“What did ye do for the Sassenachs that they would pay ye silver?” Richard asked, his temper starting to flare. “Paid ye silver like the Judas ye are, did they? What did ye tell them?”
Tommy lay on the road in utter anguish, knowing that if he didn’t tell them the truth, worse things were yet to come. His left arm was broken and useless, but his right arm was still functional; he knew that wouldn’t last if he didn’t tell them what they wanted to know. But he also knew that telling Richard why he had gone to Berwick would sign his death warrant.
“Please, Richie,” he breathed, spittle dripping from his lips. “I… I was lookin’ for the Coldingham lass for ye. I thought I could find her for ye bein’ that she is with de Wolfe.”
That statement brought some interest to Richard. “Is she at Berwick?”
Tommy clutched his left arm against his chest. “I dinna see her,” he said. “But I asked for the lass and they all acted… strangely. As if they had some bond with her. Berwick is close tae Swinton lands so I thought it would be the men from Berwick who would have taken the lass. ’Tis the Nighthawk’s lair, ye know. He lives at Berwick.”
“Did ye see him, then?”
“I… I think so.”
“But he dinna tell ye if she was at Berwick?”
“There is no other place she could be. If the Nighthawk took the lass from the Swinton, then he would take her back tae Berwick. More than that, William de Wolfe, himself, was there – isna he the man who wrote tae Ysabella and asked about the lass?”
A light went on in Richard’s eyes. “He was,” he agreed. “Then the lass must be at Berwick since William de Wolfe is there! What did ye say tae them, Tommy? What did they tell ye?”
Tommy was in so much pain that he could hardly speak. “I told them that I… I had come on behalf of Coldingham and that they wanted the lass returned. I… I even offered tae escort the lass back tae the priory meself. They wanted tae know why. They… they wouldna tell me more than that. If ye’ve been followin’ me, then ye know I wasna there for very long. I left quickly.”
“And the money on ye?”
“I told them me mother was sick.”
It was the only lie Tommy could come up with quickly enough and Richard knew it wasn’t the truth. He wasn’t clear why Tommy had gone to Berwick Castle but he didn’t much care at that point; he’d gotten what he wanted out of the man, which was the very real possibility that Ysabella’s postulate was there, guarded by the mighty Nighthawk and The Wolfe himself. But it didn’t seem to matter to him; simply knowing the lass was at Berwick fed his bloodlust because he wanted nothing more in the world that to get his hands on that woman regardless of who was guarding her. She belonged to him, didn’t she? He paid enough for her.
He wasn’t going to fail in his second attempt to take her.
“We tell the allies that the Sassenach at Berwick have somethin’ that belongs tae me,” he said to the man standing nearest to him. In fact, he was speaking to the half-dozen men who were standing around Tommy. “We’ll tell them that it was the Sassenach who raided Coldingham where my sister is the mother prioress. We’ll tell them that they took a lass, a Scots lass, tae whore with them at Berwick. We will rally the allies with the promise of Berwick’s riches if they help us save me sister’s postulate. I want that lass! She is mine!”
The man standing next to him, with curly auburn hair and dirty as if he’d never taken a bath in his life, didn’t seem convinced.
“Berwick is a big place, Richie,” he said. “Big walls, two gatehouses, and the river on one side o’ her. And she carries a big army.”
Richard wouldn’t be deterred. His face began to turn red. “Cowardly, ye are!” he snarled. “Berwick can be breached like any other castle if we get enough men. We build ladders and come in from the north, where there is only a wall between us and the keep. We can breach her, I say! Purge de Wolfe from the castle once and for all! Do ye know how many Scotsmen would rise tae the call if they thought they could defeat William de Wolfe? De Wolfe shall be our battle cry!”
