully. When she saw the knight approach, she simply lifted her thin eyebrows.
“He was in need of a mother,” she murmured. “She was in need of a son. See how happy she is? Now, she does not have to know the truth unless thou feels the need to tell her. Does thou?”
Andreas sighed faintly, looking at the pair. Now, Will was standing next to them, admiring the baby, who was starting to squeal happily. “Nay,” he said, resigned. “Sister, I am not entirely sure this is the right thing to do, but she is overjoyed and, for that, I am grateful. If you feel this is the right thing, it is not something I will spoil.”
“As I said, one must have faith.”
“I’ll try.”
Sister Fiona smiled encouragingly, giving him a bold wink before heading over to Gavriella to tell her a little about the child she believed to be her son. The little lad was nearly the same age as the child she lost, perhaps slightly younger, and he’d come to the foundling home after both of his parents, Scots from Clan Maxwell, had died in the clan wars that had been going on for the past several months.
But Sister Fiona wasn’t going to tell her that.
Truth be told, the little nun knew the child to be the grandson of a chieftain, one of the very men who was wreaking havoc on de Wolfe lands. Oh, she knew all about it. She was far from being a naïve woman who tended children, because being a dependent of the Earl of Northumbria, she knew a great deal of what went on this far north. And she knew the little lad’s name to be Peyton Maxwell. But now… now, he was to be Storm, raised by a de Wolfe.
But Andreas and Gavriella never need know any of it, and if little Peyton’s relatives came looking for him, she’d simply tell them he’d met the same fate as Storm.
He’d have a better home with the House of de Wolfe, anyway.
A little lie she was certain God would forgive her for.
As Sister Fiona sat down next to Gavriella to tell her about her son, there was a knock at the heavy entry door. The tiny sister who had admitted them went to the door and unbolted it to reveal another nun, the one who worked in the stable yard and kitchens, with Brodie behind her.
Andreas spied him immediately.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Brodie was wise enough to motion them outside rather than shout out the message for all to hear. Andreas, Will, and Gareth emerged into the bailey, facing him.
“Our scouts have just returned from Kelso,” Brodie said in a low voice. “They have spotted de Soulis entering the other end of town. He’ll be here in a matter of minutes, Dray.”
It wasn’t unexpected news. It simply confirmed what they’d all suspected. In fact, Andreas felt a little as if he’d been hit with a fist to the gut. Nay, the news wasn’t unexpected at all, but it was the realization that Merek had been right, after all.
Giddy had been looking for the child.
“How many men?” Andreas asked.
“The scouts think at least one hundred,” Brodie said. “As many as we have.”
Andreas said a quick prayer that it wasn’t more.
It was time to move.
“Get our men into the bailey,” he said. “Quickly, get them out of sight. We’ll all wait here for de Soulis to ring that bell.”
Gareth and Will were already moving for the gate, already shouting at the men to get inside. But Brodie remained focused on Andreas.
“And then what?” he asked. “What are you going to do when they ring that bell?”
Andreas began to rub his hands together, like a man ready for a fight. He was greatly anticipating it.
“When they ring that bell, both gates open and our men pour out to attack,” he said. “They will not be expecting it, so we’ll use the element of surprise. They think that they have been clever all this time, trying to find out where Gavriella’s infant was. Now that the
y’re here, they’re going to get a big surprise. And, Brodie – no mercy.”
Brodie liked that order. A smile flickered on his lip. “I’ll spread the word.”
“We have men with crossbows,” Andreas said. He pointed to the wall that surrounded the foundling home. “That wall isn’t much, but we’re going to use it. Get them on it. When the fighting starts, I want them to take out everything that moves.”
“It shall be done. Anything else?”
Andreas looked him straight in the eyes. “Nicholas de Soulis is mine.”
Brodie’s smile bloomed. “Make it hurt, Dray.”
“I’m going to do a far sight more than that.”
Brodie believed him.
“Half of the damn village is burned,” Nicholas said. “Do you suppose it was the army that passed on the road before us?”
The de Soulis contingent was at the edge of Kelso, all one hundred and thirty of them. They’d ridden hard since before dawn, all the way from Hell’s Gatehouse, and by now they were showing their fatigue. It had been a long, cold day. But the sight of a village that had been recently burned in an act of warfare had their attention. Now, they were on edge.
John shook his head to his son’s question.
“Nay,” he said. “The priests at the abbey said it was the Scots. Did you not hear them?”
Nicholas shrugged. He hadn’t heard much after the fearful priests, pulled away from their evening prayers, had told the heavily armed de Soulis group where the Edenside Foundling Home was located. The priests had given the knights directions and promptly slammed the door in their face.
But it didn’t matter.
The de Soulis men had what they wanted.
“Nay,” Nicholas admitted after a moment. “I wasn’t really listening. They had already told me what I wanted to know.”
John eyed his distracted son. “They said that there is trouble with the Scots these days,” he said. “That being said, I do not want to get caught up in anything. Let us retrieve this child quickly and be done with it.”
Nicholas spurred his horse forward and the others followed, including Giddy, who was cold and sore from having been in the saddle so long. But she didn’t complain, even when the entire contingent followed Nicholas with breakneck speed. They were all anxious to finish their task so they could retreat to Kelso and find a tavern or two to warm themselves in.
But all Giddy could think about was the infant she was about to be saddled with.
They galloped down the road, spying the tower house and wall that the priests had described as belonging to Edenside. The walls were made from pale granite and, under the bright moon, they gleamed white, like a beacon. The entire de Soulis contingent raced up to the walls, with Nicholas and John dismounting their horses quickly. They didn’t even give commands to the men, who simply grouped around, waiting.
