CHAPTER THREE
Evening brought ribbons of gold and red across the dusky sky.
Perched at the northeast corner of Castle Canaan’s battlements, Scott and Stewart watched the day pass into night. Around them, the fortress was settling in quite amiably considering the fact that she was housing two sizable armies. Quartermasters settled de Wolfe’s troops within the barracks built into the walls of the fortress while the knights took over the bailey and the outbuildings used to house horses, servants and provisions.
It seemed that the core of Castle Canaan’s army had been absorbed by Baron Bretherdale’s troops, and the members of the house and hold had confined themselves to the hall and living quarters, which were built into the walls of Canaan. It didn’t have a central keep, but rooms and additions built against the walls with a central bailey in the center in a Norman shell design. It also had the unique feature of having dual gatehouses – a small one to the north and then the larger, main gatehouse to the south.
Scott hadn’t even attempted to move into the hall or kitchens yet; that would be for tomorrow, when his men were settled and he had the energy and the inclination to deal with the elusive Lady du Rennic. Truth be known, he had more important things on his mind than her.
He and Stewart had been standing in silence for quite some time, observing the coming night. They had a comfortable relationship, a cross between friend to friend and slave to master. Stewart had been with him for several years at his seat of Rule Water Castle, known as Wolfe’s Lair, and Stewart had been with him before the death of his wife and two children.
All of his knights had been with him since that time. In fact, all of these men had seen the dramatic change in the once-congenial knight. Milo and Stewart had been with Scott before the accident. The others, while familiar with Scott, had served William before the accident. William had sent the three others to serve Scott soon after the tragedy. The man they’d served the past four years was nothing like the man they’d known before that fateful day and it was a change they’d all had to reconcile themselves to. Stewart was probably the only person Scott had allowed to remain even remotely close to him but, more often than not, he held everyone at arm’s length, including his family. To the tightly-knit de Wolfe clan, it was devastating behavior from their eldest son.
But the Scott de Wolfe they’d known had died that day in April. What took his place was something dark and ominous and cold. Some men had taken to calling him the Black Adder, death that struck swiftly and decisively like a viper, but still others called him by something even darker.
ShadowWolfe.
The man who was at one with the shadows.
That was the man Stewart knew these days, a man he served with flawless devotion, but a man he was also concerned for. He wondered if Scott de Wolfe would ever find himself again. Would the darkness continue to follow him? Or would the old Scott de Wolfe ever reappear? It was a question the de Wolfe family had been asking for the past four years.
Only time would tell.
“It has been a productive day, my lord,” Stewart finally said, pushing himself up off the battlement’s ledge. He gazed up at the purple sky. “In truth, I thought we were going to have to fight our way into Castle Canaan. I am glad I was wrong.”
Scott grunted, his massive arms crossed as he stared down into the bailey. “I wasn’t sure that Huntley would submit. The man is as hotheaded as they come; often he will act before thinking.”
Stewart nodded in understanding, a smile on his lips. “I knew from the onset that they suspected we had come to claim Castle Canaan.” His smile faded when he looked at Scott. “Why did you not tell them the truth of the matter?”
Scott drew in a long, deep breath. “’Tis too soon,” he said quietly. “They’re still wracked with grief from the passing of Nathaniel. Christ, how can I tell them that the king has demanded I confiscate Castle Canaan until a suitable husband can be found for Lady du Rennic? They would go mad.”
At a loss for an answer, Stewart simply shook his head. “You have shown remarkable compassion for their plight,” he said. “Tis not like you to show such mercy, especially when they defied you so.”
Scott’s well-shaped eyebrows wriggled slightly. “’Tis not mercy I displayed, Stu. I simply did not want to inflame an already-volatile situation. They shall all discover their fates soon enough.” He leaned forward on the great stone ramparts, his piercing eyes roaming over the imposing fortress appreciatively. “Marrying Lady du Rennic will bring some fortunate man a tremendous bastion. This place is magnificent.”
“Why do not you marry her?” Stewart muttered, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Purely to gain the castle, of course, and for no other reason. It would be a wise business move. In addition to Ravenstone Castle, Castle Canaan would add an enormous asset to your holdings. Logistically, they are not that far a part – Ravenstone is over the mountains to the east, a two-day’s ride.”
Scott eyed him a moment, not at all pleased with the suggestion. Talk of marriage, of children, and of his life before four years ago was greatly discouraged. But in private, at this moment, he tolerated Stewart’s suggestion. He shrugged it off, mostly. Removing his helm, he ran his fingers through his honey-blonde hair in a weary gesture, slicking it back off his forehead.
