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 kissed 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.”
Patrick was growing more and more curious and, if truth be told, more and more concerned. But Brighton came around the front of the war horse, at a goodly distance away from the ferocious animal. The moment he saw her face, he went to her and took her by the arm.
“Go back into the keep with my sisters,” he said, trying to pretend as if nothing was amiss. “I have some business to attend to before I go. It will only take a few moments.”
Brighton sensed he was rushing her away but said nothing about it. “Of course,” she said. “Will you come to me before you leave?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I am leaving now, in fact. I do not want my last vision of you to be out here in the cold dawn. I want you inside where it is safe and warm.”
Brighton simply nodded her head and he kissed her swiftly, motioning to his sisters, who had just turned to head into the keep. At Patrick’s beckon, they came to Brighton and huddled around her as they headed for the warm innards of Berwick’s keep.
Patrick watched his sisters usher his wife back into the keep before turning to see Alec and Hector upon him. Even William had dismounted his horse by this time and was now speaking with Anson, hearing the same information that Patrick had just heard. He could tell by the odd expression on William’s faced that he, too, was both confused and concerned.
“A rider is here. He wants to speak to de Wolfe about the Coldingham lass,” Patrick said for the benefit of Alec and Hector. “Clan Gordon, so Colm says.”
Alec and Hector looked at each other in confusion. “Why in the world would a Gordon be here to discuss Coldingham?” Alec asked, baffled. “This makes no sense.”
Patrick didn’t respond. But he could feel a spark of fear come to life. It burned low in his chest, twisting his stomach. None of this made any sense and he didn’t like it at all. Without saying a word to his father, he walked past the man and headed towards the Douglas Tower entrance of Berwick. Everyone knew where he was going. William, Alec, Hector, Anson, and Colm followed.
Something was amiss and they could all feel it.
… but what?
The sun was starting to rise over the east, turning the sky shades of gold and pink. The River Tweed, off to his right, was reflecting those morning colors as it flowed gently to the sea. But for all of the tranquility of the morning, Patrick could only feel intense curiosity and intense concern. Marching across the bridge that spanned the chasm, he could see several men gathered at the gatehouse, including Damien. He could see his knight’s blonde head over the mass of either dark-haired or helmed heads. When Damien saw him coming, he went out to meet him.
“I put the man in the guard’s room,” he told Patrick in his intrinsically calm manner. It did wonders to soothe Patrick. “He will say he is from Clan Gordon but that he will only talk to William de Wolfe. I told him that this was not William’s home, but belonging to a son. Now, he seems to want to leave to find your father. He didn’t know he was here, Patrick.”
Patrick was even more confused than before. “Did he say anything about the Coldingham lass?” he asked. “Did he give a name?”
Damien shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “But be cautious; he has an odd look about him.”
“Madness?”
“Mayhap.”
That gave Patrick no comfort at all. He was starting to build up the man’s purpose in his mind until it was starting to scare him, so he struggled to put aside fear of his own making. Still, it was difficult – he could only assume the Coldingham lass meant Brighton. No one knew she was here. He was just about to enter the guard’s room when William caught up to him and grasped him by the arm.
“Nay, lad,” he said quietly
, pulling Patrick away from the door. “Breathe and calm yourself. I can see every vein in your head throbbing. Let me talk to this man since he has asked for me.”
Patrick took a deep breath. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, watching his father nod. “I will admit that I am rattled. Mayhap it is best if you question the man. I am not sure I would be very good at it right now.”
William patted his son on the shoulder before turning and heading into the guard’s room of the Douglas Tower.
It was a nice room, spacious as far as guard rooms were concerned, with a table, two big benches, and a large hearth spewing out heat and smoke into the low-ceilinged chamber. Damien and Colm had already entered the room but the others hung back, waiting for William and Patrick. William entered, followed by his enormous son, who wandered over to the edges of the room, lingering in the shadows as William went straight to the table where a rather thin, pale man with curly dark hair sat, swathed in dirty woolens.
