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CHAPTER TWO

Berwick Castle

B erwick Castle was a bastion that had changed hands many times over the years. Originally built by the Scots at an important location over the River Tweed, it was a very strategic location that had originally been a timber outpost. The English managed to capture it several years ago and turned it into a stone fortress with a massive set of walls that surrounded it, the city, and even went all the way down to the river.

After the recapture from the Scots those years ago, the fortress was immediately turned over to the House of de Wolfe to manage. Patrick had been a boy when the rebuilding of Berwick had started. His father, along with his close ally, the Earl of Teviot, both had armies stationed there to ensure the Scots wouldn’t try to reclaim it and, for twenty years, no one had really tried. There had been a few threats, but nothing the English couldn’t repel.

And the building continued. The stone walls had gone up, as had a massive keep, a hall, towers, kitchens, stables, and even a chapel. To reinforce the city, walls had been built around the village of Berwick using the citizens as labor. Now, the city walls and a very proud castle kept the populace of Berwick safe from harm. Ever since Patrick had taken command of the castle four years earlier, the Scots had been unwilling to test The Wolfe’s brightest and best son. No one wanted to tangle with the Nighthawk and that was the way Patrick liked it.

Riding in from the north, Patrick and his men had passed through one of the several fortified gates into the city. Lit up with torches and staffed with heavily armed de Wolfe men, this gate was the one that faced north, towards the borders, so the dozens of men that staffed it waved Patrick through. His party then continued on down the road that paralleled Berwick Castle somewhat until they came to the entry gate of the castle, known as the Douglas Tower, which led to a wooden bridge that spanned a fairly deep gully with a stream carving through the bottom of it. They called it “the chasm”. That bridge dumped into the main gatehouse of Berwick, an enormous structure known as the donjon.

The castle was lit up with torches against the dark night as men patrolled the grounds with both dogs and weapons at their side. Berwick was so large that, at any given time, there were more than a thousand men stationed there and the command structure was strictly regimented. Even the lowliest soldier had assignments and duties, as Patrick ran the castle in a stringent military fashion. This close to the Scots border, there could be nothing less than strict discipline on the part of the English.

This was the last line of defense between England and the threat from the north.

It was into the bailey of this massive structure that Patrick took the postulate from Coldingham. The men that had ridden in with them knew their duties so Patrick didn’t bother to say anything to them as he dismounted his steed and pulled the woman off behind him. The keep was directly in front of them, the largest structure in the entire fortress.

Four stories in height, the uniquely-shaped keep soared over the countryside, a beacon that could be seen for miles. Forming an odd “U” shape, it had many chambers in it as well as storage vaults on the lower floor. As Patrick approached, he could see two small figures standing in the doorway. He knew the shapes were his sisters, Katheryn and Evelyn, before he ever saw their faces. They were the chatelaines of his keep, married to his knights as they were, and they were very astute. They would know when their husbands and brother would be returning. As soon as his boot hit the bottom step of the flight that led up to the second floor entry, the women came down to greet him.

“Well?” Katheryn said. “Was anyone hurt? Where is my husband?”

Patrick glanced up at the woman who looked a good deal like his mother; lovely, with honey-colored hair and big green eyes. “No one was hurt,” he said. “Your husband is back with the men, somewhere. He will be here shortly.”

While Katheryn was satisfied, Evelyn still had questions. “Where is Hector?” she asked, but she was mostly focused on the lady in her brother’s grip. Interest in her husband’s location faded for the moment as she inspected the disheveled woman. “Atty, who is this?”

Patrick stopped to look at the source of his sister’s interest and when he did, he was in for a surprise. He’d not seen the lady in the light. When his gaze fell on her, he felt a bolt of shock run through him– illuminated in the torches was a woman of unearthly beauty. She had brown hair, but it wasn’t just any shade of brown; he could see highlights of red and gold reflected in the torchlight. Her face was sweetly oval, as he’d noticed in the darkness, and she had the biggest eyes he’d ever seen in a shade of blue that was reflecting pale in the weak light. Her nose was pert, her skin like cream, and her rosy lips shaped like Cupid’s bow.

