Bonus Chapters from ShadowWolfe, Book 4 in the de Wolfe Pack Series
(Hero is Scott de Wolfe, twin brother of Troy de Wolfe)
*
CHAPTER TWO
Four months later
They stood in a great cluster on the rise of a gentle, green hill, the sun behind them setting low in the red sky. Their black silhouettes were strong against the muted dusk, men clad in armor and seated on magnificent warhorses. Somewhere, a night bird sang softly upon the damp evening breeze, giving the twilight a gentle feel though the warriors on the hill told of a different story. There was a strained anticipation this night, as thick as the summer humidity, as the knights gazed upon the fertile valley below.
“You are quite sure they know of our arrival?” one knight mumbled. He sounded confused. “They do not look prepared in the least.”
The question was directed at a knight lodged slightly forward from the rest. He sat atop his great chestnut charger, his gaze perhaps more focused than the others. “Indeed, they are quite aware.” He was a big knight, with blue eyes and skin that had been pocked by eruptions in his youth. Even though there was a gentleness to his manner, and a soft voice that was low and deep, he was not the sort of man one would care to tangle with. He, perhaps more than any of them, could be quite formidable when aroused. “Fear not, my brave comrades. I sent word ahead myself. Castle Canaan is, indeed, expecting us.”
“But you recall what du Rennic’s knights said, Stewart,” another knight said to him; the knight was a long-limbed man with luscious auburn hair concealed beneath his helm. “They threatened our lives if they ever saw us again and I, for one, do not feel like entering the enemy’s den this night.”
Sir Stewart Longbow shook his blonde head patiently. “They were merely expressing their anguish at du Rennic’s passing, Milo. You know as well as I that the threats were empty. Moreover, they have no choice. Our liege has been ordered to assume control of Castle Canaan and that is exactly what we shall do.” He sighed faintly, perhaps with a measure of trepidation. “Castle Canaan is without her illustrious lord. She is vulnerable in every aspect. To have her without du Rennic at the helm is to leave the entire Fawcett Vale vulnerable because Canaan controls the road from Carlisle to Kendal. She is far too valuable to leave alone and well they know it.”
Sir Milo Auclair scratched his dirty hair beneath the helm. He wasn’t going to argue with Stewart, for the man was supremely wise and calm in matters as complex as this one threatened to become. But all of the knights were understandably wary. Since Nathaniel du Rennic’s death back in December, the lord’s men had made no bones about their grief and fury. And this evening, in what should have been a simple matter of being welcomed into an ally’s stronghold, threatened to start up another war altogether.
They were being kept outside, waiting like beggars.
The knights of Scott de Wolfe’s stable were lost to their own thoughts, anticipating the battle to come. They wouldn’t turn away and they wouldn’t be kept waiting. Frankly, they didn’t like the idea of a fight simply to gain entry. Stewart started to say something to them, words of encouragement or reproach perhaps, but his attention was diverted by a vision in his periphery. The knights, sensing his distraction, turned their full focus to the sound and sight of pounding hooves.
There wasn’t one man there who did not feel a distinct twinge of pride and, perhaps, consternation. A shadow, outlined by the setting sun, came down from a higher rise where it had been perched among a cluster of oak trees. The charger itself was larger than anything known to man; a Belgian steed of such enormous strength and temper that the beast had not one bit in its mouth, but two for maximum control. Its hooves alone were the size of a man’s head as they pounded the sweet English earth. Silver in color, its mane and tail had been shortened to bristly nubs to make it less vulnerable to attack in the heat of battle. And each man would swear, when the horse looked at them, that there was blood in its eye.
It was a horse bred to kill.
But the horse was nothing in comparison to the master astride it. A man this size would have to have a massive horse in order to support both his mass and weight in full armor. A sword as long as a woman was tall hung down his left leg, the hilt set with semi-precious stones, and the hand that rested upon it was the size of a small boulder. Effortlessly, he rode the Belgian stallion, the menacing horse as gentle as a kitten under its master’s guidance, for everything about the man reeked of intimidation and power. Wickedly, his armor gleamed red in the setting sun as he approached the assemblage of knights and the men. They focused on him as if they were eager and adoring children, awaiting his words.
“I see no welcoming party from Castle Canaan, Stewart,” the massive knight rumbled. His voice was so low that his words came out a growl. “Is it possible that they did not receive your missive?”
Stewart did not seem intimidated by the man in the least. He was quite calm when he spoke. “Possible, my lord, but doubtful. They are simply being obstinate, I fear.”
