Page 48

“Uncle Thomas will strike to injure,” a very tall, very large young man with big blue eyes and nearly black hair spoke. “I suggested the older knights wait here while the younger men attend to him. He will not escape us.”

He had an eloquent way of speaking, one that made everyone look to him.

Markus de Wolfe was the eldest son of Patrick de Wolfe, and he had his father’s size and strength, but his manner was much as his grandfather’s had been at that age– supremely confident in all things.

It was a confidence borne of youth, but at only nineteen years of age, he was already a full-fledged knight, which fed into that pride.

He also happened to be the grandson of a Viking king, and he looked every inch the powerful Viking prince.

But his father, who was standing a few feet away, shook his head at his arrogant son.

“And you think he will escape us ?” he said, incredulous.

“Markus, either you think your uncles and I are going to collapse like brittle old women before your Uncle Thomas, or you are genuinely trying to protect us. I will choose to believe the latter because if it is the former, I will unleash your uncles, Troy and Scott, on you so that you can see just how weak they really are.”

Patrick was referring to his older brothers, the eldest sons of William de Wolfe, twins by birth.

Scott and Troy de Wolfe were, even at their age, remarkable warriors and seasoned commanders, so the threat was not an idle one.

They were still quite tough and quite deadly.

Markus knew that; he looked to his uncles, who were gazing at him in varying degrees of displeasure.

Realizing his boast wasn’t well met, he held up a quelling hand.

“I meant to say that it is good training for us to take Uncle Thomas ourselves,” he said, backtracking. “It is not often we get the chance to go up against someone of his caliber who is not trying to kill us.”

Over near the wide-mouthed hearth that was spitting out sparks into the stale solar air, William snorted at his grandson’s statement.

“What makes you think he will not try and kill you?” he said, eyeing the proud, young knight.

“The moment you truly believe that is the moment he will take your legs out from under you and you’ll be lucky to come away with all of your teeth intact.

He is desperate and he is angry, making for a volatile combination.

So presume he will hurt you if he can, because he will.

However, given that you believe this to be a challenge, then I suggest you take your cousins and go hide yourselves in the entry.

If I know Thomas, he is looking for the right opportunity to make a break for that entry door. Make sure he does not reach it.”

Markus nodded sharply at his grandfather, motioning to his cousins, who were standing grouped near their grandfather.

Young knights who had all of the hunger of the de Wolfes and the skill of their powerful fathers and grandfathers.

William de Wolfe, or Will as he was known to the family, was Scott’s eldest son.

At twenty years and nine, he was powerfully built and extremely talented.

He was also far more level-headed than his arrogant cousin and the smirk on his face told William everything the young man was thinking.

Following Will was Andreas de Wolfe, Troy’s eldest son, at twenty years and eight.

Andreas was taller than his father and built for battle, yet another gifted de Wolfe offspring.

Along with Markus, those three rounded out the eldest of the grandsons of William de Wolfe present in the solar, a legacy that any man would be proud of, but there were more grandsons waiting in the wings.

Specifically, waiting on the fringes of the solar and practically gnashing their teeth to be involved in the ambush of their Uncle Thomas.

Young, foolish, eager lads.

William eyed the collection of them, who looked at him with great hope that they would be allowed on this endeavor.

Rowan de Wolfe was the leader of the de Wolfe cubs at fifteen years, son of James de Wolfe.

James, who went by his Welsh name of Blayth, was William’s fourth son, a man believed killed in battle years ago but who had been found living amongst the Welsh, unaware of his true identity.

But Blayth had eventually returned to England, bringing with him a Welsh wife, and he had reestablished a strong relationship with his firstborn son, a young man who was growing up to be much like his gentle, humorous, but fierce father.

Along with Rowan were his cousins Edward and Axel, at twelve years and ten years respectively, sons of Blayth’s twin sister, Katheryn.

Edward and Axel’s father was Alec Hage, son of Kieran Hage, who had been William’s close friend and second-in-command up until his death two years before.

The boys had Kieran’s immense size, even at their young age, and they were tough lads who were more than willing to jump into a fight, both a noble and foolish inclination.

