CHAPTER THREE
Monteviot Tower
The great hall of Monteviot smelled like smoke and burned flesh, but they were all so exhausted and hungry that no one seemed to care. Three days after the burning of the tower, the restoration of the grounds was already underway.
The bodies of the dead Scots had been piled outside of the walls of Monteviot and, at William’s request, Troy had sent to Jedburgh Abbey for a canon to come and pray over the departed souls. They waited two days for the holy man to come but at the end of the second day, the stench of the dead was so bad that Troy ordered the funeral pyre lit.
Of course, it was appropriate that the canon should come just as the sky filled with black, greasy smoke from the burning bodies and the wiry man with his skull suitably shaved to denote his piety arrived on an old palfrey and promptly launched himself from the horse to berate the English who were disposing of the bodies.
Hector de Norville, Paris’ eldest son, had been the first to receive the holy tongue lashing because he happened to be standing closest to the priest when he arrived. But Hector was much like his father in that he didn’t take most things too seriously; he knew his duty, he knew what was best, and he simply brushed the priest off when the man tried to tell him that burning the dead without a priest’s blessing was condemning the souls to Purgatory.
As Hector walked away, Troy watched from his position across the pyre. The frustrated priest seemed to be scolding any English knight he came in contact with but the knights were all following Hector’s example and either ignoring the priest or walking away.
As the priest came close to a tantrum as the flames of the dead burned brightly, Troy made his way over to the man who was now trying to berate the soldiers who were piling up the bodies. With the knights gone, the soldiers were the next targets, but the soldiers looked at the priest as if they had no care for his ranting. They continued their duty of stripping the dead and then throwing them onto the pile. They had their orders and no one, not even a Scottish priest with a heavy accent, was going to stop them.
“You,” Troy said as he walked up behind the frantic priest. “Are you from Jedburgh?”
The man whirled around, his eyes widening at the sight of the very big, very dark knight. “I am,” he said, breathless. “Ye sent for me. Now I am here and I find ye burnin’ the bodies of the dead?”
Troy held up a hand to calm the man. “We had no choice,” he said. “Some of them were burned already because they had been caught in the fire that burned out the tower. For the rest of them… it was starting to smell very badly around here. We had to do something.”
The priest threw up his hands. “Then bury them!”
Troy eyed the man before kicking at the ground. “In this?” he said, pointing. “Look at it; there is more rock than soil here. We could never dig through this. Or did you have in mind that we should take them in a caravan to Jedburgh so that you and your fellow priests could properly bury them?”
That seemed to bring some pause to the priest. His gaze lingered on Troy before looking to the ground, seeing what the knight had meant. It was extremely rocky ground, meaning it would have been very difficult to dig out a mass grave. Soil such as this was nearly impossible to cut through. Unhappy, the priest sighed.
“Then why did ye send for me?” he asked. “Ye’ve already burned the men. Ye’ve already done what needed tae be done.”
“I sent for you to pray for these men,” Troy said. “It was not by my choice, I assure you. My father requested it. All of these men are thieves and murderers, so prayer will not do them any good. Their paths were set in life and they are set in death. But my father requested that a priest pray for them just the same. It is a merciful gesture, I suppose.”
The priest scratched his head, fingers digging into thin hair that stood up like straw in places. He seemed to be calming after his initial flare up.
“Then yer father is a pious man,” he said, eyeing the big knight. “Who are ye?”
“Troy de Wolfe. My father is William de Wolfe.”
That brought a reaction from the priest. “The Wolfe of the Border?”
“Aye.”
Now, the priest wasn’t quite so irate. In fact, he seemed to be more interested in his surroundings. “A de Wolfe battle in Scotland?” he asked. “What goes on here, then? What happened?”
Troy looked up at the burned-out tower, at his general surroundings as the sky darkened into night overhead. The stars were starting to come out.
“This place was a haven for reivers,” he said. “We have eliminated the threat. My father is taking over command of this outpost and it will become English property. In fact, this tower is located between my father’s seat of Castle Questing and his major outpost of Wolfe’s Lair. Have you heard of the Lair?”
“I have.”
“Now we shall have two outposts on the Scottish side of the border.”
The priest was looking around, growing more subdued by the minute as he realized what had taken place and what it meant for the area in general; the Scots weren’t policing this part of the border very well so now the English were. And, knowing de Wolfe, he would not relinquish the property without a major fight, which no one in this area could give him.
The English were here to stay.
“I’d heard of some raids out here,” the priest admitted. “These are Kerr lands. Did ye know that?”
Troy nodded. “I did. So does my father. But the raids were not on Kerr lands; they were on de Wolfe lands.”
The priest looked at him. “But these lands belong tae Red Keith Kerr,” he said. “Does he know ye’re here?”