Scott de Wolfe’s helmed head turned in the direction of the enormous castle, surrounded by a moat fed by a stream that was, in truth, a small lake. It would be no small feat to breach her. Castle Canaan was a magnificent fortress built to withstand a siege and de Wolfe did not relish the thought of having to burn it to the ground should du Rennic’s men prove difficult. He was only here on the king’s orders, after all. It wasn’t as if he had a choice in this, either. A massive mailed hand came up and raised the three-point visor as if to gain a better, unobstructed view.
“The drawbridge in the southern gatehouse is down but the portcullis is in place,” he observed. “What of the northern gatehouse?”
“It is sealed tightly, my lord. The bridge is not down.”
“Then this is a paradox, wouldn’t you say?”
He was addressing Stewart, as was usual. Although his men greatly respected him, it was not a habit for him to address them personally. All communications usually came through Longbow. It has always been thus, very formal and with strict protocol.
“They are inviting us, yet not inviting us,” Stewart responded. “We may cross their bridge, but we may not enter the castle.”
Scott’s hazel eyes were deep and intense. They had a way of shielding his true thoughts, a talent that worked well in his profession. But his granite-jawed face was anything but unreadable; he always looked hard no matter what he was feeling and had ever since that dark day two years ago when he’d lost half of his family to tragedy. The de Wolfe before the loss was a completely different man from the de Wolfe after it. These days, he was a dark, cold, and unfeeling man. Still, he was not insensitive to the grief of du Rennic’s men but he wouldn’t let them turn his army away.
He’d come with a purpose.
Scott lowered his visor. His men, watching every move their liege made, also lowered any visors that were raised and prepared to move forward. They always mimicked his movements, out of fear or out of obedience it was difficult to determine; de Wolfe never gave an order twice and, sometimes, he never even gave the initial order. He somehow expected his men to read his mind, which they had fortunately become quite adept at doing. He was a man who led by actions far more than by words.
“Then we shall accept their invitation to cross their drawbridge,” he growled. “Tell the men to prepare for a skirmish should du Rennic’s men attempt anything stupid. Only the knights will mount the bridge. Tell the bulk of the army to encircle the shores of the moat and position the archers. They shall await my orders. If Canaan does not open her gates, then I will let the arrows fly.”
Stewart nodded, motioning for Milo to give the word to the army. When Milo thundered off, Stewart turned to de Wolfe and engaged him in a tactical conversation and the three remaining knights, who had thus far remained silent, turned to one other. Huddled in a small group behind the more powerful players, they were the junior members of de Wolfe’s knight corps.
“You know du Rennic’s men, Jean,” the knight on the left said to the knight in the middle. “You have fought closely with a few of them, have you not? Do you really believe they will resist?”
Sir Jean-Pierre du Bois shook his head sadly, his dark brown eyes focused on the distant gray-stoned fortress. He was young and from a good Norman family that was old friends of the House of de Wolfe. “’Tis hard to say,” he said. “They are good men and extremely loyal to him. His death affected them tremendously.”
The man to his right snorted rudely, a big, burly knight with unruly dark hair that tended to remind one of a nest for birds. “They would be fools,” Sir Stanley Moncrief rumbled. “De Wolfe will tear the fortress down around their ears and leave their carcasses for the birds.”
The first knight who had spoken felt the back of his neck tingle. It always tingled when there was a fight in the air and Sir Raymond Montgomery didn’t like the sensation one bit.
“They cannot blame de Wolfe for du Rennic’s death,” he said. “They’re fighting men; they know better than anyone of the perils of battle.”
Moncrief shook his head again. He scratched his torso, chasing the fleas in his woolen undergarments even deeper into his skin. “But du Rennic did not die in battle,” he mumbled what they already knew. “He was assassinated.”
Jean-Pierre nodded sadly. “And they believe de Wolfe is responsible.”
“He is not responsible,” Moncrief insisted. “There was nothing he could do about it.”
Jean Pierre nodded his head again in agreement as he noticed that Scott and Stewart had concluded their conversation and Auclair was returning to the group. The army was preparing to mobilize and there was a sense of determination in the air, the kind of conviction that was always present before a battle.
“Nay, he is not responsible,” he said quietly, gathering his reins. “But they know that the arrow du Rennic took was meant for de Wolfe himself. In a sense, that makes him responsible more than most.”
“Du Rennic happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Stanley hissed, lowering his voice as Milo came near. “De Wolfe had nothing to do with that.”