Alec, Hector, and Anson came in last, going to stand with Patrick in the darkness as William took the lead. If something happened and Patrick snapped, they needed to be near the man to stop him.
William came to a halt a few feet away from the Scotsman, studying him intently. He seemed like any normal Scots, clad in dirty clothing and pale-skinned. But the Scots were cunning as a whole. William knew that because he’d spent a good deal of his life battling against them. They were very smart and very deadly. With that in mind, he spoke.
“I hear that you seek a word with me,” William said quietly, seriously.
The seated man eyed him without fear. Considering he was surrounded by English, it was an impressive show of bravery.
“Are ye William de Wolfe?” he finally asked.
William nodded. “I am. Tell me your name.”
The Scotsman scratched his dirty head before replying. “I am Gordon.”
“That is not your name.”
The man nodded, giving William a rather quirky smirk. “’Tis true,” he said. “I am called Tommy Orry.”
“Why do you seek me, Tommy?”
Tommy puffed out his cheeks as if wondering where to start. Or, perhaps, he was wondering if coming here had been a wise decision in the first place. In any case, he shifted around nervously before replying.
“I’ve heard ye have the lass from Coldingham,” he said. “The lass that the Swinton took. Do ye have her?”
William didn’t reply right away. He could literally feel Patrick’s apprehension as the man lingered over in the shadows, just out of his line of sight. But William kept his manner calm.
“If I do?”
Tommy leaned forward on his chair. “Then I have some information ye might want.”
“Why would you think so?”
“Because Ysabella said ye sent a missive tae Coldingham about the lass. She said ye were friendly towards the lass.”
William was trying to piece together what the man was saying without showing how confused he was. “Who is Ysabella?”
“Mother Prioress.”
Now, William was growing about as apprehensive as Patrick undoubtedly was. “I am not sure what you are trying to tell me, but you had better come out with it,” William said. “Make sense, man. Why have you come and what does this have to do with the lass from Coldingham?”
As if on cue, Damien slammed a cup down next to Tommy, half-full of old ale. It splashed onto the table. But it was wet, and Tommy was thirsty, so he took the cup and drank the entire thing. Damien had given it to the man to perhaps loosen his tongue and it worked. Tommy smacked his lips and began talking.
“Richard Gordon of Clan Gordon is Ysabella’s brother,” he said. “He took over as Clan chief when their father passed. But he also took over their need for vengeance agin’ Clan Haye because, years ago, when Ysabella was a young lass, a son of Haye forced himself upon her and beget her with child. The child wasna born alive and Ysabella’s father bought her way intae Coldingham since she wasna a marriage prospect any longer. There has been a sense of vengeance agin’ the Haye ever since that time. When Juliana Haye brought her infant tae Coldingham, a bastard child of a Norse king, Ysabella took the baby in. But… she had a plan for the lass.”
William could hardly believe what he was hearing; it was a great shock. But as great a surprise as it was to him, it was even greater for Patrick. He came out of the shadows at that point, his face pale with astonishment.
“A Norse king?” Patrick repeated. “The Mother Prioress told you that?”
Tommy nodded. “I heard her say so. The lass is his bastard.”
Patrick looked at his father. All of the astonishment he was feeling was reflected in his eyes. So it was true! Now, the pieces of the puzzle were falling together a bit more; pieces that all seemed to fit together in odd and mysterious ways. But he didn’t say anything more and Tommy, nervous of his presence, began to speak faster.
“I’ve come tae tell ye not tae send the lass home,” he said, eyeing Patrick but mostly focused on William. “I know Ysabella told ye tae send the lass back tae Coldingham, but if ye do, they’ll kill her. Richard Gordon intends tae kill her in revenge for the wrongs committed agin’ his sister by Clan Haye. He paid the Swinton tae take her from Coldingham tae make it look like reivers had taken the lass, but the truth is that he wanted her.”
His rapid-fire delivery and sudden end left the room lingering in shocked silence. William looked at his son, who was looking at Tommy in mute revulsion. William finally reached out to touch the man on the arm.
