All he’d been able to say was that it had been an angel of mercy.
And it had.
War was preoccupied as he and his men entered William’s lavish solar, the one with hide rugs and a hearth that could fit six men in it comfortably. He pretended to be interested in what de Wolfe said, but the truth was that he was reeling with surprise to have seen his angel of mercy in the bailey of Castle Questing when he was positive he’d never see her again. She was Scots, after all. She should be back in Scotland with her kin, the same kin who had attacked Etal.
But she wasn’t.
She was here.
And, oh so beautiful.
The lass had hair that glimmered like the metal forged by the blacksmiths– red and gold, shimmering with liquid light. She had skin like cream and big, wide eyes. A fine beauty if ever there was one, even more beautiful in the sunlight. Standing there in a fine but simple yellow garment, she’d been positively radiant.
He wanted to know why she was here.
WhowasAnnaleigh?
But in the same breath, he was struck by the fact that he was in the same room with the man who impregnated his mother, the man who made his birth possible. He was technically his father by blood and his fascination with William de Wolfe was stronger, at the moment, than his fascination with Annaleigh.
He had a powerful need to know the man his mother had been so in love with.
The man whose blood flowed through his veins.
“You offered to introduce me to the warlords in this area and I am greatly appreciative, but I’m curious,” he said to William. “You’ve kept peace along the border for many years, so surely you have some Scottish allies in all of this. I heard that was the reason you abstained from the battle between Etal Castle and Clan Scott those months ago.”
William nodded, bringing him a cup of wine. “My wife is a Scott,” he said. “Kieran’s wife is also a Scott. My ties to Clan Scott go back to the day I married my wife, so when they had trouble with Etal, I had no choice but to abstain. I was sorry to hear you were injured in the battle.”
War sipped at his wine. “It was my own fault,” he said. “I’d been at Bamburgh barely a month when we went to Etal and I suppose I was trying to establish my dominance.”
“What happened?”
War rolled his eyes. “Something very stupid,” he said. “I followed a group of Scots I felt were commanding the Scottishtroops into a glen by the river’s edge. I was caught off guard by a pike.”
William grunted. “The Scots do not fight like the English do,” he said. “That is the first thing you must learn about them. I realize you are Blackchurch trained, but Blackchurch doesn’t teach you how the Scots think. They’ll do anything they can to win a battle, including trickery and underhanded tactics. We’ve all learned that one way or the other.”
War took another sip of wine. “Blackchurch does indeed teach about underhanded tactics,” he said. “However, this was simply my own arrogance.”
“You got in your own way, did you?”
War laughed softly. “I did,” he said. “We’ve all done it.”
“We surely have.”
War looked at William. “I’m curious– if you are so strongly allied with Clan Scott, how do you pick and choose your battles here on the borders?”
William shrugged. “Anything that involves Clan Scott against other Scots usually involves me,” he said. “Anything that involves them against other English does not involve me.”
“Including Etal.”
“Including them.”
“They were not happy that you did not side with them.”
“I know. And I do not care. They need me far more than I need them.”
War grinned. “I hope to have that same attitude myself when it comes to Bamburgh,” he said. “Everyone needs me far more than I need them.”
“Everyone is watching Bamburgh now that they know War Herringthorpe is in command,” Kieran spoke up, watching War’s smile grow. “Where are you from, Herringthorpe?”