No one was watching anything. Their minds were thinking of the warmth they would seek out when their task here was finished. They were thinking of the whores who would warm their beds, of the tankards of ale they would drink. No one was thinking about anything other than that until one man happened to see something on the walls.
It looked like a helmed head.
He peered at the shape in the distance curiously.
“Does a place like this have guards?” he wondered aloud.
He was a lesser soldier, towards the rear of the pack, and only those closest to him heard the question. One man, an old cuss with a missing eye, turned to him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know why we’re here. Someone said something about a baby, but I don’t even know whose baby or why. What is this place, anyway?”
“A foundling home,” another man said impatiently. “De Wolfe is the patron, so it probably has guards. It probably has…”
Those were the last words he uttered before a rain of bolts came flying at them from over the walls, heavy crossbow bolts that were meant to disable horses. They were enormous. Several men went down, as well as the woman who had accompanied them. She took a bolt to the chest and fell into the snow, dead.
It was a shocking sight.
Immediately, the de Soulis contingent was under attack. What had looked like a sleepy little orphanage was evidently anything but and the de Soulis men were caught off guard.
The battle was underway.
Andreas waited until someone rang the bell before the soldiers with crossbows let loose. Then, someone yanked the gates open.
Andreas was the first one out.
They had caught the de Soulis men by surprise and although Andreas didn’t know the father and son on sight, he assumed they were the men who had rung the bell. They were extremely well dressed and heavily armed, and as he headed for the younger one, Will went for the older man, who wasn’t able to unsheathe his broadsword before Will was able to slice him from his collarbone to his groin.
It was a deep cut. Blood and guts came squeezing through the breach and the man pitched to his knees as the younger man screamed. “Father!” That told Andreas all he needed to know and as the younger man moved to aid his father, Andreas lifted his sword against him. The younger man could see his life flash before his eyes and he managed to get his sword up in time to block a blow that would have surely taken off his head.
The fight was on.
The de Wolfe soldiers showed no mercy, as they’d been instructed. It wasn’t just a fight they were after; it was a massacre. They were cutting soldiers down swiftly because the men hadn’t been given a chance to even draw their weapons. That was only true of the men close to the gate, however. The men further back could see what was happening and they had every chance to unsheathe broadswords and crossbows. Some fled, but most stayed to fight.
The de Soulis men began to launch bolts of their own.
Beneath the wolf moon, the men from the House of de Wolfe cut down enemy after enemy. It was a night of much slaying, with Andreas in the middle of it. He was doing battle against the younger of the pair who had been at the bell, a man who was surprisingly good with his sword and surprisingly strong. If Andreas had been looking for an easy kill, he didn’t find one.
The knight was giving him a good fight.
But it was close quarters fighting. There were men all around them battling and dying. On the north side of the road was dense forest growth and to the south, on the other side of the foundling home, was the River Tweed. Men were already being pushed into the trees, however, and Andreas could hear them fighting in the growth.
But he was focused on his opponent.
He was fairly certain who he was.
No words were spoken between them. None were necessary, mostly because they were trying to kill each other. Big broadsword were flying through the dark and when they met, sparks flew. But Andreas had the advantage. He always had the advantage because he was left-handed when most men were right-handed, and he’d learned to use that against his opponents.
This opponent was no exception.
In short order, Andreas had driven the man back towards the heavily forested area. His plan was to box him against the trees and then let nature take its course. But not before he told the man who he was and made him understand that any plans he had for Gavriella and the infant had failed.
He wanted Nicholas de Soulis to know who it was who had beaten him.
But that was his last coherent thought before someone came up behind him and clobbered him on the back of his helm.
Andreas went down to his knees, seeing stars dance before his eyes. He could hear grunting and fighting all around him, but he kept his eyes on his opponent, as much as he was able, seeing the man come at him with a sword raised. As he lifted his own sword, someone dashed in front of him and he could hear sword upon sword and then finally a groan. A body hit the ground next to him, lying face-up in the snow.
It took him a moment to realize it was Corey.
Andreas went mad.
Shaking off the stars, he charged his opponent,
taking the man out by the knees. As he went down, somehow, Andreas lost his grip on his sword and began using his fists, pounding the man in the face until the blood began to fly. Teeth went flying. He knew he’d broken his nose because he’d heard it crack.
Then, he picked his opponent up and lifted him over his head, throwing him again a tree trunk.
As his opponent fell to the ground, Andreas pounced. He punched, kicked, and threw his opponent back onto the road and then rolled him down the other side towards the river. More punches, more kicks, more broken bones. It was the bloodiest, brutal beating in the history of brutal beatings, with every blow having Gavriella or Corey’s name on it.
And it went on for some time.
Andreas didn’t even realize when the fighting around him had stopped for the most part. He didn’t see his father’s army roll up from the west, subduing any remnants of the de Soulis resistance. He was focused on his opponent, who had now become his victim. When they ended up almost at the river, Andreas finally stopped throwing punches with his torn gloves and bloodied knuckles.
His opponent lay on the ground in front of him, eyes open but unable to move his body. In fact, the man’s face didn’t even look like a face anymore. It was smashed and contorted.
It looked like death.
“Your name,” Andreas growled, exhausted. “What is your name?”
The bloodied lips formed words. “De… de Soulis, you bastard,” he rasped. “Nicholas de Soulis. You killed my father, you son of a whore. I will kill you for that.”
Andreas heard the man’s name with a great deal of satisfaction. “Not before I kill you first,” he rumbled. “But you and I are going to have a conversation before that event. I am from the House of de Wolfe. What in the hell do you want with the de Leia infant?”
The eyes blinked, looking at him with increasing horror. “De… de Wolfe?” he repeated thickly because his mouth was smashed. “Nay… nay, you shall not emerge the victor. I will! I shall avenge my father!”
WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations Page 32