“I did, indeed.”
Edmund seemed at peace with the entire circumstance and after twenty-seven years, it had been time enough to reconcile himself to everything. War studied the man, watching his pale face, thinking that his father was a great man, indeed, for what he’d done. He’d never treated War any differently than his brothers. In fact, he’d always favored War. Edmund Herringthorpe had been generous beyond measure with his wife’s bastard and War began to see the man through new eyes. His respect for him, already great, grew by leaps and bounds.
But he still had unanswered questions.
“The man who fathered me,” he said after a moment. “Did he know about me?”
Edmund shook his head. “He never knew your mother was pregnant,” he said. “Your mother never told him so you cannot become angry with the man. I want to make that clear.”
War understood, but he didn’t like the idea of a nameless, faceless man taking advantage of his mother. “But he still bedded her,” he said. “Planting his seed was always a possibility.”
Edmund looked squarely at him. “And you have bedded women before, too,” he said frankly. “Did you ever consider that you might plant your seed, also?”
War cleared his throat softly and averted his gaze. “We are not speaking of me.”
“Nay, we are not, but you have bedded women yourself, so you cannot throw stones,” Edmund said. “Simply because you bed a woman does not mean you disrespected her or took advantage of her. Every couple has a story and there are a million stories between men and women, so you cannot blame this man, War. I have told you that. It is not his fault that your mother never told him she had conceived. I forbid you to become angry or vengeful about this.”
He was growing agitated and War held up a hand to ease him. “I will not become angry or vengeful,” he said. “It’s simply that this is a lot to take in. When I awoke this morning, I was Edmund Herringthorpe’s son. Now I discover that I am not.”
“Youare,” Edmund emphasized. “I have told you that.”
“But not by blood.”
“Nay.”
“Do you know who my father is?”
“I do.”
“Who is he?”
Edmund hesitated. “The man does not know about you, War,” he said. “Even if I were to tell you, what would you do with the information? Confront him and demand to take your place as his son? Or would you curse him for impregnating your mother? I am not certain any good can come out of you knowing who your father is.”
War sighed heavily. “When you die, you take that knowledge with you,” he said, sorrow in his eyes. “I do not know what I will do with the information, but now that you have told me the truth of my birth, something inside of me is desperate to know more. Even if it’s a simple knight who never made anything of himself, I still want to know. It is not fair not to tell me of the man who fathered me. I have a right to know, for my own peace of mind.”
Edmund still wasn’t sure. “Do you swear to me that you will not cause him trouble?”
“I swear.”
“Then know this,” Edmund said softly. “He is a man with a family. He is a great, great man, mayhap one of the greatest men England has ever known. It would not be fair to him for you to disrupt his life over a choice your mother made long ago.”
War’s eyebrows lifted. “A great man?” he said. “Who is it?”
Edmund sighed faintly and closed his eyes, turning away. “I met him once, long ago,” he said. “He was kind to me and he did not even know me.”
“Who, Papa?”
Edmund’s eyes opened and he stared off into the chamber before finally turning to focus on War.
“You will be as great as he is. Greater, mayhap.”
“Who?”
“You are a de Wolfe, lad.”
War gazed at him for a moment before his eyes began to widen. His shock started in his hands and feet, stiffening his entire body until it came to his head. Then, his mouth went slack and his eyes bulged.
His astonishment was overwhelming.