He’d never seen anything like her in his entire life.

“This… this is Lady Brighton de Favereux,” he told his sisters, sounding like an idiot because he was so caught off guard by the woman’s beauty. “We saved her from a raiding party.”

“Is she a prisoner?”

“Nay. But….”

Before he could continue his sentence, his sisters rushed forward and pushed him out of the way, taking hold of the disheveled, frightened lady. Patrick found himself overwhelmed by small women, trying to keep hold of the postulate but being summarily removed.

“My goodness,” Katheryn said with concern as she put her arm around Brighton’s shoulders. “What a harrowing experience, my lady. But you are safe now. Come with us and we shall tend to you.”

Another thing about Katheryn that reminded Patrick of their mother was the fact that she could be rather pushy. “Not now, Kate,” he said sternly. “I have many questions for the lady. I must ask now while the situation is fresh in her mind.”

Both Katheryn and Evelyn scowled at him. “Look at her,” Katheryn said, sounding like she was scolding him. “Are you so cruel that you cannot see how exhausted and terrified she is? She needs food and a bath. We shall tend to her and when she is fed and rested, then you may question her. Are you truly so heartless, Patrick, that you would think of your own demands over her comfort?”

He frowned. “This has nothing to do with being heartless,” he said. “I have many pressing questions for the lady and….”

“They can wait,” Katheryn said firmly, pulling Brighton up the stairs with the help of her sister. They were boxed in around her, preventing Patrick from retaking her. It was a rather smart tactical move against him. “Let us feed the woman and make her comfortable. Then you can go on with your tasteless military interrogation.”

Patrick knew he was licked. He shook his head in frustration, watching his sisters escort Brighton up the stairs and into the keep, being most attentive and kind to her. It would be futile to argue with them, he knew, stubborn women that they were. As he stood there with his hands on his hips, greatly annoyed, he felt someone come up beside him.

“Was that my wife?” Alec asked. “What is she doing with your captive?”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed at the man. “She stole her from me,” he declared. He jabbed a finger at the keep entry. “That bold, unreasonable woman that you married stole my captive. Hell, she isn’t really my captive. I do not know what she is, but whatever she is, I have need of her before the women have their way with her. Go and summon fifty men, heavily arm them, and bring them to the keep. I will need just that many men to fight off my sisters so I can have my captive returned.”

Alec fought off a grin. “You could just ask them to return her, you know.”

Patrick’s scowl grew. “I did ask them, you dolt,” he snapped. “And you see how they answered me– they pushed me away and took the lady into the keep. Christ, these women are going to be the death of me. When you married Katheryn and asked if she could come with you to Berwick, I should have denied you!”

Alec couldn’t help but laugh now. “I have astonishing news for you, Atty,” he said. “You are three times their size. You could easily overwhelm them both and take back your captive. Did you not realize that?”

He sighed heavily and turned for the keep entry, wearily dragging himself up the stairs. “They would only tell my mother and then she would beat me,” he said. “I realize that I am a grown man, Alec, but you of all people should understand the fear of a mother. In fact, I fear your mother more than my own. She might actually try to gouge my eyes out.”

Alec’s laughter grew. “But she would do it lovingly.”

“Aye, Aunt Jemma would lovingly gouge my eyes out and then lovingly tend me as I am blind for the rest of my life. God, what a prospect.”

He could hear Alec’s snorting behind him. “It is the lot we lead in life, having strong and stubborn mothers,” he said. “Do you still want me to gather the men or are you going to go crawl into a corner and cry now?”

“Gather the men. I shall cry later.”

Snickering, Alec turned and headed back to the gatehouse where the knights would be gathered. There were several men in the command structure of Berwick that needed to be part of Patrick’s meeting and Alec went about to spread the word. As he headed off into the bailey, Patrick continued up the stairs and into the vast keep.

The entry to the keep was cool and dark, lit only by a pair of sconces on the wall with fatted torches, burning hot into the dimness. The foyer was two-storied, the height of it cutting into the third floor above. An unusual mural staircase that was built into one wall, led to the floor above. From the third to the fourth floor was a spiral stair built into the width of the north wall. The keep was a glorious piece of architecture, most fitting for the de Wolfe knights and ladies who lived inside it.