Troy shrugged. “Does it matter? He did nothing to control the reivers on his land so we had to take care of the problem. If he has issue with us being in his lands, then let him come forth and discuss it.”
The priest sighed heavily. “I’m sure he will.”
Troy knew that. He’d been fighting the Scots a long time and he knew of Red Keith and his band of Lowlanders. Troy had never had much action with the man, for he tended to keep to himself, but those incidents that Troy had heard of where Red Keith had been involved gave the man a legendary temper and men who were quite zealous. If Troy believed what he’d been told, then Red Keith had some fearsome warriors.
But it occurred to Troy as he pondered the reputation of Red Keith Kerr that this priest would possibly know the lands and the clans better than he did. It was true that William was quite knowledgeable about those who bordered his lands, and Troy was also very knowledgeable by virtue of the time he’d spent on the Marches, but this priest might know things they wouldn’t, including intimate details of Red Keith Kerr. An interest in what the priest might know had him behaving a bit more friendly towards the man.
“You did not tell me your name,” he said.
The priest glanced at him. “Audric.”
Troy looked at the man a moment, trying to gauge how to proceed. “Thank you for answering the summons to come and pray over the bodies of your dead countrymen,” he said, “but I am sure you could use some rest before you do. Come inside and meet my father. Let us discuss how to keep peace now that we’ve purged the reivers from Kerr land. I am sure my father would appreciate any advice you might have.”
He began to lead the priest towards the bailey. Audric sensed a change in demeanor with Troy but he didn’t say anything. He, too, was trying to get a sense of these English, and of what had occurred here beyond the purging of reivers.
Audric wondered if that was all there was, considering de Wolfe had at least two properties in the area that were a day’s ride or less away. Wolfe’s Lair was well-known in these parts, even to the clergy of Jedburgh and Kelso to the northeast, and Kale Water was known to house fanatic English who were fearsome fighters. Now, he had Monteviot Tower. Perhaps if Audric could find out what de Wolfe’s intentions really were, he could tell his superiors and even Scots lairds in the area who would want to know. These men were English, after all, and any peace with them was tenuous at best.
Aye… perhaps he should find out all he could. Let his visit here mean something other than saying prayers for those who didn’t need them now, anyway.
Let him find out what was really going on, for what affected the border affected the rest of Scotland as well.
*
While the vast majority of the fortified tower smelled of smoke and burned bodies, the great hall had remained oddly untouched. It smelled of dogs and of smoke and of unwashed men, but it didn’t have the rank smell of burned flesh that the rest of the fortress seemed to have. Therefore, the meal that night could be eaten in relative comfort, and eat the English did.
It was the end of the third day after the conquest of Monteviot Tower and the English were relaxing somewhat. The cleanup was nearly over as far as the dead were concerned and some of the knights had begun what would be the restoration of the tower. Burned wood was hauled out and anything salvageable was set aside.
From Michael and his sons, who were to be deeply involved in the assessment and salvage of the tower, Troy had learned that the second and third levels were nearly undamaged. Those levels were the laird’s hall, which was a smaller hall, and then two bedchambers above it. A narrow spiral staircase built into the thickness of the wall had also been completely spared.
The majority of the damage had come from the roof collapsing into the fourth floor, and then burning men and anything else it could use for fuel. Most deaths had come from smoke inhalation rather than actually burning, although they did have their share of the burned bodies. Michael seemed to think that skilled craftsman could easily repair the roof and William vowed to send some of his craftsmen from Castle Questing to help with the repairs. In truth, the tower had been built mostly of stone, as Barden had said, and the structure itself had mostly survived.
As William had hoped, he still had a tower.
As evening fell and the night turned dark and crisp, the smell of roasting meat mingled with all the other smells of the tower, making for a rather pungent experience. A cow had been slaughtered and the men were greatly anticipating the meal. With the majority of the army in the enclosed bailey, with the repaired gates now sealed for the night, the knights and senior soldiers had found their way into the hall.
With the short, skinny priest at his side, Troy made his way into the rather crowded hall, full of men drinking and tearing their way through the beef that was being pulled straight off the roasting spit in the bailey. Somewhere off in a corner, a soldier had produced a mandolin, and songs of love and victory filtered through the smoky air.
There was a table near the open-pit hearth in the center of the hall and Troy could see his father and most of the other knights sitting there. He led the priest towards the table, catching his father’s attention as he drew close.
“The priest from Jedburgh has arrived, Papa,” he said, indicating the short man in the dirty brown robes. “This is Father Audric.”
Audric found himself under intense scrutiny as most of the table within earshot turned to look at him. In particular, at least three of the younger English knights were looking at him with extreme suspicion and he met their gaze, rather warily, wondering if they were going to rush him then and there. Hatred for the Scots burned deep in these young English warriors. Fortunately, Troy grasped him by the arm before any trouble could start and pulled him away from the unfriendly faces and over to a seat the end of the bench while he went around the table to sit with his father.
