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“W ord must have reached Westminster by now,” Titus said. “Surely they know a de Wolfe contingent is near London.”

“Are you hoping for a welcome?” Hector de Norville glanced at his nephew, son of his wife’s brother. “I have terrible news for you, Titus. Edward will not have a great feast in our honor. If anything, there would be men in these trees waiting to ambush us.”

Titus cast his uncle an unhappy snarl, watching Hector snort at him.

He had come with his father and brother because he’d begged and pleaded, insisting that Alec Hage was perfectly capable of commanding Berwick without him.

That was true because Alec, Patrick’s second-in-command, was an efficient commander, but he needed knights.

With the Scots being squirrely, he needed skilled warriors to lead the men.

But Titus would not be left behind. He wanted to go to London, too.

Even after his father told him not to come. Even after his father forbade him to come. They’d left Berwick with no sign of Titus only to find him hours later, waiting for them down the road. After that, Patrick had no choice.

Titus had triumphed.

Surprisingly, he had also behaved himself on the southward journey, but he wasn’t beyond sulking. As Hector jested at his expense, Titus spurred his warhorse forward, getting ahead of the pack. The road was heavily foliaged on either side, but they weren’t far from Lonsdale House.

Patrick, astride an enormous dapple-gray horse, called up to him. “Ride ahead and tell de Lohr we are approaching,” he said. “Make sure they are aware we have three hundred men with us so they do not think they are being attacked before they realize it is us.”

Titus lifted a hand and waved at him, rushing on ahead.

“At least he is making himself useful,” Patrick muttered, looking over at Hector, who grinned. “I blame Poppy for him, you know. He spoiled Titus until we could do nothing with him.”

Hector snorted. “He did that with several of his grandchildren,” he said.

“My father got to Hermes and Atreus before Uncle William could, but he was worse. He encouraged them to fight each other, and then he would laugh when they beat each other bloody. There were several times when I thought Evelyn was going to bloody him herself.”

Patrick started laughing at the memory. Hector’s eldest sons, Hermes and Atreus, were natural-born fighters from a very early age, but mostly against each other.

Hector’s father, Paris de Norville, who also happened to be William de Wolfe’s best friend, identified that aggression early on and often pitted the boys against one another.

It was hilarious when they were young, but when they became older and stronger, those brawls turned into bloody events.

Patrick’s sister and their mother, Evelyn, was not so amused.

But it made for hilarious memories.

“They outgrew it,” Patrick said. “Though I will miss the days when they were around ten and nine years of age and would fight for the soldiers to bet on them.”

Hector fought off a grin. “If Evelyn caught them, she took a stick to them.”

“She simply does not understand a man’s need to fight his brother.”

“Nay, she did not.”

They grinned at one another, shaking their heads at the antics of Hector’s unruly sons.

Then Hector jabbed a finger at Patrick. “Do not pretend that my sons were the only aggressors in the de Wolfe and de Norville stable,” he said.

“I can recall plenty of times when your sons would come around and there was chaos to be found. I’ve never seen Bridey so angry as she was when she found Magnus and Titus wrestling with Atreus and Hermes. Do you remember that?”

Patrick burst out laughing at the mention of his wife and the infamous incident. “You mean when Magnus and Titus tied Hermes to a tree and were in the process of capturing Atreus when Bridey came upon them. Magnus, do you remember that?”

Magnus, who had been riding silently since daybreak, cracked a weak smile. “I still have the scars on my backside from Mother’s rage,” he said. “But in my defense, Atreus and Hermes attacked us first.”

“How did they do such a thing? They were half the size you were.”

“Because they had a rope that they’d strung across the entry to the knight’s quarters,” Magnus pointed out, as if his father didn’t remember.

“When I walked out, they pulled it tight and tripped me. Then they jumped on top of me and tried to rob me. Had Titus not come along when he had, they would have robbed me blind.”

Both Patrick and Hector laughed uproariously, and even Magnus chuckled, but he certainly wasn’t in the chuckling mood.

He knew that his father and uncle were keeping up a running conversation to keep his mind off what was coming, and he appreciated that, but the truth was that he was damn terrified with what he would find at the end of that road.