But Patrick wasn’t concerned about the stunning architecture of the keep. He was lingering on the woman his sisters had stolen away from him. Straight ahead was a small hall, one used by the family for meals or for meetings. He headed into it, seeing that there was a fire blazing in the hearth, stoked by thoughtful servants. He caught sight of one of the house servants, an older man whose sole duty it was to make sure every room had peat and wood and kindling, and he sent the man to the kitchens for wine.

He needed it.

As the man fled, Patrick yanked off his helm and set the thing on the table. He began pulling off his gloves, gloves made for hands that, when fisted, were the size of a man’s head. There was nothing about Patrick de Wolfe that was small, in any fashion, and his father liked to take credit for his size when his mother knew full well it was the Scots in him that gave her son his great strength and size.

The gloves came off and Patrick tossed them onto the table as well, his mind shifting from the captive woman to the old nun and what he’d been told. He began to remove his weapons, unstrapping his broadsword and laying it, and the sheath it was lodged in, upon the tabletop as well. Soon, the sword was joined by a host of smaller daggers he kept on his body. He was just removing the last one when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to the chamber entry to see both of his sisters with Lady Brighton between them.

Surprised, his brow furrowed as he gazed upon them. “Why are you here?” he asked, annoyance in his tone. “You made it clear that I was not to be part of anything you were planning.”

Katheryn twisted her lips wryly. “It seems that Lady Brighton insists on speaking to you first,” she said, clearly unhappy. “She will not let us help her until she does.”

Patrick’s gaze was on Brighton although he nearly smiled at his sister’s tone; she had been thwarted in her maneuvers against her brother and was displeased. He felt somewhat victorious. He pointed to the bench seat against the table.

“Then sit, Lady Brighton,” he said politely. “Kate, this does not involve you and Evie. You will leave us, please. I will send for you when I am finished with the lady.”

“Do not be too unkind to her, Patrick. She is very weary and frightened.”

“I will not be too unkind.”

Frowning, Katheryn and Evelyn quit the room under protest. They would push Patrick around to a certain extent but when it came to his command, they knew better than to argue or question him. As his sisters wandered away, dejected and unable to help their visitor, Patrick waited until he heard them mount the stairs to the third floor before speaking.

“My sisters mean well,” he said. “Did they introduce themselves?”

Brighton nodded. “T-they did, my lord.”

His gaze lingered on her. Here, in the light of the chamber, she was even more beautiful than he had initially observed. He liked the way the corners of her mouth tilted upward when she spoke and her eyes, he was coming to note, were the color of the ocean. It was a great and mysterious blue. He tore his gaze from her long enough to push his weaponry away, far down the table, so there was nothing between them. Heavily, he sat opposite her across the table and was preparing to speak when Brighton interrupted him.

“I-I must know why you feel it would be unsafe to return me to Coldingham, my lord,” she said nervously. “I-I know you told me not to ask you again and to be obedient, and I swear that I am trying to be obedient, but I simply do not understand any of this. I was taken from Coldingham by despicable raiders and I will be ever grateful to you for saving me from them. I-it never occurred to me that I would not be returning to my home and you will not tell me why.”

She was verging on tears by the time she was finished. Her bravery was only holding out so long and Patrick could feel a tug of sympathy towards the lady and her plight. He was coming to think, perhaps, he had been too hard in his response to her, shutting her down and expecting her not to react to it. Or it could be the fact that he was being sucked into those big eyes, now filled with frightened tears. Those eyes were having an effect on him, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He struggled to ignore his attraction to them as he considered his answer.

“When the Scots broke into the priory, did they say anything to you?” he asked, avoiding her statement for the most part. He had questions of his own that he needed answers to. “Did they ask you any questions at all?”

Brighton blinked, quickly wiping away the tears, as she was genuinely trying not to weep. Sister Acha had always told her that crying was a weakness and she did not want to appear weak to this enormous knight. He frightened her, too, but she didn’t want him to know. She was trying very hard to be brave in the face of a most unsettling day.