With that, he turned away from Tommy, shouting for his horse and shouting his intention to destroy Berwick. He wanted the girl within the walls and he was going to rally as many allies as he could to get to her. Once he had the lass, he would invite the allies to be part of his vengeance against Clan Haye. His allies weren’t fond of Haye, in any case, so Richard knew he could reward them with riches from Berwick and the opportunity to see justice served.
Was it a mad dream? Probably. Even Richard was willing to admit that his battle plans smacked of madness. But he wanted the Haye lass badly enough that he didn’t care. He had been planning for that girl for too many years to let her go so easily. Now, it was his pride that had him in its grip, a pride instilled in him from his father and something he couldn’t let go. The more he shouted condemnation to those at Berwick, the more that pride got in his way.
He had set his own path, whether or not he truly believed it was the right one.
As Richard rode off towards the Gordon stronghold several miles away, the men that remained behind didn’t forget about Tommy. They tied his ankles up with hemp rope, secured the rope to his pony’s saddle, and smacked the pony on the behind so the animal spooked and took off down the road. Tommy took off right along with it.
And that was the end of Tommy Orry Gordon.
‡
An hour after the departure of the Scots visitor, Anson and Colm entered the guard room to find Patrick, Damien, and William still inside, engaged in quiet conversation. Anson, who had been on the wall, went to a small table in the guard room to unload some of his heavy weaponry. On this warm day, wearing mail and leather was sticky on top of hot.
“So,” he said as he pulled off his mail hood, “I saw our Scotsman depart and disappear to the north. He seemed to be in a hurry.”
The group turned to look at him. “Why would you say that?” Patrick asked.
Anson went to the bucket of cool water near the door and poured a ladleful over his head, cooling himself. “Because he was moving at a clipped pace,” he said, wiping the water from his eyes. “He seemed to be eager to leave.”
Patrick shrugged. “We have been discussing the same thing,” he said. “Tommy expressed fear that he’d been followed here. It would make sense he would want to return to his lands as soon as possible.”
Anson shook the water from his hair and went on the hunt for the pitcher of watered wine that was always around for the men to drink. He found it over by the hearth and collected a cup. “I simply cannot believe he traveled all the way from Gordon lands to tell us about Richard Gordon’s plans for Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “It seems as if he went to great lengths for the enemy.”
Patrick followed him, taking another cup as Anson poured him something to drink. “Whatever his motives, I am grateful,” he said. “He must have had a serious attack of conscience to come. Or, mayhap, he simply needed the money.”
“Mayhap it was all a lie,” Colm said as he, too, unstrapped his sword and set it on the table next to Anson’s. The others looked at him curiously because Colm only spoke when he truly had something to say. He wasn’t one for idle chatter. “Mayhap, he came here to scout us out. Did you ever think of that? Mayhap, he told us that story as purely fiction simply to gain access to the castle.”
Patrick took a chair at the end of the table, considering his words. “But for what purpose?” he asked. “To see our weaknesses? We have none. And if he did come here to see the interior of Berwick, then he can return to Richard Gordon and tell him that Berwick is impenetrable.”
Colm sat at the table as well. “Mayhap,” he said. “But I just found his appearance very odd.”
“Odd, indeed,” William said. He, too, went to take a seat. “Let us presume that most of what he said was true – that the mother prioress is the sister of the chief of Clan Gordon and that Clan Gordon has a score to settle with Clan Haye. There is no purpose to even tell us that because we have no be
aring on Clan Gordon. At Questing, we rarely deal with them because they are far to the north.”
Colm looked at William. “He came looking for you, my lord,” he said. “He asked for you by name. He was not sure you were here, but your appearance confirmed to him that you were. Mayhap… mayhap he was seeking intelligence on your location but told us that story on Lady de Wolfe to throw us off the truth of his appearance.”
Patrick looked at his father, seeing some evidence of believability in Colm’s statement. “So he finds you here,” Patrick said, “meaning you are away from Castle Questing.”
