War heard the voice behind him, turning to see Alexei walking up behind him with a cup of something steaming in his hand. They were in a garden that was built into the side of the keep, with high walls but a gate that faced the south wall of the great hall. The distance was about twelve feet between the gate and the wall, but the entry doors to the hall were facing into the bailey, so one had to actually walk around to the south side of the hall to see the garden gate.
And that’s what Alexei had done.
War smiled wearily.
“That was my intention,” he said. “I wandered out of the hall and saw the gate. One thing led to another and here I am, in this magnificent garden.”
It was dark, with a sliver moon, but there were enough torches in and around Castle Questing to light up half of London. There were even torches in a garden that wasn’t being used in the dead of night. It was enough light to look around and see the foxgloves and rosemary, lavender and roses, among others. There was even a fishpond.
It was quite the cultivated garden.
“Very nice,” Alexei said, looking around. “But I’ve never known you to be an admirer of flowers.”
War snorted softly. “I am not,” he said. “But it is peaceful here. I am indeed an admirer of peace.”
“For a man that fights as if blood and gore is the very air he breathes, some might find that statement shocking.”
War continued to chuckle. “I realize that,” he said. “But at the moment, I found I needed the tranquility. It helps me think.”
Alexei wasn’t stupid. He knew why. “De Wolfe?” he ventured.
War nodded. “Aye,” he said. “He’s a great man, Alexei. A man to be admired. He has built this spectacular empire all by himself and I keep going back to something my father said.”
“What was that?”
“Essentially, he told me not to ruin anything for de Wolfe.”
“And you feel as if by telling him the truth, it might ruin things?”
War drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. “I am not entirely certain,” he said. “The man has a perfect life. Who am I to ruin it with secrets from his younger days?”
Alexei could see his point. “Possibly,” he said. “But I will repeat what I said to you earlier today. If I had a son, I would want to know.”
“True enough.” War paused, still looking over the garden. “But there is something else.”
“What else?”
War looked at him, a lopsided grin on his face. “It seems that you are my father confessor today,” he said. “I have yet another secret. It is not as earth-shattering as de Wolfe, but a secret nonetheless.”
Alexei looked at him with interest. “Speak.”
“You saw de Wolfe’s wife’s cousin today. The lass with the long, red hair.”
Alexei nodded. “She’s quite lovely.”
War scratched his head and returned his focus to the garden. “When I was wounded at Etal, I was able to crawl off into a hiding place beneath the stump of a tree,” he said. “You know the Scots like to send people through a field in the aftermath of a battle, killing their wounded enemies, and I did not want to suffer that same ignoble fate, so I hid myself as much as I was able.”
“Understandable.”
“Annaleigh found me.”
Alexei’s eyebrows lifted. “She did?” he said, surprised. “And she did not try to kill you?”
“She stitched my wound and saved my life.”
That drew a stronger reaction from Alexei. “So that’s what happened?” he said. “The physic said that whoever tended your wounds saved your life. It was her?”
“It was her.”