“T-they did not ask any questions, my lord,” she said, trying to think back to the chaos of the morning. “It all happened so quickly. But… but I think I heard them asking for me by name.”

“What did they say?”

“I-I think they asked for de Favereux. At least, I thought I heard them ask some of the nuns.”

“What happened when they asked?”

Brighton chewed her lip, pondering the question. “I-I saw them strike a nun who did not answer them,” she said. “A-another nun finally pointed to me as Sister Acha tried to take me away. It was quite chaotic, you understand. Everyone was fearful for their lives.”

Patrick nodded. “As well they should be,” he said. “But did you not find it strange that they asked for you by name?”

Brighton nodded hesitantly. “T-to be truthful, I had not thought on it at the time,” she said. “B-but I am thinking of it now. All I know is that the Scots swept into Coldingham and came away with me and Sister Acha. I do not even know why they would want someone like me. I am no one.”

So she must not know her true heritage , Patrick thought. Either that, or she does not think that I know and does not want to give herself away . He regarded her carefully for a moment, considering what he would say next.

“Are you certain?” he asked, watching her reaction. “What is your lineage?”

She shrugged. “I-I was brought to Coldingham as an infant,” she said. “Sister Acha raised me. She is the only mother I have ever known.”

He could see her tearing up again at the thought of the old nun who had perished that night. “What did she tell you about your lineage?” he asked.

She sniffled delicately, wiping at her eyes. “T-that I was a bastard,” she said quietly. “We prayed on it often.”

“But nothing else?”

He was probing her and she sensed it. His line of questioning indicated that he was searching for a specific answer. Cocking her head curiously, she gazed at him with that wide-open look that told him that she more than likely had no idea what he was talking about. There was something in her expression that suggested utter innocence.

“W-what else could there be, my lord?” she asked.

He hoped to God she wasn’t playing him for a fool. Either she was genuinely na?ve or she was extremely manipulative. Given the fact that she had been raised in a convent, he couldn’t imagine she was the latter. Overall, he didn’t get that sense from her. He opened his mouth to reply but the servant he’d sent for wine returned, bringing a pitcher and a single cup. The man looked stricken when he saw the lady at the table also, but Patrick simply took the pitcher and cup from him and sent the man away.

Putting the cup in front of Brighton, Patrick poured her a measure of wine before drinking directly out of the pitcher himself. After two large gulps, he set the pitcher down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How old are you?” he asked her.

Brighton took a timid sip from her cup. “I-I have seen nineteen summers, my lord.”

“And in all that time, no one has told you the story of your birth or your lineage?”

She was appearing increasingly curious. “N-nay, my lord. There is no story.”

“Is that what you were told?”

“I-I told you all that I know.” She lowered her gaze a moment, her curiosity turning into puzzlement. “I-is it important?”

Patrick felt as if he had no choice but to tell her. For her own sake, she needed to know. Or, at least he had to tell her what he’d been told. If she was truly being hunted, then she had a right to know it.

“Before your nurse passed on, she told me of your heritage,” he said quietly. “While I have no reason to disbelieve what I was told, I cannot confirm it, of course. Your nurse told me that you are to be protected at all costs, my lady. She also told me that your real name is not Brighton de Favereux.”

Brighton gazed at him for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise as his words sank in. “W-what do you mean, my lord?” she asked, puzzlement overwhelming her. “I-I do not understand.”

Patrick found himself studying that utterly exquisite face, fixating on that for a moment before he realized she had asked him a question. Feeling foolish for being distracted, he turned back to his wine.

“Your Sister Acha told me that you were brought to her as an infant,” he said. “That much you know. But what you apparently have not been told is that your mother was from Clan Haye and that she was given over as a hostage to the Northmen to secure an alliance. Your mother lay with a Northman prince and you are the result. That Northman prince is now king of the Northmen and, somehow, the reivers that came to Coldingham had discovered your true identity. It was you they had come for, my lady, and you they managed to capture. I had received word from our patrols that there was a raiding party riding south, close to Berwick, and rumor had it that there were captive women among them. When I set out to subdue the raiders and rescue their captives, I had no idea what I was really getting myself in to but your Sister Acha managed to wrest a promise from me that I would keep you safe. And that, my lady, is why you cannot return to Coldingham. You are a valuable commodity and your identity has been revealed. Men want you and they will keep coming for you until they have you.”