“Atty…,” he murmured. “Are you well?”
Patrick nodded, stiffly, his focus still on Tommy. “Why did you come here to tell us that?” he asked the man. William could hear a quiver in his voice. “Brighton means nothing to you and you certainly have no allegiance to the English, so why tell us? I do not understand why you are here?”
Tommy gazed steadily at the hulking Sassenach. “Because what Richie wants tae do tae the lass isna right,” he said quietly. “Do ye know what he intended tae do? He wanted tae nail her tae a cross and post her on Haye lands. He wants tae crucify her. If ye return her tae Coldingham, that’s exactly what he’ll do. And it isna right tae kill an innocent lass like that. I came here tae tell de Wolfe tae keep her or send her somewhere else. Just dunna send her back tae Coldingham.”
Crucify. Patrick looked at his father with such horror in his eyes that William was visibly moved by it. He reached out to touch his son, reassuringly, trying to give the man some comfort. But Patrick simply walked away from him, pacing the room as if in danger of losing his mind or his temper. No one was sure which. Patrick ended up pacing around with a hand over his mouth, struggling to come to terms with what he’d just heard. It was revulsion like nothing else they’d ever witnessed.
Crucify Brighton.
“You were brave to come here,” William finally said to Tommy, although he was glancing at his son with worry. “I will make sure you are rewarded. That is why you really came, wasn’t it?”
Tommy shrugged, wondering why the Sassenach around him seemed so disturbed by the news. As if there was something personal about it. “If ye have a mind tae,” he said. “I just didna want the lass’ death tae be on me conscience. I canna face God with that shadow on me heart.”
“Are you telling me that Mother Prioress is in on this… this travesty?” Patrick finally spoke from across the room as he continued to process the information. “She is the one who arranged for Bridey to be abducted by the Swinton and make it look as if reivers had taken her?”
Tommy wasn’t certain who Bridey was but he assumed the big knight meant Brighton. “Her brother did it,” he said. “But she helped him arrange it. They’d been plannin’ it for years, in truth, but they waited until the lass came of age. Killin’ a small lass means little, but killin’ a grown woman… it would mean somethin’ to the Haye.”
Patrick looked to William as if the man could help him process this terrible information. William felt a great deal
of pity for his mighty son, a man who was usually so very in control of his emotions. But not when it came to his new wife, a woman he clearly adored. And the news coming from the Scotsman was enough to rattle all of them, men that weren’t even in love with Brighton. They didn’t have to be in love with her to see what a horrible plan had been centered around her. It was appalling in so many ways. William finally looked at Damien.
“See that Tommy is fed and given a bed,” he said. “I’ll reward the man before sending him home.”
Damien nodded, pouring Tommy more ale now that the first round of questioning was over. William went straight to Patrick, taking the man by the arm and pulling him from the guard’s room, out into the fresh morning air.
“Breathe, Atty,” William said softly. “Just… breathe and be thankful this man came to us before we headed to Coldingham. God has been merciful.”
Patrick simply nodded, laboring with every fiber of his being to do as his father instructed… breathe. Just breathe. He was trying, so very hard, to remain calm in the face of what he’d heard.
“My God,” he finally muttered. “The brutality of it… the sheer brutality of it. How could they even think to crucify an innocent woman?”
William remained strong, if only for his son’s sake. He could sense that Patrick was a hair’s breadth away from snapping. “I do not know,” he said. “I have never heard of such things and I have been fighting the Scots on the borders for nearly forty years. I have never in my life heard of anything like this.”
“But… crucifying her? Nailing her to wood and posting her for all to see?”
William was trying not to imagine the mental image Patrick was painting. “As I said, I have never heard such things. The clan chiefs I know would never stoop to such brutality, not even in vengeance.”
Patrick came to an abrupt halt, bent in half, and vomited the breakfast he had eaten with Brighton onto the dirt of the bailey. His emotions were twisting his guts to pieces. When he finally stood up, wiping the back of his pale lips with his hand, the pale green eyes flashed with fire.
Nunnery Brides Page 52