The conversation died as the army moved forward. The sun continued to set, casting the landscape of Cumbria into a cluster of shadows and torches and a fortress preparing for a siege.
*
“Christ, here he comes. Now what?”
It was an expectant question. Five men stood in the dark tunnel leading from the portcullis to the bailey, a thick-walled corridor carved into the massive walls of Castle Canaan. Smoke was heavy in the air, the result of sooty torches burning in the passage. Soldiers stood about, waiting for orders, as a legion of troops filled the ramparts above. The smell of a battle was in the air as de Wolfe’s army approached from the west.
The knight who asked the question faced the four men surrounding him, all of the men dressed to the hilt in armor and weapons. Their faces were lined with fatigue, their battle-hardened expressions piercing. It was obvious that a decision had to be made, but none seemed willing to make it.
“Well?” the knight demanded again. “What are we going to do? Do we stand against de Wolfe or do we let him in?”
A tall, muscular knight with well-coifed dark hair crossed his thick arms. Sir Kristoph Barclay was older than his comrades, moderately intelligent, and soft spoken. But he was a true follower rather than a leader. He didn’t want the responsibility of making a bad decision.
“It’s your choice, Jeremy,” he said. “As our lady’s brother, I would say it falls upon you and your father to make the decision. And we will abide by any choice you make.”
Sir Jeremy Huntley glanced at the man by his side. Sir Gordon Huntley was an older version of his son, somewhat folded by age but nonetheless possessing the same indomitable strength and will. The two men gazed at each other with the same-colored eyes, a deep blue, and it was not difficult to read their thoughts. Jeremy, a strikingly handsome man with thick dark hair and enormously wide shoulders, cocked an eyebrow at his father.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you say, Da?”
Gordon was a wise man. He could outfight or outfox any man alive, even in his advanced years, and was greatly respected for his abilities. So great were his engineering skills that he had built the catapults and the special, double-strung crossbows used by the army of Castle Canaan and copied by nearly half of the troops in Northern England. Which was why Jeremy, as hot-tempered as he could be, was unwilling to make an arbitrary decision without his father’s approval. The man was supremely intelligent.
Gordon scratched his white beard, then his crotch as he fumbled for a reply. “You are all well aware of my opinion on this,” he mumbled. “I’ve never made any secret of it.”
Jeremy glanced sidelong at the others. “We know, Da. But the time has come for decisions.”
Gordon shook his head. “We made quite a few threats against de Wolfe.”
The knights nodded and grumbled, but there was no clear reply. Gordon continued. “Scott de Wolfe is a great warrior from a fine family. He is the son of William de Wolfe, for Christ’s sake. If Nathaniel knew how we had shown such disrespect to de Wolfe after his death, he would not be at all pleased.”
A young knight with tightly-curled blonde hair tried to present a brave front. “Lord Nathaniel took the arrow meant for de Wolfe,” he very nearly shouted. “Had we…”
“Had we shown ourselves as honorable knights, we would not be in this predicament now,” Gordon shot back, cutting off the young man’s tirade. He gestured with an upraised hand. “Do you realize the embarrassment we have shown ourselves by denouncing de Wolfe and then showing him such inhospitable behavior at his arrival? The man is our liege. More than that, he is part of the House of de Wolfe and a favorite of the king. We cannot fight him. We cannot deny him his right to claim Castle Canaan.”
Jeremy scratched his head, a half-ashamed gesture, and held up his hand to the curly-haired knight so the lad could not argue. “Enough, George. My father is right. We’ve all known this from the beginning.” He grunted and shook his head. “We have all acted stupidly. Even so, our anger is not appeased.”
Sir George de Vahn kicked dejectedly at the ground but said nothing. Beside him, Sir Adam de Ferrar’s brown eyes focused on his mistress’ brother and father.
“We said quite a few things in anger, Jeremy, there’s no doubt,” Adam said. “De Wolfe has not forgotten. Whether we welcome him with open arms or put up a fight, I suspect our fate will be the same.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked.
“I mean that he is angry with us no matter what we do.” Adam was well-spoken for his youthful years; he looked like an impish little boy but spoke like a man. “If we open wide to him, he could very well pour in here with his men and punish us all for our harsh words and insolent behavior. Should we resist, he’ll punish us anyway.”
Gordon shook his head. “Foolish, young Adam. De Wolfe is not unfair. But we must apologize for our conduct. We were angry and we spoke inappropriately.”
“So we simply turn Castle Canaan over to him?”