William lifted his eyebrows. “That simply means that I am here and nothing more,” he said, not wanting the men to start worrying when there was no reason to. “It is not as if Castle Questing is hugely vulnerable without me. Her army is still the largest one on the border.”
Patrick shook his head. “Nay, that is not what I meant. I meant they were looking for you. At some point, you will have to travel back to Castle Questing. It would be a fine prize for the Gordon to be lying in wait as you traveled home.”
It was an ominous thought. Now, no one was really certain about Tommy Orry’s appearance or why he had really come. Being that they had to deal with life and death situations on a daily basis, no one was taking anything for granted. Patrick turned to Colm.
“Have some men follow Tommy’s tracks to see if our suspicions hold any weight,” he commanded quietly. “Send your best men to track him. Surely, he will return home. But I want to know if his presence here was for another reason than what he told us. Mayhap, the man will return to build an army against my father, or worse.”
Colm nodded, rising from his seat and heading out of the guard room. While Patrick was nervous for his father’s safety now, William wasn’t concerned in the least.
“I do not think there is a horde of Scots waiting to ambush me as I return home,” he insisted quietly. “In fact, I was thinking on leaving today since we are not traveling to Coldingham.”
Patrick wasn’t keen on that idea. “Can you at least wait until Colm’s men return from following him? It would make me feel much better.”
“I do not believe it is necessary.”
“Please?”
William sighed sharply. “I think you are overreacting, Patrick. While I appreciate your caution, I do not believe there is any threat to me beyond the usual. Send me back to Questing with a few men-at-arms if it pleases you. But I would like to return today.”
Patrick knew how to play the stubborn game with his father. He was ready and willing to counter the man. “If you insist on leaving, I will tell Katheryn and Evie what we suspect with Tommy Orry. They will not let you go. I will pull forth the women into this if I must, Da. You will not be able to leave.”
William’s eye narrowed. “You would not dare do that.”
“Try me.”
The game was up and Patrick had won. Frustrated, William took the pitcher on the table and poured himself more wine. “Then have it your way,” he said. “It will give me more time to play with my grandchildren, I suppose. But Colm’s spies had better return within a few days or I will simply leave and not tell anyone.”
Patrick knew that wouldn’t happen with his knights on the prowl, knowing and seeing everything that went on at Berwick, but he didn’t comment. He simply nodded his head.
“Just a few days,” he said. “Besides… I plan to leave tomorrow for London and I would like for you to remain with Bridey for a little while. I would feel better if you did.”
Now, he was playing on his father’s sympathies for Brighton and William knew it. He also knew he was sunk because he understood the situation with Patrick leaving his wife behind. It was a painful thing for them both. Resigned to the fact that he would stay at Berwick for a few days, he downed half of his cup.
“As you wish,” he said. “How is she doing, by the way? Is she calmer now?”
Patrick nodded. “She is. But I can see the fear in her eyes and that disturbs me terribly. It makes me feel guilty, as if I am helpless to protect her.”
Damien, seated at Patrick’s right hand, spoke softly. “You are not helpless,” he said. “Even though you go to London, you have all of us to protect your wife. I’ve not had much time to speak to the woman but I look forward to coming to know her. Any woman who could capture your heart is one worth knowing.”
He was grinning, which caused Patrick to grin. He slapped an affectionate hand against the man’s shoulder. “She is sweet and gentle, but there is strength in her,” he said. “She is now in charge of the keep and you will obey her orders as if they are my own. Make sure the men understand that.”
“I will. But I do not want you to worry while you are in London. We shall protect her with our lives.”
Patrick sobered. “I know you will,” he said. He looked between Anson and Damien, two men he trusted implicitly. “I will confess that I am not eager to leave but it is necessary. I told you earlier today in the great hall when we were discussing Richard Gordon and the threats against my wife that I will not be accepting Henry’s royal appointment, so I must face the king when I explain my reasons. Although my body may be in London, my mind and spirit will be here, at Berwick. It gives me considerable peace knowing Bridey has you men to protect her. It means everything to me.”