Brighton listened to his speech with increasing astonishment. By the time he was finished, her eyes were so wide that they threatened to pop from her skull. She stumbled up from the bench, a hand over her mouth in shock as she faced him.

“N-nay,” she finally breathed. “That cannot be true.”

“Your nurse told me it was true.”

Brighton wanted very much to deny it but being that Sister Acha had told him such things, she couldn’t, in good conscience, refute him. Sister Acha had never lied to her, not ever. But it didn’t make any sense to her and confusion such as she had never known filled her mind.

“S-she must have been mistaken,” she gasped. “Mayhap… mayhap her wounds had polluted her mind because what she told you is pure madness!”

“She did not seem mad, my lady.”

“I-it is! It is madness! I am not… I am not who she said I am!”

“How do you know if you know nothing of your lineage?”

He had a point but Brighton wasn’t really listening to him. Her mind was muddled with shock and the room began to rock unsteadily. All she could think of was a wild story from a dying woman’s lips. It simply wasn’t true, any of it! There was no way she could be the daughter of a Northman… a king .

She didn’t have a drop of royal blood in her!

“I-I am a bastard,” she said, sounding very much like she was pleading with him. “What you have said… you must have misunderstood. Sister Acha would not have told you such things!”

“That was exactly what she told me.”

“You are lying!”

Patrick thought she looked rather unsteady. He stood up, hoping that he might calm her building hysteria. “I do not lie, lady,” he said, his baritone turning gentle but stern. “I understand that it has been a difficult day for you so I will forgive you your slander. But the information I give is the reason I cannot return you to Coldingham. If what your nurse said was true, then your life is at risk, more than you know.”

Brighton shook her head, turning away from him and putting her dirty hands over her ears. She was stumbling blindly for the door.

“I-I will not hear you,” she gasped, feeling increasingly lightheaded. “I-I must return to Coldingham. I… must…”

She went down, fainting dead away in the doorway. Patrick rushed to her side, turning her over onto her back to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself when she fell to the floor. She was out cold, now with what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. Feeling rather guilty that he had somehow contributed to this state, he scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs that led to the upper floors where Katheryn and Evelyn were lurking. He knew his sisters would take good care of the overwrought woman.

But even as he held her in his arms, he couldn’t get past the fact that she was rather sweet and soft against him. She was average in height for a woman but long-limbed from what he could see, and that face… God’s Bones, that face was fairly close to his as he cradled her against his chest. He found himself looking at her when he should have been looking at the stairs; the shape of her lips had his attention more than anything.

Curvy, perfectly formed, and lush… a woman of this kind of beauty didn’t belong in a convent. In fact, it was a crime as far as he was concerned. Based on her perfection alone, he was willing to believe she was of royal blood because only a royal lineage would create something so flawless.

But as he looked at her, he was also aware of something else… that his desire to protect the woman was building. He’d only promised an old woman he’d do it because he’d had no other choice. And even as he’d ridden to Berwick with the lady behind him, he was regretting that he’d given his vow to protect her. He didn’t need the complication. But now, looking into her pale face, he couldn’t help the sense of protectiveness that swept him. It may have been foolish and misplaced, but he felt it nonetheless.

Perhaps there was a reason he’d ridden out with his patrol this night to stop the reivers. Normally, he didn’t ride with war parties like that. But for some reason, tonight he had. Something had compelled him to go and now he was starting to see why. Perhaps God had wanted him in that place, at that time, because one of His most precious creations needed protecting.

Foolish thoughts, to be certain. But thoughts he couldn’t seem to shake.

?

“What is so important this night, Atty?” Hector asked as he leaned over to collect a cup of wine. “Our intercept of the raiding party was a success and we managed to recover one of the women. Why are you not happy?”

Patrick eyed the man. “I think we received more than we bargained for this night.”

“What do you mean?”

