“How far out are they?” he asked Kenton.
They had reached the steps that led down to the second level. “Very close,” Kenton replied. “They should be reaching the gates by now.”
“And you are only now telling me?”
“We did not see Norfolk’s colors until a few minutes ago. Until then, we had no idea who they were.”
“Has my father been notified?”
“We sent a man to rouse him.”
Atticus was still agitated that he’d not been notified sooner but he let it go. Kenton would not have deliberately withheld anything from him. Descending the stairs into the freezing cold bailey, icy and shadowed in the early dawn, they made their way to another flight of stairs that led up to the gatehouse and the wall walk where dozens of men were gathered, evidently watching the approaching party.
Atticus had to push his way through men in order to reach the vantage point on the wall where he could see the entire moor spread out before him, facing off to the south. The sun was just peeking over the horizon at the point, reaching golden fingers onto the frozen landscape, illuminating but not warming.
Almost immediately, Atticus could see a group of six heavily armed men approaching the gatehouse, including two well-equipped knights of the highest order. It was then that he grew incredibly suspicious; more than that, he could feel the familiar scent of battle in his nostrils. Whenever he saw heavily armed knights, he couldn’t help it. It was in his blood.
Warenne was standing closer to the gatehouse, right on the edge of the wall walk as the riders drew close to the gatehouse and pulled their agitated mounts to a halt. Steam was rising from the heated horses as Atticus came up behind the young earl.
“Norfolk,” Atticus growled in Warenne’s ear.
The earl nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the men below. “I know,” he said. “You will let me handle this, Atticus. Knowing you as I do, you will be flying off this wall and murdering all six of those men before a word is even spoken. Leave this to me for now.”
Atticus didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. His silence was enough of an agreement for Warenne. Tension as thick as the ice floes in the streams weighed heavily upon the men of Wolfe’s Lair as they gazed down at enemy riders. Theirs was an unwelcome appearance.
“Tell me your business immediately,” Warenne shouted off the wall. “Who has sent you and why have you come?”
Six frozen faces looked up at Warenne and both knights flipped up their visors. The only things revealed were their eyes; their faces were wrapped up in layers of wool against the cold. The biggest knight, however, unwrapped the wool from around his mouth and nose so that he could speak clearly.
“I have come on business on behalf of the Duke of Norfolk,” he said. “I did not expect to see you here, Warenne. What are you doing at a de Wolfe outpost?”
Warenne, who was cool and collected even in the worst circumstances, visibly tensed. He stared at the knight for several long seconds, processing the voice, the words, before the light of recognition finally appeared. His features twisted with disbelief.
“Shaun?” he said, obviously surprised. “What are you doing representing Norfolk?”
Sir Shaun Summerlin grinned ironically at his brother-in-law. “Father and I have been serving Edward for over a year,” he said. “Had you come home at any point in time over the past two years, you would have known this. My sister knows it.”
Warenne was feeling disoriented and sickened at the mention of his wife, Madeleine. “Ihavebeen home,” he said flatly. “Maddie made no mention of such things. If she knew, she would have told me.”
Shaun shook his head. “Not if it meant your ire towards her family,” he said. “If Mad did not tell you, then she did it to protect you and to protect us. She does not like discord, especially between family members.”
Warenne’s mind was reeling with the very real possibility that his beloved wife had withheld vital information from him about something that was quite possibly very important to him and his cause. But he couldn’t dwell on that now; whatever was between him and his wife was his business alone. He would notshout it out for everyone to hear. He struggled to overcome his shock and disappointment.
“It is of little matter,” he said, downplaying the seriousness of Madeleine’s lack of trust in her husband. “What matters now is what your business is here. I would know now.”
Shaun knew that Warenne was off-balance by his appearance but that was of little concern to him at the moment. He gestured to his bulky companion. “You know Rik du Reims, of course,” he said. “His family is East Anglia.”
“I know him.”
“We have ridden a very long way to speak with Solomon de Wolfe. Will you announce us?”
Warenne leaned onto the frozen stone, peering down at his brother-in-law and the man’s noble companion. “I will when you tell me what your business is with him,” he said. “De Wolfe is an old man who buried his eldest son yesterday. Surely you are aware of that, Shaun. Norfolk paid two Northumberland knights to betray all of Northumberland’s knight corps. When Titus tried to stop them, they killed him.”
Summerlin lost some of the confidence in his expression, now replaced by a hint of sorrow. “I had heard of Titus’ death,” he replied. “But those knights tell a different story. They were defending themselves against Titus and killed him in self-defense.”
Warenne turned to look at Atticus and was met by, perhaps, the most steely expression he had ever seen. The Lion of the North was gazing back at him as hard and as unmovable as Warenne had ever seen the man. He was mostly looking to Atticus for a response or a comment on the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death but when he received nothing, he returned his attention to Shaun.
“Be careful how you proceed, Shaun,” he said calmly. “The Lion hears everything you say. If he charges, I cannot stop him.”