It was a surprisingly emotional statement from their usually emotionless commander. Damien lifted his cup to him in salute.
“We will take good care of her while you are away,” he said. “And if I have not yet congratulated you on your sudden and surprising marriage, then allow me to do so. I wish you and your wife the best, Patrick, I truly do. You are most deserving of happiness.”
Patrick smiled modestly, tapping his cup against Damien’s and then Anson’s when the man held his cup aloft as well. “Thank you, my friends,” he said. “And I am truly happy, mayhap for the first time in my life. Your congratulations and support mean a great deal.”
“You will always have it, Atty,” Damien said quietly.
Patrick knew that. As the day progressed towards evening, Patrick sat with his men in the guard’s room, drinking and reliving old memories and glories. It was a wonderful day, in truth, and something he very much needed, bonding with his men on a deeper and more meaningful level. Men that would be there for Brighton when he could not be.
As the sun began to wane, he left the guard’s room and headed back to the keep where he had to hunt his wife down, eventually finding her in the kitchen with Evelyn. The kitchen of Berwick was part of the building complex, built in stone and sunk into the earth like a sublevel.
Patrick found his wife in the hot kitchen helping the cook sprinkle herbs on bread that was meant for the oven. He would never forget the look of joy on her face. Her red, hot little face was so very happy to be useful and to have found her place in the world, as the wife of a great knight. Patrick couldn’t ever remember seeing the woman quite so thrilled and it did his heart tremendous good to see it. Like him, she was both content and delighted with what life had brought her.
But he didn’t want to share her with the kitchen tonight. Patrick eventually convinced her to leave the cook to her tasks, alone, and they retreated to their chamber, at first to wash and change for the coming meal. But soon enough, it was simply to spend their last night together without having to share one another with anyone. Patrick made love to his wife slowly, gently, tasting her flesh, memorizing the curves of her body, so he could remember those things on the nights to come that would be particularly lonely.
On the nights when his longing for her was tearing him apart.
On into the darkness their lovemaking went until Brighton fell into an exhausted sleep a few hours before morning. Patrick lay there with her in his arms, watching her sleep, not wanting to relinquish one moment of it but he, too, eventually fell asleep, woken only when the guards changing shifts on the wall before dawn captured his attention. He arose then and dressed in silence as his wife slept peacefull
y a few feet away.
He didn’t have the heart to wake her. He loved seeing her slumbering so sweetly and their farewells had already been said during the night, with every kiss and every touch. He gently kissed her cheek and slipped from the room, departing the gates of Berwick as the sun finally peeked over the eastern horizon.
His memories of Brighton were tucked deep into his heart and her lock of hair was tucked deep into his tunic, in a pocket right over the left side of his breast.
Close to his beating heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
† The Conclusion of the Tale †
Westminster Palace, London
Thirteen days later
“And that is my story, my lord,” Patrick said to the king. “I realize it all sounds quite spectacular, unbelievable even, but I assure you it is the truth. It is why I cannot accept your appointment as Lord Protector. I must return to my wife and now you know my reasons.”
Henry was looking at Patrick with a mixture of concern and surprise. So were de Lohr and the other advisors standing around the king. In fact, they all looked rather astonished by the wild tale coming forth from the de Wolfe son on his rescue of a woman that, as it turned out, was much more than met the eye.
An astonishing tale, indeed.
“So the mother prioress had planned from the start to turn Brighton over to her brother to crucify?” Henry asked with astonishment. He turned to the men around him, all trusted servants. “Has anyone ever heard of something like that? I find it incredibly appalling that he intended do to that to the lady. Barbaric. Only the Scots would do something so horrific.”
Patrick nodded, feeling a huge amount of relief now that his story was told and the king understood about Brighton. To be truthful, he’d had his doubts.
“Indeed, my lord,” he agreed. “Barbaric to say the least.”
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