Back in the small dining hall, Patrick was now surrounded by his men. When he’d taken Lady Brighton up for his sisters to attend to, his men had filtered in, including Hector, recently returned from his trip to St. Cuthbert’s. Now, the small hall was full with de Wolfe, de Norville, Hage, and three more knights that Patrick had left behind when he’d ridden off to intercept the reivers.

Sir Anson du Bonne, son of Baron Lulworth of Chaldon Castle, was a strapping man with reddish-gold hair and an easy demeanor. He was a well-liked man within the ranks and usually in command when Patrick was not at Berwick. The two other knights who were not related to de Wolfe, de Norville, or Hage were Sir Colm de Lara and Sir Damien d’Vant, men from very fine families, powerful and skilled warriors in their own right. Patrick particularly liked Damien, who had a wicked sense of humor and much the same personality that Patrick did. Big, blonde, and easy-going, Patrick considered Damien a friend.

Those three, along with the de Norville brothers, Hector and Apollo, and the Hage brothers, Alec and Kevin, rounded out the men in the room. The servants had brought forth more wine and cakes of oats and honey, something to feed big appetites, but Patrick wasn’t eating. He was into his fourth cup of wine, feeling his head swim a bit, hoping it would ease these odd and unfamiliar thoughts he’d been entertaining.

A dead nun, a terrible secret, and Patrick was increasingly troubled by it all. So he stood by the hearth, trying to avoid the smoke that was spitting out into the low-ceilinged room as he gathered his turbulent thoughts.

What to tell the men….

“What I mean is that the raiders we subdued were not random outlaws looking for a convenient target,” he answered Hector’s question belatedly. “I mean that I was told they were looking for a specific victim. We interrupted their plans.”

Hector frowned as he stood back from the table, nearer to the hearth because his bones were cold. “Be plain, man.”

Patrick sighed heavily. “That woman I brought back to Berwick,” he said. “Did any of you get a look at her?”

Hector and Alec looked at each other before shaking their heads. “I did not,” Hector replied, looking to his brother, Apollo. “You were guarding her. Did you get a good look at her?”

Apollo, one of the youngest knights in Patrick’s corps, nodded hesitantly. “Somewhat,” he said, looking at Kevin, who was even younger than he was. “Did you?”

Kevin lifted his big shoulders. “A little,” he said, looking back at Patrick. “I did not notice anything out of the ordinary with her. Why do you ask?”

It was a loaded question. “Before she died, the nun you took over to St. Cuthbert told me something about her,” Patrick said, his gaze moving between Kevin, Apollo, Hector, and Alec. “I will tell you exactly what she told me– that the young woman we rescued this night, a woman who goes by the name of Brighton de Favereux, is really a bastard daughter of Magnus, King of the Northmen. Her mother is from Clan Haye who had been delivered to the Northmen many years ago as a hostage to ensure an alliance, only she became pregnant by Magnus when he was still a prince. The woman was sent home in shame and the child, when she was born, was taken to Coldingham Priory under an assumed identity. Apparently, no one but the old nun knew who the young woman really is and, as she lay dying, she asked me to promise to protect her. I did because I felt I had no choice, but now that I have had time to think on it, I fear I have assumed a massive burden for the House of de Wolfe. The reivers we intercepted, men from Clan Swinton, had gone to Coldingham with a purpose– to abduct this woman and we have taken their prize.”

It was quite an unexpected tale and, by the time he was finished, all of the men in the room were looking at him with various degrees of disbelief. No one said anything right away, instead, glancing at each other as if trying to determine just how mad Patrick had evidently become. Alec finally spoke.

“She’s a… a princess?” he asked for clarification. “Magnus… isn’t he the Dane king they call the Law-Mender?”

“Aye.”

“He is a fearsome warrior, Atty.”

Patrick nodded. “So I have heard,” he said, seeing the astonishment on their faces. “Be that as it may, that is what I was told about the girl.”

Alec frowned. “Are you sure you did not misunderstand?” he asked. “Is it possible the old woman had lost her mind in her final moments?”

Patrick shook his head. “I did not misunderstand and it did not seem to me as if she had lost her mind,” he said. “She seemed quite serious, in fact. I do not think a woman of the cloth, especially in her dying hour, would lie to me.”

