Nunnery Brides

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Patrick growled at his brother. “Back away, whelp,” he said. Quickly, that tone changed when he turned to Brighton and reached out to take her hand. “My lady, permit me to assist you. Welcome to Castle Questing.”

  Brighton climbed out of the cab with Patrick steadying her as her feet touched the dirt of the bailey. Now, she could see the place in its entirety – Questing had both inner and outer wards, both of them surrounded by soaring walls. The shape of the castle, in general, looked something like an “H”. The gatehouse to the inner bailey was open, a much smaller structure than the main gatehouse, and through the opening she could see buildings in the inner ward. Oddly enough, she didn’t see a central keep, but many buildings all strung together, built against the inner wall. Her observations were cut short, however, when she heard Patrick address her.

  “I am sure you are weary,” he said somewhat quietly, as joyful chaos went on around them with families reuniting. “I will introduce you to my father and mother and then you may rest until the evening meal.”

  Brighton was a bit anxious at the thought of being left alone in a strange, new castle. “B-but where will you go?” she said. Quickly realizing that sounded as if she had personal interest in his plans and very much as if she didn’t want him to leave her, she amended her words. “T-that is to say, will you not speak with your father right away? I should like to be part of that conversation if you will permit it. It is about me, after all. I feel I should be present.”

  Patrick took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. He hadn’t missed that wistful tone in her voice, the one she’d tried to quickly cover up. “You will be part of that conversation,” he assured her. “And I intend to tell my father why I have come as soon as possible. Besides… when he sees that I have brought you to Questing, a stranger, he will understand that this is not entirely a social visit.”

  “Atty?” Thomas had been standing at his brother’s side nearly the entire time, realizing his brother had no intention of introducing him to the beautiful young woman. “Who is your guest? Will you not introduce us?”

  Patrick turned impatiently to his young brother. “If I had any choice in the matter, I would not,” he said flatly. “But, seeing as you and the lady may run into each other during the course of her visit here, permit me to introduce you to Lady Brighton de Favereux. Lady Brighton, my brother, Thomas.”

  Brighton nodded to the young man, who dramatically bowed before her. “T-Thomas and I have met,” she said. “He did, in fact, introduce himself.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “He did?” he said, frowning at his brother in a threatening manner. “That was bold of him. And impertinent. Say the word and I shall punish him.”

  Thomas grinned impishly and dashed away. “You’ll not lay a hand on me!” he declared. “Mother will have something to say about that!”

  “Say about what?”

  A woman’s voice with a heavy Scots accent came from behind. Patrick turned quickly to see his mother approaching with their father, but his father headed directly for the grandchildren who were starting to squeal at the sight of him. As Patrick’s father growled like a bear and scooped up wriggling, giggling grandchildren, Patrick greeted his mother with a kiss.

  “You are looking well, Mother,” he said. “How have you been?”

  “Well enough,” she said, her gaze finding the woman standing next to Patrick. “And I see ye’ve brought me a guest. Why did ye not send word ahead?”

  Patrick turned to Brighton. “Mother, this is Lady Brighton de Favereux,” he said. “Lady Brighton, this is my mother, Lady Jordan Scott de Wolfe.”

  Brighton had never really been taught how to properly greet nobility, with a curtsy and averted eyes, so she simply stood there and smiled timidly at the beautiful woman with Patrick’s pale green eyes.

  Lady Jordan de Wolfe was rather petite. Her honey-blonde hair was wrapped up in a braid that was secured in a coil at the base of her skull. Though she was in her fifth decade, there were very few lines on her face. In fact, she looked quite ageless, serene and lovely, and far too small a woman to have birthed such an enormous man as Patrick. But she clearly had, for Patrick had some look of her about him, and Brighton automatically had a good feeling about the woman. There was something in the glow of Lady Jordan’s eyes that foretold of warmth and kindness.

  “’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 u
p 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.