“We’ve no choice.”
“I wish that arrow had hit him.”
They all heard George’s grumble. Jeremy, unable to disagree, simply looked away. The pain of Nathaniel’s death was still so fresh that he had not the strength to refute or scold the knight. Adam and Kristoph glanced at Gordon, waiting for his reaction.
The old man could feel the attention. He gave himself a moment of pause before replying.
“George de Vahn, I knew Nathaniel better and longer than anyone. The man was my friend. Our alliance was only strengthened when he married my daughter. If anyone should be incensed by all of this, it should be me.” He reached out, half-grabbing, half-slugging the young knight’s shoulder. “But I will tell you now: behave yourself. Keep your opinions to yourself. De Wolfe will crush you like a bug if you show any resistance and well you know it. Instead, display to our liege some of the integrity and graciousness Nathaniel tried to impart into your thick skull. For him, we owe at least that much.”
It was as close to an encouraging speech as Gordon could come. He wasn’t much for pretty words. The others listened carefully, knowing he was correct. They had shown little honor since Nathaniel’s death with their threats and anger. It wasn’t as if de Wolfe had killed Nathaniel himself, but he might as well have.
“So we let him in,” Kristoph said quietly.
“Aye,” Gordon murmured. “Pray the man is in a forgiving mood.”
“What of Avrielle?”
Jeremy’s question was soft but to the point. They all felt a stab of trepidation at the inquiry, gazing warily at Gordon. Every time they saw Lady du Rennic wandering about like a mute, disconsolate waif, their anger mounted tenfold. Perhaps they would have come to terms with their grief by now if she hadn’t been a constant reminder of their dreadful loss. Even more than their anger towards de Wolfe or their grief for Nathaniel was their tremendous concern for their mistress’ mental state.
“We shall take turns with her,” Gordon said, exhaustion in his voice. “’Tis best if she is watched.”
“He’ll think she’s mad,” Jeremy hissed, raking his hands through his thick hair. “He’ll throw her the vault and lose the key.”
Gordon ignored his son. “She’s not mad,” he said firmly, though unsure if he believed it. “She’s simply dealing with the loss of her husband in her own fashion. She’ll recover, as will we all. Now, take your posts and prepare for de Wolfe’s arrival.”
The knights reluctantly disbursed in anticipation of Baron Bretherdale’s arrival as Gordon continued into the bailey. When he was sure no one was watching, Gordon lifted his eyes beseechingly to the heavens.
“Please, God,” he prayed softly. “Please do not let her show her madness to de Wolfe.”
Behind him, he could hear the portcullis cranking up, the thick, old ropes grating against their tracks. Someone was shouting and the army crowding the bailey began to form ranks. Gordon should have been there to receive Baron Bretherdale and not leave the duty to a group of disgruntled knights but he found, at the moment, that he had more important things on his mind.
Like finding his daughter and preparing her for the worst.
*
“Where is Lady du Rennic?”
Scott’s question went unanswered for the moment. Frankly, he wasn’t astonished by the hostility he was meeting with. The tension, as he had suspected, was palpable, but the blatant animosity was not only unnecessary but foolhardy.
A line of knights stood between him and the keep of Castle Canaan, men he had fought alongside countless times. Men that Nathaniel du Rennic had been extremely proud of, and for good reason; they were excellent, obedient knights. Now, these same men who he had once trusted his life to stood glaring at him as if he were the Devil incarnate. Scott couldn’t decide whether to become angry or laugh. He thought, considering his normally decisive nature, that he was exhibiting extreme patience by not quashing them on the spot. But there was a very good chance his grace would not last into the next hour at this rate.
“Lady du Rennic is heavy with child, my lord,” Gordon finally replied. He had appointed himself the spokesman of the group; he wouldn’t allow any of the others to speak. “She begs forgiveness for not greeting her liege personally.”
Scott’s intense eyes focused on the old man. His gaze could be so piercing at times it seemed like he was looking straight through a man’s soul. Gordon felt the harshness of the stare, as if shards of glass were pricking into his brain.
“You did not answer my question,” Scott rumbled. “Where is she?”
“Inside the keep, my lord,” Gordon said steadily.
“I would speak to her.”
He would swear until the day he died that the knights of Castle Canaan puffed up at that very moment as if preparing to defend their mistress against something of unspeakable horror. Gordon struggled not to appear nervous or defensive himself. Lady du Rennic, after all, was his daughter and it was his duty, more than any of the others, to protect her. He remained restrained and calm.