She has asked me to relay to you her dying condition

That passage from Morgen’s missive was rolling around in his head, and he couldn’t shake it. For the past four weeks, ever since he’d received the missive, he couldn’t shake it. Now, he would know Delaina’s fate this day. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough.

But here they were and he had no choice.

He had to be strong.

God help him, he had to be.

*

Delaina was sitting in the great room of Lonsdale House, a rather enormous receiving chamber just off the entry that had a spectacular view of the river. There were four towering windows that faced out over the water, and at midday, the humidity from the river was trickling in.

It was going to be another warm afternoon.

Clad in a yellow garment of lightweight wool, with her spectacular hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, Delaina was focused on a piece of needlework in her hands depicting several butterflies.

It was intricate and lovely, but she was particularly good with the details.

It kept her mind off her life, her sorrows, and her future, or the lack thereof.

It kept her from going down the rabbit hole of anguish.

Servants were wandering in and out of the chamber, bringing wine and bread and a tray filled with fruit.

Kirra sent her servants to a local market every Friday, and they always returned with pounds of freshly picked fruit.

There were apples, pears, apricots, grapes, and even strawberries, which Delaina favored.

But she didn’t feel like any fruit today.

She didn’t feel like much of anything.

Kirra was with her children on this day because there was a seamstress who had come all the way from London to make the children some new clothes.

Kirra didn’t sew, and her maids mostly did the laundry but didn’t sew it, except for the housekeeper.

But Christie and Kurtis in particular were outgrowing everything and required new garments, so Kirra was with them upstairs in the nursery while the seamstress took measurements.

Delaina could hear the distant screaming.

Morgen was outside, somewhere, doing something with his men because Marcellus had an attack of fever and was laid up in his quarters. The physic had come and gone, assuring him that it would pass, which left Delaina mostly alone on this day.

She preferred it.

But that was until the entry to the manse opened and she could hear boots.

Her time of solitude was soon to be over.

The boots struck the stone floor loudly, and she could hear a servant speaking and then a low-voiced reply.

She assumed that it was Morgen, even when the boots came into the reception room.

She was focused on her stitching and didn’t look up until someone spoke to her.

“Greetings, my lady.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, she looked up to see a very tall, quite handsome knight with dark hair and golden eyes. And he was also quite young. He was in full regalia, dressed for battle, and he removed his helm to be polite, which revealed a crown of dark, shoulder-length hair.

She put her sewing in her lap. “Greetings,” she said. “I apologize; I did not know that Lord Worcester had a visitor. Please excuse me.”

She started to get up, but he stopped her. “Nay,” he said. “Please do not leave. Worcester wasn’t expecting us, at least not at any particular time. He sent me in here to wait for him.”

“I see,” Delaina said. Part of her courtly training had been to entertain, so she immediately slipped into that mode, since Kirra wasn’t here. She put the sewing on a table and stood up. “Please allow me to pour you some wine. Have you been traveling long?”

The young knight watched her as she went over to the table next to him and deftly poured him a cup of wine from an undoubtedly heavy pitcher.

“It feels like years,” he said. “My name is Titus, by the way.”

She smiled as she handed him the cup. “I am Lady Violet,” she said. Then she indicated the enormous tray of fruit and bread. “May I offer you some food? Given that it is summer, the harvests have been quite delicious.”

Titus nodded. “Thank you,” he said, watching her collect a small bowl and begin putting grapes and strawberries in it. “Do you live here?”

Delaina nodded. “I do,” she said. “And where are you from, Sir Titus?”

“Berwick.”

The bowl in Delaina’s hand clattered to the tabletop. Quickly, she tried to recover it, but her hands were suddenly shaking and her heart was racing.

“Berwick,” she said, half-spilled bowl in her hand as she looked him over. “Berwick Castle?”

Titus nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Have you ever been there?”

She shook her head. “I have not,” she said, feeling weak in the knees. “Who… who do you serve, Titus?”

“The Earl of Berwick,” he said. “He happens to be my father, Patrick de Wolfe.”

The room began to rock. Delaina carefully set the bowl down, facing the young knight who, upon closer inspection, had a faint resemblance to Magnus.

She could hardly breathe.

“Is your father here?” she asked breathlessly.