“Although I appreciate the suggestion, you will not mention that again,” he muttered, turning away from the battlements and making his way down the narrow wall. “I have no need for anything you have mentioned.”
Stewart watched him amble away. “I only suggested it for the wealth it would bring you,” he called after the man. “Surely a man can always use more wealth, no matter how he comes by it.”
Scott ignored him. With a shrug, Stewart turned back to the sunset.
*
Scott hadn’t realized how extensive the grounds of Castle Canaan were.
The sun had mostly set, leaving in its wake a cool evening as he wandered from the stable area, past the livestock pen, and towards the kitchen yard. A huge, stone barrier separated the kitchen from the rest of the bailey and he took a turn, ending up in the area housing the buttery and the smokehouse.
It was dark here, the only light coming through the open kitchen door and the smells of grease and smoke were heavy. A few servants ventured about, startled when they saw the massive man in battle armor wandering their safe, secure yard. Scott hardly passed them a glance as he assessed Castle Canaan, growing more impressed by the moment with the grandeur and wealth of the place. Whoever married Lady du Rennic would be a lucky bastard, indeed. If he had any inclination to keep it as his own, he might take Stewart’s advice, but there was no possibility he would marry Lady du Rennic in order to get it.
No way in hell.
Over near the kitchen was another gate cut into a tall, stone wall, iron and wood barely visible in the darkness. Curious, Scott made his way towards the gate and was about to open it when a small body suddenly blocked his path.
“Nay, nay,” said a little voice sternly. “You cannot go in there.”
Scott found himself gazing down at a small boy, perhaps five years in age, with soft sandy hair and magnificent blue eyes. He studied the boy, his expression impassive as he spoke.
“Why not?” he asked.
“’Tis a secret place and you are not permitted!” the child declared.
Baron Bretherdale was a man rightly feared by most of England. His reputation was solid, his methods bordering on brutal. There was not one sane person in the civilized world that would challenge him, and for good reason. Yet this little boy was blocking his path, and doing so quite effectively. To stand against a de Wolfe was no small feat and Scott fought off a smile at the fearless, naïve child. Something about that little face softened his hardened heart, just a bit.
“What is the secret?” he asked. “I promise not to tell.”
The boy shook his head. “You cannot know.”
“But I will keep your secret safe. I swear on my oath as a knight.”
The boy looked doubtful and refused to answer. Scott hunched over a bit, trying not to appear so imposing. “Tell me your name, lad.”
“Stephen,” the boy said. He pointed into the shadows and it was then that Scott saw another small figure, a little girl perhaps two or three years older than the boy, emerge from the darkness. “That’s my sister, Sophia.”
Scott dipped his head at her ever so slightly. “My lady.” He turned back to Stephen. “I swear that I will not disturb your secret place. But I would like to see it. Will you let me in?”
Stephen was dubious in spite of the reassurance. He looked at Sophia, who shook her head fearfully. Torn between the big knight and his sister, Stephen scratched his sandy head and looked at Scott hesitantly. “You cannot… right now,” he said. “Later, mayhap. But not now.”
Scott glanced at the old, wooden gate. He could hear something just beyond, a faint scratching, like earth being moved about. He tried to see through the slats of the gate, but it was just too dark to see much.
“Is someone in there?” he asked.
Stephen gazed up at the big knight. The man was enormous, but Stephen sensed no hostility from him at all. Only a mix of power and patience he could not begin to understand. In a sense, it reminded him of his father and he did so want to be a knight when he grew up, just as his father had been. His little mind began to warm to the knight’s request.
“Aye,” he said quietly.
“Who?”
Stephen didn’t reply for a moment. When he did, he averted his eyes. “Mam.”
Scott couldn’t quite figure out why Stephen seemed so glum, nor did he understand why the lad would not let him past the gate. He was more than curious.
“What is she doing in there?” he asked.
Stephen shrugged and moved away from the gate. Wandering over to his sister, it was obvious that he was seeking her comfort and she put her delicate arms around him. Together, they looked very, very sad.
“She’s raking the dirt,” Stephen finally said. “She always rakes the dirt.”
“Does she grow vegetables for the house?” Scott asked.
Stephen shook his head. “She just rakes the dirt.”
It didn’t make any sense to Scott and his curiosity was piqued. Reaching out, he lifted the latch to the gate and was met by no resistance from Stephen or his sister. They simply let him go, be it by trust or fear, he could not be sure. Stepping through the low arch, he emerged into what had apparently once been a grand garden.
In the faint light from the kitchens, he could see vines winding up the cold, stone walls, half-dead with neglect, while the remains of a variety of flowers littered the dusty earth. There was a lovely, stone bench against one wall and a door at the far end that looked to be blocked off.