“If I may, my lord, suggest that now would not be a good time,” the old man said. He didn’t like this whole damned situation, torn between hostilities and emotions he would rather have done without. “She is not feeling well and I fear your presence might affect her physical and mental state.”
Scott didn’t like to be refused. He stared at the old man as he debated whether or not to enforce his demand. He didn’t want to use force, but most certainly he would if he had to, and he would only reason so far. After that, he would let his sword do the talking.
“I am her liege,” he said simply. “I would speak with the wife of Nathaniel, a noble and loyal servant.”
Gordon nodded patiently, putting a hand on his son’s arm as the man huffed and trembled with the rage in his heart. “I understand your position, my lord,” he said patiently. “But you must understand that Lady du Rennic has been through quite a bit over the past few months. She grieves terribly for her husband. Her mental state is weak at the moment and I fear that your presence will only remind her of her loss. It was for you, after all, that Nathaniel sacrificed himself. I would suggest it would be better to wait to speak with her. You may, indeed, carry on business with me and my son in her stead.”
For the first time, Scott looked at Jeremy and was met with an outrageously challenging glare. The man was an extremely powerful knight who had fought well for Scott in the past. He was cunning and skilled, and passionate about his loyalties. But at this moment, Jeremy’s bright blue eyes blazed with bitterness. Scott realized, as he continued to gaze at the man, that he would have to gain control of Jeremy in order to control the troops of Castle Canaan. Even more than the old man, if Jeremy Huntley decided to fight, the army would willingly follow. He was the kindling to a fire that threatened to explode at any moment.
“Huntley,” he rumbled after a moment. “You are a wise, intelligent man.”
Jeremy was cold. “As you have always known me to be, my lord.”
Scott crossed his arms, limbs the size of tree branches. “Then tell me what you think of me.”
It was a wide open, leading question. While the knights of Castle Canaan seemed to falter, unsure of the answer they expected, Jeremy remained steely. Gordon prayed that his son would reply with respect, but perhaps not total honesty. A little white lie at this moment could preserve their lives; an offering of truth could destroy them. He hoped Jeremy could differentiate between the two.
“You are my liege and Baron Bretherdale,” Jeremy finally said. Gordon thought he spoke through clenched teeth. “King Henry gifted you with lands in east Cumbria and Castle Canaan is your subject. What more should I think of you?”
It was a careful answer and Scott appreciated the delicate balance it evoked. Huntley was certainly walking a fine line and they were all aware of the fact. But Scott intended to push him off that line one way or another. “Do you respect me?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Do you believe me to be powerful, just and fair?”
Jeremy hesitated slightly. “Aye, my lord.”
“Then why do you rebel against me?”
Jeremy blinked slowly, pondering. He was not intimidated by de Wolfe, for they had known each other for many years because they had both served the king in several operations for the crown. The fact that Scott was twice his strength didn’t matter in the least, nor did the fact that Scott had a frightening reputation for pulling enemies apart with his bare hands. There was no one in the entire world who could best Scott de Wolfe in hand-to-hand combat, of which Jeremy had no intention of entering into. He’d seen de Wolfe in battle too many times to entertain any thoughts of engaging him and coming out in one piece. It was only purely out of respect for de Wolfe’s higher rank that he carefully sought his answer, and not the fact that Scott could smash him like an ant if provoked.
“Do you wish me to be frank, my lord?”
“Please.”
If he wanted it, then Jeremy would give him what he asked for. Nodding his head, he broke from his harsh, crossed-arm stance and rubbed at his stubbled chin. “Very well,” he said. “Then I shall expect frankness from you as well and shall begin with this question; why have you come here?”
Scott cocked a well-arched brow. “I am clearly not here to answer your petulant questions.”
“Indeed not, my lord, but certain things must be established. I must ask again; why have you come to Castle Canaan?”
On Scott’s left, Stanley Moncrief growled low in his throat. “Insolent bastard,” he said. “You’ve no right to question your liege, Huntley. Answer the damned question!”
Castle Canaan’s knights surged forward. George and Adam flared, half-encouraged by Kristoph who himself was too wise to enter into a melee. Were there to be fighting, he would let the younger men take the first blows, leaving the easier ones for himself.
Gordon, however, threw out an arm to stop his knights from their aggression while also keeping an eye on Jeremy. His son had a temper that could explode with as little as a misdirected expression. His unpredictability was legendary. When Jeremy had been a young squire fostering at Okehampton Castle, his peers and masters alike had referred to him as Sparky, the lad who ignited into a full-blown rage with the slightest spark. And with his size and strength, an uncontrollable temper was not such a good thing.