Audric sat down and someone put a wooden cup in front of him. There was a pitcher of liquid within arm’s reach and he timidly picked it up, pouring what turned out to be the dregs of the wine into his cup. It was cloudy and full of sediment, but he drank it anyway, thirsty. From across the table, William was the first to speak.
“You are from Jedburgh?” he asked.
Audric nodded. “Aye, m’lord.”
“We sent for you two days ago. What took so long?”
Audric sensed a rebuke in that question. He looked around at the table of men; he’d never seen such a collection in his entire life. They were big; some of them were even huge. Scarred, battle-worn, bruised and even a few that had bloodied hands or a nick to the face. Even so, they were the victors and that victory radiated from them like a stench. Sassenach men who had come to fight the righteous fight, to rid the land of a threat but, in that action, Audric could still sense conquest. It was in their blood, the English against the Scots, something that was seared into their souls from one generation to the next.
But in that understanding, Audric knew one thing – that he couldn’t show any fear. The English were intimidating and, truth be told, he’d never been this close to English knights before. Therefore, he answered William firmly.
“It took a day tae reach Jedburgh with yer message,” he said. “I came as soon as I could, as soon as the abbot gave permission. I am tae bless the dead and report back on the situation.”
It wasn’t quite the truth, but it sounded reasonable enough. He figured if he said he needed to report on the situation, then the English would know that he was expected back and not try to move against him. Kill him, even. It might keep the young bucks at bay. But he could see that William was unimpressed.
“The situation is that we cleared Monteviot Tower of a band of reivers who were doing a good deal of damage to my lands,” William said, his tone a bit testy. “I realize that it is the job of a priest to save souls, to save the souls of the good as well as the wicked, but it is my job to protect my land and my people. I did what needed to be done.”
The younger knights banged their cups against the old, worn table, loudly agreeing with William’s statement with a bit of bloodlust in their eyes. Audric looked down the table to see those younger knights again, eyeing him with hostility as if daring him to contradict the great Wolfe.
“No one is disputin’ yer need tae protect yer lands, m’lord,” he said. “Yer lands border these lands.”
“They do.”
“Surely ye have alliances with yer Kerr neighbors?”
William scratched his stubbled cheek thoughtfully. “My wife is from Clan Scott,” he said. “I have an alliance with Clan Scott but Clan Kerr is known to be their rivals. I have never had any trouble with them, however, so you could say that there is a tentative peace. They know me, I know them, and we simply stay out of each other’s way.”
Someone shoved a cracked trencher full of beef and bread in front of Audric. Gravy spilled from the broken side and onto the table, trickling onto his robes, but he didn’t notice. He was more interested in shoving meat into his mouth.
“As I told yer son, this castle and these lands belong tae Red Keith Kerr,” he said, “but I would assume ye already know that.”
William nodded. “There are two minor Kerr clans along this stretch of the border. I assumed this property was Red Keith’s because his lands are concentrated in this area.”
Audric continued to speak and chew, bits of food flying from his mouth. “Do ye know him, then?”
William held up his cup for Patrick to pour him more wine. “I have met him twice,” he said. “Once when there was a convergence of the border clans a few years ago and another time when I was traveling to Wolfe’s Lair. Both times, the man hardly said more than two words to me.”
Audric swallowed the food in his mouth. “That may change now that ye have another outpost on his lands.”
“I have two. Kale Water and now Monteviot. Troy is in command of Kale Water and he might know more about him than I do.”
Seated down the table from his father between James and Patrick, Troy was heavily into his meal. When he heard his name, and his father’s statement, he simply shook his head.
“He keeps to himself,” he said. “His home of Sibbald’s Hold is barely five miles from Kale, but I have seen the man about as much as you have. He does not venture from Sibbald’s and he has very few men. I heard tale that he is not welcome within Clan Kerr, so I suppose that explains why he keeps to himself.”
He was looking at Audric, expecting that the man would elaborate if he knew anything. The priest saw the expression and also noticed that William was looking at him as well. He could see that they were anticipating that he should add something more to the conversation. Audric cleared his throat and shoved bread into his mouth.
“I can only tell ye what I’ve heard,” he said. “Jedburgh is in Kerr lands and they are great patrons of the church. Ralph Kerr is The Kerr, the clan chief, and a great man he is. Keith is his cousin, and I’ve heard tale that Ralph banished Keith because he stole the man’s woman. That is all I can tell ye other than Red Keith is called that for his temper, not for the color of his hair. The man may keep tae himself, but he is nothin’ tae be trifled with. I have a feelin’ ye’ll soon find that out.”