Scott paused in his observations of what had surely been a once-beautiful garden as his gaze came to rest on a figure several feet away, hacking angrily at the ground. It was a woman; that much was obvious, for she had long hair that hung past her buttocks in great, tangled clumps. He couldn’t see much in the dim light, but he could see enough. She was a short, little thing; even though she was bent nearly in half as she hacked at the ground, he could have imagined that she would not stand higher than his chest. It was very curious, this dirty-haired woman hoeing furiously, and he observed for several long moments before conspicuously clearing his throat to gain her attention.
The woman didn’t turn around. She continued to chop at the hard-packed earth. Scott took a few steps towards her, trying to catch her attention with his movement, but either she did not see him or she was intent to ignore him. Noticing that Stephen and his sister were now standing just inside the garden gate, watching fearfully, he decided to put an end to the silence.
“Madam,” he said, his baritone voice emerging in a quiet rumble. “Are you a servant?”
She didn’t respond. The children’s expressions grew more fearful. Scott, not a man who tolerated games, moved to the woman and stood very close to her. “You will answer me. Are you a field servant?”
Again, she didn’t reply. When she brought the hoe up high, chopping at a particularly dense clump of earth, he grabbed the shaft and easily pulled it from her hands. Grasp empty, she flailed her hands about a couple of times as if still hoeing, as if not realizing she no longer possessed a tool. Then, she came to a confused halt. When her head finally came up, gazing from beneath a curtain of mussed hair, nothing could have prepared Scott for what was to follow.
The most exquisite eyes he had ever witnessed stared at him in a daze. The woman’s face possessed the sweetness of the most beautiful angel in Heaven, so splendid that it literally took his breath away. In fact, he had to catch himself from taking a step back. He thought that, perhaps, he was gazing at an apparition for certainly nothing mortal could be this lovely.
He found himself staring, inspecting her features as if searching for some flaw in this field of perfection. He could find nothing imperfect about her but for the dirt on her cheeks and the distant look to her eye. As she straightened up and stood tall, staring at him as he was staring at her, he realized that she was enormously pregnant.
“Why are you working this garden in your condition?” he demanded, perhaps too harshly “Who has ordered you to do this?”
She looked at him as if she didn’t understand a word he said. Then, slowly, he could see her dazed eyes flickering with confusion. “I do not know you,” she said in a voice that sounded to him like the laughter of angels. “Who are you?”
“I would ask you the same question, Madam.”
She almost answered him. She certainly considered it; he could see that. But suddenly, it was as if clouds passed over her brilliant orbs and she turned away from him. He watched her as she ripped out dead stalks of foxgloves with her bare hands.
“I will again ask you your name,” he said with patience he did not feel. It was more than her refusal to answer that irritated him; he found that he simply had to know. “Who are you?”
Her once-luscious hair hung wildly as she ripped and pulled. Scott was afraid she might injure herself with her strong actions. After a moment, she simply shook her head. “It does not matter who I am,” she whispered. “I am no longer anyone of concern.”
He continued to watch her rip at the flowers. “You are going to come to harm if you continue that,” he said. “And why would you say you were no longer anyone of concern? I should determine that for myself.”
She ignored him, pulling and weeding. When she was done with the foxgloves, she moved to the enormous daisy bush and began ripping at it. “It does not matter anymore,” she repeated.
Scott glanced at Stephen and Sophia, silent and cowering by the garden gate. The sight of their frightened faces brought a rise of anger from him. This woman was acting like a wild animal, apparently not realizing the effect it was having on her offspring.
“You are frightening your children with your behavior,” he said sternly. “Look at them; see how frightened they are. Do you not care for them at all?”
She continued to slash and shred a fraction of a second longer. Then, her movements slowed, becoming a mere shadow of what they had once been. She came to a stop, gazing up into the sky with such pain on her face that Scott could feel the physical impact. He swore she was praying to, or perhaps cursing, a God that she could not see. There was a great inner turmoil taking place in that beautiful face. After a small eternity, she finally turned to her cowering children, a weak smile spreading across her lips.
“My sweet, sweet babies,” she murmured.
The children instantly ran to her. Embracing them, the woman kissed their heads and spoke softly. Scott observed the touching scene, a stab of remorse filling his heart. He had seen such motherly love from Athena with his own children, and that grief he’d been running from for four years began to claw at him again. But in the same breath, he found it innately comforting and warm, feelings he’d not experienced in quite some time. He was shocked to realize how much he had missed it.
The warm, warm comfort of a mother to child.
The warmth of an embrace….
