Page 1
Story: Knights, Knaves, and Kilts
Raechester Castle, Northumberland
“A nd you do not wish for my grandson to marry her because— why ?”
“Because her sister… The woman has a reputation, Papa. And that is all I’ll say about it.”
The fire in the hearth snapped softly in the dim chamber.
It was late on a winter’s eve, and there was a thin layer of frost on the ground as the soldiers on the wall walk, bundled up against the chill, kept vigilant for the night.
They could hear the men calling to one another, echoing through the torch-lit bailey of Raechester Castle, ensuring the safety of the castle.
But inside the solar, there was an air of uncertainty.
Magnus knew that. He could feel it. Gazing at his eldest son, his pride and his joy, he could hear the disdain in Padraig’s voice when he spoke of the woman his son and heir wanted to marry.
Valerian de Wolfe, or Val as he was known to the family, took after his Northmen forefathers in that he was enormous and blond.
He looked as if he’d just stepped off a longship.
His great-grandfather, Magnus Haakonsson, had been King of the Northmen about one hundred years ago, and Val’s grandfather, Magnus de Wolfe, was named for him.
Powerful blood ran through the de Wolfe lines.
But so did powerful tempers.
Magnus’ gaze shifted to Val, and he could see the rage rolling in the young man’s eyes. He was in love and very much wished to marry the daughter of a local lord who evidently had a sister with a less-than-desirable reputation, and his father had issue with it.
Magnus had to be the peacemaker.
“It is the de Wallington family, is it not?” he asked evenly.
Padraig nodded. “It is,” he said. “A good family for the most part, but every family has their oddities.”
“You mean the sister.”
“I do.”
“What is so odd about her?”
Before Padraig could answer, Val spoke. “Last year, she fell in love with a de Gare knight who was passing north,” he said, frustration in his tone. “The knight made it easy for her. He told her what she wanted to hear, if you get my meaning.”
“Charmed her, did he?” Magnus asked.
Val nodded. “He was the flame and she was the moth,” he said. “But you must remember that Edmund de Wallington keeps his daughters so confined that they are practically cloistered. Rosemary was so sheltered that when the knight showed her attention…”
“She fell for him.”
Val nodded again, sighing sharply. “I have known Phoebe de Wallington for a few years, and she is a good and kind lass,” he said. “She is not the fool her sister is.”
“And Phoebe is who you wish to marry?”
Val’s angry eyes took on a flicker of desperation.
“Aye, Amag,” he said softly, calling Magnus by the name that all his grandchildren called him— Amag .
Something Val himself had come up with as a toddler because the name Magnus was too challenging.
“She is my everything. She has been for six months. Papa seems to think that I am somehow sullying myself by wanting to marry her, but that is simply not the case. It is not fair that he should think so.”
Magnus could hear the strains of longing in his grandson’s voice, and he turned to his son, who was standing rigidly.
He was a big man, with the de Wolfe dark hair in strong contrast to his son’s fairness.
But they looked alike for the most part, and they certainly acted alike.
They were both stubborn and strong-willed.
Therein lay the problem.
“Paddy,” he said softly. “May I ask you a question?”
Padraig looked at his father, perhaps already realizing he was about to be defeated in this situation and was unhappy for it.
“What it is?” he asked.
Paddy . Padraig was named for Magnus’ father, Patrick de Wolfe, a man that the family had called Atty.
It had been a childhood nickname that Patrick, a small boy with a speech impediment, had given himself.
He’d outgrown the impediment but not the name.
Every time Magnus looked at Padraig, he saw his father.
He saw the man’s strength and wisdom. At least, usually there was wisdom.
But tonight, Padraig was having a difficult time drawing on that.
“Do you recall when you meet Amelie?” Magnus asked.
He was referring to Padraig’s wife, and the man nodded stiffly. “Of course I do,” he said. “Why?”
Magnus cocked a knowing eyebrow. “You knew when you met her that her grandfather was a pirate,” he said. “He had been known to engage in some fairly brutal tactics. He robbed, he burned, he killed. Do you recall?”
Padraig sighed and looked away. “That is different.”
Magnus cast him a long look. “Is it?” he said.
“Aidric de Berck scoured the coast from the Hague to the Friesian Islands looting, and God only knows what else, well into your marriage to his granddaughter. Half of the wealth in your coffers is because he gave it to you. Ill-gotten gains, I might add.”
Padraig still wouldn’t look at him. “What do you want me to say to that?”
Magnus pointed to Val. “That your son is the grandson of a pirate,” he said. “The point is that you cannot choose which offenses to tolerate and which to reject when it comes to a family’s character. No family is perfect.”
“The de Wolfe family is.”