Troy glanced at his father, but William didn’t seem too concerned about it. Without much more to say on the matter, Troy returned to his food. Audric did the same, hoping his interrogation was over for the moment. Still, there was information he wanted, and he waded carefully into that part of the conversation.
“Whether or not Red Keith actually shows his face, it ’tis the truth that ye know how tae deal with Scots,” he said to William. “But if Keith wants his holdin’ back, will ye give it tae him? These are his lands, after all.”
William took a long drink of his wine as he pondered his answer. “Troy says that the man has very few men,” he said. “That is why reivers were able to take over Monteviot in the first place. Therefore, in answer to your question, I will not give it back to him, not unless he can prove to me that he can keep it out of the hands of the outlaws.”
Audric thought that might be the answer. In truth, it made sense because, clearly, Keith Kerr was unable to police his own property. Still, another de Wolfe holding in Kerr lands would not go over well with the bulk of the clan. That could be trouble. As he pondered that possibility, Troy spoke to his father.
“I brought almost five hundred men from Kale,” he said. “I can leave two hundred of them here if you will leave another one hundred. That should be enough manpower for whoever you put in command.”
William was looking at his wine cup. “I thought to put you in command.”
Troy stopped chewing. “Me?” he said. Then, he shook his head. “You need me at Kale. The clans are going to be up in arms over the capture of Monteviot and you will need me at Kale to support Wolfe’s Lair. But you can put me in command of the Lair, Papa. You probably should.”
William didn’t say anything for a moment. “That is your brother’s post,” he said quietly.
Troy’s features tensed. “And Scott has not been at the Lair in over two years,” he said. There was no patience in his tone. “He is off to the south with Edward somewhere.”
“Even so, it still belongs to him.”
“When are you going to realize that he is not coming back?”
It was an extremely sore subject with both William and Troy. On that terrible April day two years ago when both Scott and Troy had lost their wives and younger children, each men had handled the grief very differently. Scott had run off and left everything behind, family included, leaving Troy to soldier on and endure grief no man should have to endure. Scott’s reaction was to shut down while Troy’s had been to live the agony every day and resent his brother for being too cowardly to face it.
Now, they were on that terrible subject and the men around the table, including Paris, quieted their conversation when the forbidden topic came up. As the father of the women who had drowned, and the grandfather of the children that were lost, Paris was especially sensitive to this manner of conversation. He knew how volatile it could be.
“He will be back,” William said calmly. “He is simply dealing with his grief differently than you.”
“He ran like a weakling.”
“You will not say such things about your brother, Troy.”
Troy slammed his cup on the table, splashing wine onto James. “Are we going to bring up this subject again?” he snarled. “By all means, let us do that. Wolfe’s Lair was Scott’s outpost because he is the eldest. By ten bloody minutes, he is your eldest son. Wake up, Papa; Scott has run off. He does not want anything more to do with you or me or the Lair, and now you have a massive outpost that is without a de Wolfe as a commander because you feel that Scott is going to come walking back into our lives someday. I am telling you that he is not, and you let that massive outpost sit there with Kieran to command it while you stick me at a smaller outpost as if it is a consolation in prize for your second-born son. As if I am not a good enough commander to helm the Lair. Oh, hell… do what you want. I am finished speaking to you about this. I am sick of the favoritism you show Scott, as if the rest of us do not matter.”
With that, he shoved away from the table, storming out of the hall, leaving the table sitting in awkward silence. Seated beside his father, Patrick stood up and put a hand on William’s shoulder.
“I will go and speak to him,” he said quietly. “I can calm him.”
William shook his head. “Let him go,” he said. “We have had this conversation too many times. He is correct. He does not understand.”
Patrick was gazing down at his father. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “Nor do I, Papa,” he said. “There is no reason why he should not have command of the Lair. He is more capable than any of us when it comes to command.”
William looked up at his son with pain in his eye. “And I have not given Troy all of my confidence?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not when it comes to that.”
He moved away from the table, following Troy’s path from the hall. As William watched his biggest son head out, James, too, stood up and followed Patrick. Both of them heading out to comfort Troy. William turned to look at Paris, across the table from him.
“Well?” he asked. “Do you think that, too?”
Paris was William’s oldest and dearest friend. They had seen so much in life together, the bonds of which were stronger than blood. Paris was careful in his reply, knowing that whatever he said, William would take to heart.
“I think you spend so much time praying for Scott’s return that you neglect the sons that have not left you,” he said quietly. “I have told you this, William. Scott has made his choice; he has chosen to leave and begin his life again elsewhere. Although I do not blame you for hoping he will return someday, you must not let yourself be consumed by it. It is Scott’s ghost that stands between you and Troy and the rest of your sons, and you are very clear about that. It is painful for Troy to accept.”