That made sense to the men in the chamber, lending credit to the tale. A nun most certainly wouldn’t lie about something so terribly serious. Now, it was even more shocking if the news was actually true. Given the evidence presented, it seemed to be. Alec scratched his head, baffled, unsure what more to say.

“But how did Clan Swinton know of this?” he asked. “How could they possibly know?”

Patrick shrugged. “The old woman did not say,” he said. “But it is clear that someone, somewhere, knew of her identity other than the old nun and the mother of the child. And that information has made its way to Clan Swinton.”

“How old is the young woman?”

“Nineteen years, she tells me.”

“And Clan Swinton is only seeking to claim her now ? If all of this is true, how long have they been sitting on such information? And why make a move for her now?”

Patrick was just as puzzled as the rest of them. “I cannot answer that,” he said. “What I do know, however, is that they will soon know that we have her. I would be willing to assume they will not be happy about it. They will want her back.”

That was more than likely an understatement. Now, a simple encounter with reivers was taking a puzzling and serious turn. Hector actually shook his head as if trying to shake some sense into it. It was all quite overwhelming.

“You are telling us that the woman we rescued tonight is a Dane princess?” he asked. “And no one knew about her until now?”

Patrick cocked a dark eyebrow. “It seems that way,” he said. “But the old nun said something rather ominous– that if the Northmen knew of her existence, they would come for her. She said that if word of her true identity got out, it would bring war and strife. It seems that something like that has already started, at least with Clan Swinton. Already, the struggle for her has begun.”

Hector puffed his cheeks out, a gesture that suggested that statement was quite true. “She is Dane and Scots,” he said. “That makes her quite rare. What a peace offering she could be with the clans to the north who fight the Danes on a continual basis.”

Patrick lifted a finger. “Think about it,” he said, as if something suddenly occurred to him. “Clan Swinton could ransom her to her father or sell her to the highest bidder in the highlands for the same purpose. Either way, they become wealthy. That could have been their purpose for abducting her.”

“You are not going to want to hear what I have to say, Atty,” Anson du Bonne spoke. Calm and reasonable, he made even the worst news sound as if they could not all live through it. “I have not seen this woman and I was not part of the skirmish earlier this evening, but in listening to you speak… holding this woman, and if she is who you say she is, could bring not only the Scots down upon us, but the Northmen as well. What if… what if Clan Swinton, outraged that they have lost their hostage, sends word to Magnus and tells the man that his bastard daughter is now being held by the English? The king will bring his longships onto the shores of Northumberland and we will have a nasty feud on our hands. With that in mind, remember that this woman is nothing to you. She is nothing to any of us. If you want my advice, I say give her back over to Clan Swinton and wash your hands of the entire thing. It is either that or you draw your family into a war that will tear the north apart.”

Ominous words from the level-headed young knight, but it was advice that Patrick badly needed. He’d been thinking the very same thing, in fact, but had been reluctant to admit it. With another heavy sigh, he planted himself at the table, his features pensive as he mulled over the situation. Wearily, he rubbed at his chin.

“I cannot,” he finally said. “I gave my word that I would protect her.”

“Is your word worth more than the lives that will be lost if you keep her here at Berwick?”

Patrick’s gaze flicked up to Anson. “My word is my bond,” he said. “So is yours. Could you so easily cast off a vow, Anson? I think not.”

“So your honor is more important than a coming war?”

Patrick was increasingly torn, knowing that Anson was simply trying to help him think clearly. But all he was doing was making him feel foolish and confused.

“I do not know,” he muttered. “Mayhap, it would be best if I took the girl to Castle Questing and had my father decide what is to be done. I gave my word to protect the girl and I will not go back on it. But my father may have other ideas on what is to be done. I find that I cannot think clearly about it tonight.”

Hector put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I think that is a fine choice,” he said. “Take her to your father and let him decide. This should not be your decision, anyway. This is too big for one man to make.”

There was truth to that. Patrick simply nodded. “Then I will leave for Castle Questing tomorrow and take the woman with me,” he said. “Meanwhile, we should be vigilant for any armies moving in from the north, coming to reclaim their hostage. Patrols should be vigilant, as well. I do not want any of our men falling into the hands of Clan Swinton to be used as a hostage against the return of the girl.”