In this situation, William thought it was more foolish than noble, and he shook his head in resignation at his grandsons.

“You intend to help, do you?” he asked them, watching heads bob up and down eagerly.

Suspecting it might do them good to get pummeled in a real fight, he held up his hands as if to surrender.

“Then go. Will, watch out for the younger boys. Make sure Thomas does not bash their heads or kick in their teeth.”

Will, standing over by the entry to the solar, fought off a grin. “No promises,” he said, waving impatiently to the three younger cousins. “Get over here, you scabs. Stay behind us and move when we move. If your Uncle Thomas catches you alone, he will box your ears.”

The boys scampered over to him, although the command was mostly geared towards Edward and Axel.

Rowan was a very big lad for his age and could hold his own in a fight, but the younger two were aggressive and ludicrous at times.

With a long look at William, Will grabbed Axel by the neck and yanked the boys out into the darkness of the entry where Andreas and Markus were already looking for a place to hide.

To wait.

With the six of them out in the entry somewhere, William motioned to Patrick and Scott, standing closest to the banks of fat tallow candles that were burning low and sooty.

“Douse those tapers,” he instructed quietly, blowing out the ones at his table, the one he used to conduct Questing business. “Atty, shut the door but put your ear against it. We will wait in here until Thomas makes his move, but the second we hear sounds of a struggle, out we go to join it.”

Atty was what the family called Patrick, even now that he was a middle-aged man.

When he’d been very young, he’d been unable to pronounce his name and it had come out as ’atty .

Patrick moved quickly to do his father’s bidding as Troy and Scott bunched up against the closed door in the darkened chamber, listening to the sounds in the entry outside.

The struggle wasn’t long in coming.

It started with a blow, something heavy either being hit or falling, followed by the wail of a boy.

Then, two boys. Patrick jerked open the door to find a mass of men writhing on the keep entry with the yelling coming from Edward and Axel.

It was so dark in the entry that they couldn’t see what was going on other than a dark, undulating blob of arms and legs, and Patrick, Scott, and Troy plunged into it, grabbing a hold of legs and trying to pull the younger boys from the top of the pile.

But that didn’t work so well. Unfortunately, Edward and Axel had battle fever and when Scott grabbed Edward by the leg, the boy panicked and lashed out a foot, catching the man in the chin.

As Scott stumbled back, Troy inserted himself into his place, grabbing at another leg that happened to belong to Axel.

Thinking he was being attacked, Axel screamed as if he’d been stabbed, momentarily startling everyone involved in the melee.

Believing the young boy must have been gored somehow, William came charging out of his solar with an iron bank of candles in his hand, lit up so he could see what the screaming was about only to notice Thomas at the bottom of a pile of men.

He could see his youngest son’s head and hands, but that was about it.

Everything else had Will, Andreas, Markus, Edward, Axel, Patrick, and Troy all over it.

Unfortunately, the surprise of Axel’s scream had most everyone but Thomas pause in what they were doing, which allowed Thomas to shimmy out from underneath Will and Andreas.

But he didn’t have a chance to escape. Realizing Thomas was using a frightened young boy to his advantage, Scott, Troy, and Patrick pounced on Thomas’ upper body, wrestling him to the ground and keeping him there.

With Will, Andreas, Markus, and the two young boys on his legs, Thomas was effectively trapped but he wasn’t giving up easily.

He continued to growl and strain against men who weren’t going to let him escape.

With all of the noise and screaming, it was inevitable that the entry door opened. Blayth entered, enormous and blond and scarred, his eyes widening at the pile of men on the floor. He came to stand next to his father, looking rather incredulous.

“You caught him,” he said to his father. “Excellent work.”

But William wasn’t feeling so proud. He thought this was all rather futile. He watched the mass, sighing heavily.

“Thomas,” he said calmly. “Is this truly how you wish to end up? With your brothers holding you down like an animal? If your Uncle Kieran was here, you would be suffering his Helm of Shame for your actions. That is what he did to knights who shirked their duties.”