William didn’t want to hear the truth but, in hindsight, he knew Paris was correct. He spent a good deal of time anticipating Scott’s return, his prodigal son, and that included having a temporary commander at Wolfe’s Lair. Kieran was his second in command at Castle Questing but ever since Scott’s departure, Kieran had been in command of Wolfe’s Lair. Kieran was there because William couldn’t bear to give the command to another because, in his mind, that would be admitting that Scott was never to return. Therefore, there was truth to what Paris and Patrick and Troy had said – William was holding the Lair for Scott’s return. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that Scott wasn’t coming back.
But he couldn’t give up on a father’s hope.
“Let us get past the settlement of Monteviot and then I will reconsider the situation with the Lair,” William said reluctantly. “The truth is that I do want Troy here because he is the best man for the job, especially if Clan Kerr is unhappy with the fact that we are now in possession of this property. Troy has a relationship with the clan in that they know him and he knows them; if anyone can negotiate a truce, it is Troy.”
Paris lifted his eyebrows at him. “Then mayhap you should tell him that, William. Let the man know you appreciate him.”
William nodded faintly, feeling very badly that his own turmoil with Scott’s grief was clouding his relationship with Troy. “Of course I appreciate him,” he said quietly. “I draw my strength from him. Had he left as well, I am not sure I could have dealt with the pain.”
Paris looked to his right, seeing his own sons sitting there. They weren’t paying attention to the conversation with the older knight, or even Troy’s outburst. Hector and Apollo were in conversation with Kevin and Tobias, sitting across the table from them. They were laughing about something, as they often did. Further down the table were Kieran and Michael, old knights and the best of friends, lost to their own conversation while Case and Corbin, Michael’s two younger sons, were arm wrestling at the end of the table while some of the soldiers took bets.
Paris loved moments like this. He found such satisfaction in seeing his friends with sons of their own, all strong and intelligent young men, the future generation. There was a great deal of pride there. There were other sons, of course – Alec Hage had remained at Berwick with Adonis, Paris’ youngest son, while Patrick and Kevin heeded the call to battle. William had two younger sons, Thomas and Edward, and Kieran had his youngest son, Nathaniel, who was fostering at Northwood and hadn’t come on the battle march. So many young men, all of them ready and willing to continue the fight of their forefathers.
But there was one missing and it was a hole that all of them felt.
Paris understood William’s lament over Scott. Paris lamented the man’s loss, too, but he knew as William did that all men grieve in their own way. They could only hope that Scott would come to his senses at some point and return to the fold. Even with all of the young men, arm wrestling or laughing or eating, it was clear that someone was missing.
And Paris knew that no one felt that loss more than Troy.
Before he could reply to William, however, there was shouting down at the end of the table. Evidently bored with the arm wrestling, Case and Corbin had confiscated the mandolin from the soldier who had been wandering around, singing songs. Case managed to acquire the instrument but Apollo saw it and made a grab for it, yanking it from Case’s grip. When Case tried to take it back, the older and bigger knight shoved him back by the chest.
“Easy, lad,” Apollo said. He was very much like his father, suave and rather full of himself. With his bright red hair and stunning blue eyes, he was quite handsome. He was also an excellent performer. He began to strum the mandolin for all to hear. “Let me give the men some decent entertainment, de Bocage.”
Case was outraged. “I can entertain better than you!”
Apollo grinned slyly. “You cannot carry a tune,” he said. “Let me show you how it is done.”
As Case scowled, grossly offended, Apollo played a few chords and began to sing.
There once was a lady fair;
With silver bells in her hair.
I knew her to have,
A luscious kiss… it drove me mad!
But she denied me… and I was so terribly sad.
He was singing quite dramatically and, at this point, the soldiers around them were listening and cheering him on. They all knew the song and when the chorus came around, they all began to sing at the top of their lungs.
Lily, my girl,
Your flower, I will unfurl
With my cock and a bit of good luck!
Your kiss divine;
I’ll make you mine,
And keep you a-bed for a fuck!
It was a bawdy song, one that had the half-drunk men laughing and cheering. When Apollo started the second verse, which was as lewd as the first, half the room was singing along with him. Paris grinned at his son, who reminded him so much of himself. Apollo was never shy about anything and the men loved him for it.
As Paris turned around to collect his cup, he caught William’s expression. The man was staring into the dregs of his cup as if his mind were a thousand miles away and Paris’ good mood faded. It was hard to show joy when William was so worried about Scott and Troy. It was a terrible burden for a father. It was true that Paris had lost two daughters when Scott and Troy lost their wives, but somehow with their deaths, he was able to reconcile them. They were with God and they were at peace. But with William… one son was lost and the other in turmoil.
There was no peace for his sons.