To make the situation more volatile, de Wolfe’s junior knights flared, huffing and grunting and throwing insults. Moncrief lashed out a bear-sized hand and smacked George on the helm. Jean-Pierre pulled the burly knight back and into the arms of Raymond Montgomery who, unfortunately, had a temper of his own thanks to his Scottish heritage. He and Moncrief told Adam and George in no small detail what they would do to them should a sword fight ensue.
Scott would not bother himself with men who could not control their emotions. Knights were cursing and growling, surging like the tides, but he would allow Longbow and Auclair to deal with the unruly bunch. In the midst of it all, he continued to gaze at Jeremy, remaining focused on the original question.
“I’ve come to protect my lands,” he replied evenly. “Why would you oppose me?”
Because Scott was calm, Jeremy found it very easy to maintain his own control even though the knights were verging on a tantrum. “I do not oppose your need to protect your holdings,” he said. “I oppose your need to take possession of Castle Canaan.”
Scott cocked an eyebrow. “Who said I was here to take possession? I am here because Castle Canaan is strategic.” His emotionless façade flickered and his eyes narrowed curiously. “Did you truly think I was here to take Castle Canaan away from you?”
Jeremy nodded slowly. “She is a fine fortress, my lord. Her liege is deceased. What am I to think when you bring an army and demand entrance? Of course you should want to take her.”
Scott could see where this was leading, realizing that the grief of du Rennic’s passing wasn’t the only thing occupying their minds. They obviously feared for their autonomy in light of an absent liege and he was prudent with his answer.
“You are to think that Castle Canaan is mayhap the most valuable property in all of Cumbria,” he said. “These lands you sit upon are particularly vulnerable as well as valuable; and they are my lands. I occupy Castle Canaan to protect the road between Carlisle and points north to Kendal and, subsequently, the heart of Cumbria. Moreover, you have neighbors who have been thirsting for this property, to secure it for those who oppose the king, and if I am here with my army, they will not dare move against it. I do not do this to confiscate du Rennic’s property or threaten your independence, but to secure stability. Don’t you know me better than that, Huntley?”
It was apparent he did not. Or perhaps he did. In any case, Jeremy’s arrogance seemed to deflate. After a moment, he sighed heavily and scratched his head. “We thought you had come…”
Scott cut him off. “I know what you thought. And you were wrong.”
“I’ve been wrong before, my lord.”
Scott didn’t say anything more. He found he was more irritated than he had been before. Apparently, these men who had fought for him knew very little about him and Scott prided himself on his just reputation. Their distrust was like a slap in the face. Turning away from Jeremy, he growled to Stewart.
“Bring in my troops,” he said. “Station my guards alongside Castle Canaan guards. Double the number along the perimeter and send out scouts to make sure this vale is clear of any potential threats. Although we are not expecting a problem, neighboring warlords know the Canaan is vulnerable with Nathaniel’s death and I would ensure they know that I am occupying it. I want that message to be loud and clear. By sundown, I would have this fortress heavily fortified and my intelligence fed.”
Stewart nodded, issuing orders to the knights loyal to de Wolfe and ignoring the knights of Castle Canaan. As the de Wolfe troops began crossing the drawbridge, bringing about their catapults and weapons decorated in the de Wolfe colors of black and silver, the five knights of Castle Canaan drew it all in with a measure of bewilderment. Whether or not de Wolfe had any intention of occupying Castle Canaan, for all intents and purposes, they were, indeed, subservient to Baron Bretherdale.
“He said he wasn’t here to take over,” Kristoph mumbled, almost to himself. “But look at him; his men are taking charge. They are bringing in their weapons and their troops!”
Jeremy merely cocked an eyebrow at the activity taking place. He didn’t know what else to say for, in truth, he was a bit confused himself. He still didn’t want de Wolfe here, but he supposed for all of their resistance and slander they had been dealt with extremely fairly. He should consider it fortunate that de Wolfe, for once, was in a forgiving mood. Turning on his heel, he headed for the bailey.
“Keep an eye on them, Barclay,” he told Kristoph. “Report to me after you have a grasp of their movements.”
Kristoph nodded silently. George and Adam made themselves scarce, moving to the ramparts to evaluate the movements of the incoming army and secretly wondering what the days of de Wolfe’s occupation would bring. From the events in the bailey, it would apparently not be a temporary or peaceful thing.