Hector slapped him affectionately on the shoulder before moving to pour himself more wine. “Agreed,” he said. “I will ride to Castle Questing with you, in fact. I will bring my wife, as she has not seen her mother in a month. She will want to go.”

Patrick started to shake his head as Alec spoke. “If you take Evie, then Kate will want to come,” he said. “You cannot take Evie to see her mother and not bring her sister. Furthermore, they will both want to bring the children. You know that.”

Patrick held up a hand, annoyed that his simple trip to Castle Questing was now turning into a family event. “Fine,” he snapped, “but make sure the women and children are ready by dawn. I will want to leave early if we are to make it to Castle Questing while it is still light. And set up a contingent of at least one hundred men as an escort. If we have women with us, I want them well-protected.”

Hector nodded, settling himself at the table by Alec as they turned the subject to other things and began to drink heavily. Across the table, Anson and Colm and Damien were still looking at Patrick, still lingering on the subject of the Dane princess. It was a serious dilemma they found themselves in and no one felt that more keenly than Patrick. It was tearing him in all directions.

“Shall I ride with you to Questing, Patrick?” Damien asked. “Alec will be riding escort for his wife, and Hector for his, but you may need help with the lady.”

Patrick shook his head wearily. “Nay,” he said. “I will leave you in charge with Anson and Colm. Seal up this place and be vigilant until I return.”

Anson nodded. “The Swinton Clan cannot muster great numbers to move against us, at least not by tomorrow or even next week,” he said. “But they are allied with Dunbar and Black Douglas. I would be concerned that they would draw on that alliance if they tried to summon numbers against us.”

Patrick knew that. He gazed into his empty wine cup, studying the dregs at the bottom as if to divine his future. “The truth is that they do not know we have the girl,” he said. “We left no man alive from the raiding party and we brought those left with us back to Berwick. It will, therefore, take some time for the Swinton Clan to realize we were the force that met their raiding party and, in truth, they can only assume we took their prize. They will not know that for certain. That is what I need to speak with my father about. And, God’s Bones, I do not need this complication right now, not when I am due to leave for my new assignment in London soon. This is not something I had anticipated nor do I want, but it seems that I am involved just the same.”

Anson’s gaze was steady from across the table. “I was wondering how long it would be before you brought that up,” he said. “You do not want anything interfering with your new post with Henry.”

“Nay, I do not. Especially not something like this.”

The subject died down after that, mostly because no one knew what more they could say about it. There was much unknown revolving around the woman and the situation in general. There wasn’t one man at the table that wasn’t secretly glad that Patrick was taking the girl to his father at the mighty bastion of Castle Questing to, perhaps, make her William de Wolfe’s problem. Not that Patrick was a coward by any means, because he wasn’t, but the situation that had fallen into his lap was too big for one man to handle.

Even a lap as capable as Patrick’s.

Unbeknownst to his men, Patrick’s thoughts were revolving around the lady as well, but in a different fashion. After his fifth cup of wine, he finally left the small hall, heading to the staircase that led to the upper floors. He was fairly tipsy at that point but something was urging him to see to Lady Brighton’s health after her fainting spell. He was quite certain she was fine, with his sisters to tend her, but there was something pulling at him that demanded he see for himself. He would never admit that to his men, of course, especially after the conversation they’d just had about the woman. So he felt a bit deceptive and sneaky as he lied about seeking his bed but, instead, headed to see to the lady.

A Norse princess. Clan war. Northman war .

All of those things were spinning around in his head, made worse by the drink, but above it all, he could only think of the fact that the lady intrigued him so. It was purely her beauty and he knew that. He was hoping it was something that would pass, but he couldn’t shake the sense of attraction. He was coming to realize that he didn’t want to.

As torn as he was at the moment, he did know one thing– as much as he professed not to let anything interfere with his new post with Henry, something told him that breaking his vow to the old nun would be more difficult than he imagined. And not all of it had to do with his honor.

Much of it had to do with his intrigue in the beautiful young woman who had quite easily captured his attention.

He was a man in trouble.