“Go talk to him, William,” Paris said softly. “Atty and James can only comfort him so far. He needs to hear from you.”
William glanced up at him. “And tell him what?”
“Tell him that once things are settled here, you will be giving him command of the Lair. It is time.”
William gazed at Paris for a moment before simply nodding his head. But there was huge and heavy sorrow in that gesture, something that stabbed at Paris’ heart. There was such finality to it. Without another word, William set his cup aside and stood up, leaving the table and heading from the hall to find his sons. Paris watched him go, his gaze inevitably falling on Audric, who was still sitting at the end of the table, shoving food into his mouth.
But as Paris looked at the priest, his eyes narrowed. It occurred to him that the priest had heard everything that was said, including the discord between William and his sons. When Audric happened to look up from his food and make eye contact with Paris, the older knight took on a menacing expression.
“You heard none of that conversation,” he hissed. “Do you understand me?”
Audric quickly took on a look of both surprise and fear. “Hear what, m’lord?” he asked. “I heard nothin’.”
Paris scooted down the bench, grabbing the priest by the shoulder. It was a biting grip. “And that is the story you will adhere to,” he rumbled. “If I hear that you have been spreading rumors about unrest in the House of de Wolfe, I will cut out your tongue.”
Audric was trying not to cower. “I told ye, I dinna hear anythin’.”
Paris’ eyes narrowed dramatically. “Swear it?”
“I do.”
Paris released the man but he didn’t take his eyes off him. Audric spent the rest of the evening being glared at in a fashion that made him want to run from the hall screaming. It was only pure hunger that made him remain and finish his meal but, after that, he was fairly certain he would brave the dark night simply to make it home to avoid the big knight’s poison stare.
Truth be told, he’d lied. He had, indeed, heard the entire conversation and that told him a great deal about what was happening in the House of de Wolfe, the exact information he’d been hoping to glean. It may be risking his life to repeat it, but his superiors would hear about it.
A weakened House of de Wolfe might very well mean strength for the clan who wanted their property back.
*
Out in the darkened baily of Monteviot, William could see his sons lingering near the main gate.
They weren’t hard to miss; three of the biggest men in the whole of England, and probably Scotland, too. Troy with his impossibly broad shoulders, Patrick with his sheer height and breadth, and James for his soaring height as well. It wasn’t as if William was a short man; he was a few inches over six feet, but his sons had either met that height or, in the cases of Patrick and James, had exceeded it. His boys had never been difficult to pick out in a crowd.
His sons. Men he loved deeply, each for their own special gifts. William felt so guilty that he’d let his longing for Scott overshadow his relationship with them, mostly Troy. Paris had been right; they’d all been right. William knew that but he didn’t know how to overcome it. For the sake of his relationship with his remaining sons, however, he knew that he had to.
As William approached the group, James caught sight of him. Tall, blond, gentle James. Held up a hand to his father in greeting but in the same movement, told his brothers that their father was on the approach because they all turned to look at him. William smiled weakly as he came into the group.
“I came to tell you that Adonis has the men worked up into a frenzy with his songs,” he said to break the ice. “James, he will need you. No one can sing like you can.”
James grinned at his father. “It does not work well when I sing with Apollo,” he said. “He tries to shout over me and eventually we come to blows.”
William began to laugh. “Not always,” he said. “I have heard the two of you do excellent duets.”
James swished a hand at him, a dismissive gesture. “Only when he feels like sharing the attention,” he said. “More often than not, Apollo wants to have all of the attention. I will not fight him for it.”
It was very true. William had to concede the point. “He is too much like his father,” he said. “You know how your Uncle Paris can be. If all eyes are not upon him, then he is not happy.”
“Then it must have made for an interesting experience working side by side with him since you were both young,” Patrick said. “It is a wonder you did not beat him to a bloody pulp at times.”
William lifted his eyebrows. “Who is to say that I did not?” he said. Then, he shrugged his big shoulders. “But beneath all of that pomp and bluster, Paris is the best man I know. He would do anything for those he loves and he is wise beyond measure. Do not tell him I said that.”
The men shook their head. “Never,” Patrick said. Then, he sobered, glancing at his brothers as he spoke. “Talk of Uncle Paris aside, Papa, we were just discussing our departure from Monteviot. I will be returning to Berwick on the morrow and James must return to Wark. Have you decided what you are going to do about the staffing at Monteviot?”
William nodded, looking straight at Troy. “There is no one I would trust more than Troy to man the tower at the moment,” he said. “Troy, the reason I asked you to remain here for a time is not to punish you, lad. It is because I do not believe there is anyone more capable. You know this area and you know the Kerr. If anyone can keep peace here, it is you.”
Troy was looking at his father with a rather guarded gaze. He sighed heavily. “If that is your wish, I will remain. But what about Kale?”
William cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your knights are in charge of Kale at the moment,” he said. “Brodie de Reyne and Cassius de Shera have the command and I am sure they are doing an excellent job. They will be able to manage things until you return.”
Troy had calmed after his outburst in the hall, feeling guilty that he’d yelled at his father but still feeling snubbed in the face of his brother’s absence. Still, he knew his father was only doing as he felt best. Troy knew his father didn’t think him incapable of commanding the Lair; it was simply that he held out hope Scott would return. Aye, Troy understood that even though it didn’t make the situation any more bearable. He still felt overlooked and underappreciated.
“If we are to have trouble with the Kerr at Monteviot, then I want Brodie and Cassius here with me,” he said. “Send Apollo or Tobias to command Kale until we are sure the Kerr will not try to dig us out.”
William nodded, thinking on the shifting of knights to keep his holdings protected. “If that is your wish, then send for them,” he said. “I will go speak with Tobias right now. I am not sure Patrick wants to part with Apollo.”
Patrick, brought into the conversation, lifted his big shoulders. “I would prefer not to because we must remember that if the Kerr are unsettled, it may spread on the border. We may all end up defending our posts against angry clans.”
William mulled over that thought. “It is a distinct possibility. Therefore, pulling Tobias from Northwood may be a smarter move. Uncle Paris has many knights who serve him there, so pulling one knight out of the group will not diminish his strength.”
“Agreed,” said Patrick.
William looked to James at that point. “And you?” he asked. “If the clans go to war along the border because of this, you are prepared to defend your post, are you not?”
James nodded. “I mostly deal with the Gordon and I have an excellent relationship with them,” he said. “I do not expect any trouble, not even if the Kerr go to war.”
Troy shook his head. “You are so amiable, no one would go to battle against you,” he said. “You’ve charmed the Gordon to the point that they look at you as a brother. In fact, if the Kerr went to war against de Wolfe, I am certain the Gordon would protect you. We should all learn a lesson in diplomacy from you, James.”
James smiled at his brother, reaching out to grasp the man affectionately on the shoulder. “That is because a man can gain his wants better with honey than with a blade,” he said. “I am not fond of confrontation, as you well know. Sometimes you must give a little in order to receive, and as the new commander of Monteviot, you would do well to remember that.”
Troy frowned. “There is nothing I can give other than my sword to a Scot’s belly,” he said. “But something just occurred to me.”
“What?” James asked.”
Troy looked around the bailey, torn up by the battle. “Rule Water Castle is called Wolfe’s Lair, Kale Water Castle is called Wolfe’s Den, Wark Castle is called Wolfe’s Eye, and Atty’s castle at Berwick is called Wolfe’s Teeth. I wonder what name the Scots will give to Monteviot now that it belongs to the House of de Wolfe?”
William simply shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, as James answered. “Remember when our brother, Thomas, spoke of naming his future command the Wolfe’s Arse?” he asked. “Mayhap this is the one. It is in the arse-end of Scotland, after all. Mayhap it is Monteviot who will shite upon the enemy as the Wolfe’s Arse.”
The four of them chuckled, but it was William who spoke. “Nay,” he said. “This place is not the hindquarters of a beast. In fact, it will cement us deep into this border land, creating a trio of castles that will ward off any Scots’ incursion. If it must be known as something, I’d prefer to call it the Wolfe’s Shield. The last line of defense between England and the Scots.”
It was appropriate. Monteviot Tower became Wolfe’s Shield and as Troy looked around, he wasn’t so opposed to remaining. It would be a volatile place until things settled down, and he was a knight. He needed to be where the action was. More and more, he was becoming resigned to his father stationing him there. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
“The Shield it is,” he said quietly. “Papa, if you wish to discuss the organization of the outpost, then I am ready. I am assuming most everyone will be leaving, along with Atty, on the morrow?”
William nodded. “There is no longer any reason for the armies to remain and they are anxious to return, I am sure,” he said. “However, you mentioned leaving two hundred men from Kale here and asked me to leave one hundred from Questing. I will be happy to do that. And you will call forth de Reyne and de Shera from Kale to come to Monteviot?”
“I shall.”
“Then we can do no more. It will be crowded here, however. Do you have enough supplies?”
Troy shrugged. “I can take all you can send me. I shall have Brodie and Cassius bring provisions with them, but anything you can send me from Questing would be a blessing. You can also send me those men you promised to repair the tower. I would like to repair it as soon as possible.”
It seemed there wasn’t much more to say about the fortification of Monteviot, so James and Patrick excused themselves, returning to the hall so that William and Troy could iron out the smaller details. It was also a chance for them to mend any hurt feelings from their earlier tussle. Once James and Patrick were out of earshot, William spoke to Troy.