“Come along, now,” he moved towards them, waving his massive arms like a shepherd moving sheep. “Sit down on the bench, all of you. Sit down before you fall down.”
The woman allowed him to place her and her children upon the bench. Scott stood over them, hands on his hips, thinking they were, perhaps, the most perfectly beautiful, little family he had seen. God, the longing, the memories, tugged at him as they hadn’t in years. Everything he’d been running from was suddenly tugging on him as he struggled against it. But the need to know the woman’s identity reached a maddening level.
“Now,” he began, crouching down before them as they hugged and kissed. “Your children were kind enough to tell me their names. Would you please indulge me as well, Madam?”
The woman looked at him, her lips on Stephen’s soft hair. The magnificent eyes spoke softly to him, words he could not understand but most assuredly feelings he could comprehend. There was confusion in the depths but there was also great pain; that was something he most definitely recognized because it was something he experienced on almost a daily basis. At least, he had for years. These days, it was more a dull ache than anything else but something he was wise to avoid at all costs. He was concentrating so on the emotions from her eyes that he barely heard her voice.
“Avrielle,” she whispered. “My name is Avrielle.”
He blinked, almost startled by her gentle voice. Avrielle. It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard and suited her perfectly. “Lady Avrielle,” he repeated in a soft voice that did not suit his harsh appearance. “Who has ordered you to work this garden?”
She shook her head. “No one,” she murmured.
“Then why do you work so hard in your condition? And where is your husband that he would not prevent you from doing this?”
The gentleness in her eyes, so recently returned, suddenly vanished. She stood up, leaving her two children wide-eyed and disappointed, and meandered back into the weeds. Scott watched her closely, wondering what he could have said to upset her so. When the woman realized she had no hoe to work with, she sat down on the ground and began raking it with her hands in great sweeping, harsh motions.
“Lady Avrielle.” Scott was genuinely concerned; any other woman, or man for that matter, would not have elicited this kind of concern from him. He had no idea why she should, and the conflict of emotions in his chest disturbed him. “Get up from the dirt. You should not be straining yourself.”
Avrielle continued to claw at the earth, shaking her head, and tears began to fall. Big, heaving sobs followed. The children, upset that their mother was crying again, ran to her in tears and fell down beside her, weeping. It was a horrible, distressing scene and Scott was at a loss as to what to do. For a man who bottled up all of his emotions, it was terribly unpleasant for him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was sobbing pitifully, her children were crying, and Scott knew, instinctively, that he was somehow responsible. It was that question he had asked, the one that had changed everything…
Where is your husband?
Before he realized it, he was beside the trio, his massive arms encircling them. He didn’t know what else to do and instinct took over at that point. They needed comfort and, for some reason, he was determined to give it in an urge he could not resist. Why, he didn’t know – only that the impulse was too strong for words. Somehow, someway, that compassionate man he’d tried so hard to bury was having a resurrection of sorts. His arms went around them and he held Avrielle tightly in one arm, feeling her head against him, her tear-stained face against his neck, and he swore that never in his life had he felt anything so sweet and right.
God, he’d missed the feel of a woman.
It was an electrifying, addicting sensation. He thought he should say something to her, anything at all, but he couldn’t manage to bring words to his lips. It seemed better that he simply sat on the earth, in all of his armor and mail and weaponry, holding a weeping, pregnant woman and her sobbing children, and having no idea why he was permitting himself to do it. It wasn’t healthy for him. He should not have allowed it.
But it was the best thing he had ever done.
For a brief, stolen moment, he was no longer the hardest man in England. The stone encasing his heart had cracked, just the slightest.
As Scott sat on the ground and wallowed in a river of turbulent confusion, du Rennic knights, George and Kristoph, stood at the gate, watching the scene in the darkness beyond. Having been watching de Wolfe from the battlements, they’d followed him when he’d disappeared into the walled garden. Now, they could only stare in disbelief at what they were seeing.
“Christ Almighty,” George whispered from the garden gate. “Do you see what I see?”
Kristoph shook his head. “What in the hell is going on?” he said. “He… he’s touching her. And the children, too.”
George was so astonished he could barely speak. “Lady Avrielle hasn’t let anyone come near her in months,” he hissed. “And now she lets de Wolfe, of all people, comfort her? I cannot believe my eyes!”
Kristoph could only stand there and shake his head. “We must tell Jeremy immediately.”
George heartily agreed. “He will take de Wolfe’s head off for this.” There was something gleeful in that statement.
Kristoph didn’t know what to say in return. All he knew was that Baron Bretherdale would be lucky if that was all Jeremy did when he found out the man had touched his sister.