Magnus looked at his son in disbelief. “You are mad if you think so,” he said.
“Paddy, I realize you want the best for your son, but you have already had your chance to arrange a marriage that would provide him with a prestigious bride, and you couldn’t find one that you approved of.
No one met your standards. Now, he’s chosen his own bride and he wants to marry for love. You did. Why shouldn’t he?”
Padraig sighed again, this time with great annoyance.
“Piracy is different,” he said, though he knew it was a futile argument.
“The de Wolfe family is different. Our family was built on war and blood, but it is the way of the world. It is more acceptable than the sister of a woman who gave herself over to another man without the benefit of marriage.”
“Now you choose to categorize what sins are more egregious than others?”
Padraig rolled his eyes. “While Phoebe is a sweet and obedient girl, her sister has ruined the reputation of all the girls in the family by allowing the de Gare knight to seduce her.”
“She is not the only woman who has ever been seduced.”
“She bore the man’s child!”
“And that makes her a terrible person?”
“It makes her a whore.”
Val flinched in his father’s direction, but Magnus threw out an arm, stopping whatever Val was planning. Magnus wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but he didn’t like it. He pointed a finger at his grandson.
“Lift a hand to your father in anger and face my wrath,” he growled. “Do you understand me, Val?”
Val’s jaw was twitching furiously as he glared at his father. “I will not allow him to speak so about Phoebe’s sister,” he said. “It was not her fault. She was seduced by a bastard who knew exactly what he was doing. She was powerless against him, and I’ll not have my father saying otherwise.”
Magnus let his gaze linger on his hotheaded grandson for a moment before turning to Padraig. He could see that his son was regretful of having spoken before he could stop himself, but an apology was out of the question. Padraig never apologized for anything.
But he’d mentioned a very interesting point.
She allowed the de Gare knight to seduce her.
Magnus debated how to proceed at that point.
He debated about how involved he should become in this argument between father and son, but unless he wanted Val to physically attack his father, perhaps he needed to become more involved than he already was.
Perhaps he needed to explain his perspective on the subject of a man seducing a woman in a little more depth.
For certain, he had more to say on the subject.
Personal experience, as it were.
Long ago, he’d experienced something that he swore he’d never tell his children.
His wife knew because she had been directly involved, but the story of their courtship had been one of half-truths and generalized answers, at least to their children and grandchildren.
All anyone knew was that Magnus had met Delaina when he was serving the king.
Delaina had been a courtier and Magnus had been the king’s very own captain of the guard.
But that wasn’t exactly the truth.
It was part of it, anyway.
Now, Magnus could see that he was going to have to elaborate on something he swore he never would.
He and Delaina had a pact about that, facts they kept buried.
Magnus’ father had known, as had his brothers and even his grandmother, but that was where it ended.
His children never knew, but there was a reason for that.
The honorable third son of the Earl of Berwick, a man known as the Ax in his younger years, had a hell of a past.
And so did his wife.
But perhaps it was time his son, and grandson, knew about it.
“Sit down, both of you,” he said after a moment. “Val, you will sit out of arm’s length from your father. If I see your hands wrapping around his throat, I will cut them off, so it is better if you are not tempted.”
Val eyed his grandfather but wouldn’t test him. Magnus would very much do what he said he was going to do.
“As you wish,” Val muttered. “I have no desire to have stumps where my hands used to be.”
“That is wise.”
“But I also do not feel like sitting down.”
“Sit down or I will cut your legs off.”
Val sat.
Magnus cast his grandson a long look before turning his attention to Padraig, who had yet to sit. But when Padraig saw his father looking at him, he found the nearest chair. He didn’t want his legs cut off, either.
“That’s better,” Magnus said once Padraig settled down.
“Now, I am going to tell you a story because I believe it is important to you both, as it relates to this situation. You will each glean something different from it, so do not interrupt me. Let me talk because I am an old man and have nothing to lose should you anger me by being rude. Is this clear?”
Val and Padraig nodded. Magnus sat back in his chair and collected a small cup of wine he’d been nursing, only half-full.
His wife wouldn’t let him have much wine these days because it upset his belly, so he savored the cups he was permitted to consume.
Wrapping his big hands around it, he sat back in the chair.
“Now,” he said. “This is about your mother, Padraig.”
“What about my mother?”
“Shut up and I shall tell you.”
Padraig didn’t say another word as Magnus took a sip of his wine, his mind going back many years to the days of his youth.
The cobwebs of time blew away gently as he envisioned the time in his life when he was young and strong and in a position of great power.
Those were the days that brought him great comfort.
They were also the days when he first met his wife.
Indeed, it was time to tell the tale.
Table of Contents
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