“When Monteviot is settled, I will send Edward here,” he said, speaking of his twenty-two-year-old son, his third youngest child in fact, who served at Wolfe’s Lair along with Kieran. When Kieran brought the army to Monteviot, he’d left Edward in command of the mighty Lair. “Edward has learned a great deal serving with Kieran and I believe he will be ready for command.”
Troy agreed; Edward was level-headed and steady, like the rest of them, in spite of his youth. “It will be a good first command for him,” he said. “I have every confidence that he will do well here.”
William nodded; he was looking at his feet as if considering other issues, other things. “When Edward comes to Monteviot, I will pull Kieran out of Wolfe’s Lair,” he said after a moment. “I find that I need him with me at Questing. I am getting old, Troy. I do not wish to bear the burden of my empire alone and Kieran is a great help to me.”
Troy looked at him. “That will leave the Lair without a commander.”
William shook his head, lifting it to look at him. “It will not,” he said softly. “I will put you in command of it.”
Troy stared at him a moment; there was disbelief and wariness in his eyes. “What about Scott?” he asked. “We just had this discussion. You said that it is Scott’s command.”
William’s features washed with sadness. “You are correct,” he said. “He has been gone these two years. Mayhap, he is never coming back. I should not wait for him so. He has made his choice but I suppose I simply do not wish to acknowledge it and removing him as commander of the Lair… in doing so, I am admitting my son is never coming home. That is the same as him being dead, Troy. I do not wish for your brother to be dead.”
Troy felt his father’s agony like a stab to the gut. Now, he felt so terribly guilty for being angry about what he perceived as a slight against him. Deep down, he supposed he always knew that his father loved him as equally as his brother, but the past two years had seen tumult for them all. They had all lived through so much emotion, making it difficult to remain steady over such matters. He sighed heavily.
“I am sorry I became angry with you, Papa,” he said. “I do not want Scott to be dead, either. He is my brother, the person I know best in this world. When he left, I lost a part of me. I had lost my wife; I did not need to lose my brother, too.”
William put a hand on his arm. “I know,” he murmured. “It has been so very hard on you. Scott ran to escape and you remained to take the brunt of it. I cannot tell you how much I admire your strength in all things, Troy. You are stronger than I could ever be in such matters.”
Troy looked at his father, the man he loved most. He had been the most patient, loving, and gracious father a man could have ever hoped for and Troy considered himself extremely blessed. His anger towards William dissolved away until all that was left were the remnants of guilt for having become so angry in the first place.
“I am not strong,” he said. “I simply did what needed to be done. Running from grief does not make it go away.”
William shook his head. “It does not, but it was easier for Scott to do what he did. You must not judge him for it. We all do what we need in order to survive, and he did what he needed to do. I still believe he will return. I cannot stomach the alternative.”
Troy wasn’t going to contradict him. Whether or not he believed that his brother would return someday was inconsequential; it was what his father believed that mattered. He wouldn’t destroy the man’s hope. He put his arm around his father’s neck and pulled him close.
“For your sake, I hope he does,” he whispered, giving him a hug. “And forgive me for being angry about it, but I am angry with him for leaving. I have been ever since that terrible day, but that is my cross to bear.”
William understood. He cupped his son’s face and kissed his cheek before releasing him. “Then I pray you find peace with it someday,” he said. “Scott did not leave because he did not love you, Troy. His leaving had nothing to do with you.”
They hadn’t spoken so openly and calmly about the subject in a very long time and Troy simply shrugged. “He left me behind to bear this burden of grief alone,” he said. “Mayhap, he did not think on it that way, but that was the end result. He left me alone.”
William suspected that was what Troy felt. When a twin departed, leaving the other twin, it was literally as if the man had lost half of himself. It had always been Scott and Troy, since birth, the two of them always together as if they were shadows of one another. The loss of one’s shadow was a difficult thing to reconcile. He patted his son on the cheek.
“You are not alone, lad,” he assured him. “You are never alone. You have me and Atty and James and Edward and Thomas. You even have your mother. How you think you could be alone with that brood, I will never know.”
There was a gleam of mirth in his eye as he spoke and Troy smiled weakly. “It does become crowded at times,” he admitted.
William moved softly and took him by the arm, pulling him back towards the hall. “That is true, but I would not have it any other way,” he said. “Now, come inside and finish your meal. Enjoy this night before everyone leaves and you really are alone. You deserve this night, Troy. It belongs to you.”
Troy let his father drag him back into the hall without much resistance. Truth be told, he was looking forward to more of that bitter wine and, perhaps, losing himself in a few hours of much-needed sleep. But for tonight, Monteviot was secure and, for a few brief and blissful hours, Troy would find peace. Peace was essential because one never knew what the morrow would bring.
That rang doubly true at Monteviot Tower, in the heart of enemy territory.