If her father was already thinking about marriage for her, then perhaps he needed to know.
Better lock down Gar before someone else did.
Margaret de Reyne was horrified when she saw her daughter and heard the story of Percy de Vries and his deliberate actions. She went so far as to send for her husband so he could see the de Vries lad’s handiwork. Reece de Reyne was predictably upset about it, his anger focused on the de Vries son, until Mattie tactically informed him about Gar de Wolfe’s kindness toward her. Surely her injuries would have been much worse had Gar not protected her. Mattie leaned heavily into Gar’s actions, going so far as to mention he’d make some woman a wonderful husband someday.
Perhaps even her.
Mattie was young, that was true, but she wasn’t too young for a betrothal. Even Reese knew that. It hadn’t really been on his mind until de Vries brought it up, but now… now, Mattie had him thinking about it. A de Wolfe husband for his daughter? He couldn’t ask for finer. Gar de Wolfe was Troy de Wolfe’s eldest son with his second wife, the daughter of a clan chief. He had Scots in him, but he was all English. He was a young man with a big future ahead of him.
WhynotGar for his Mattie?
Troy de Wolfe wasn’t in attendance because Gar had come with Patrick de Wolfe, Troy’s younger brother. As soon as Reece returned to the great hall, he started in on Patrick about a betrothal between Gar and Mattie, linking two longtime allies with an unbreakable familial bond. Gar wasn’t Patrick’s son, and he thought he was a little young to be betrothed, but he agreed that the alliance would be beneficial. That was all the ammunition Reece needed to approach Troy, a man considered by most to be someone of little humor and abrasive in manner.
Troy, surprisingly, didn’t think his son was too young for a betrothal, especially when Reese sweetened the deal with alanded title for Gar that had come through Mattie’s mother and a dowry in the thousands.
Before the year was out, Mattie got her wish.
Gar de Wolfe had become her betrothed, which was something she would remember when she came of age and saw Gar again for the first time in twelve years right before their wedding.
Be careful what you wish for.
In this case, it happened to be true.
CHAPTER ONE
Year of Our Lord 1296
Gleann na Fola Castle (Valley of Blood)
“The Debatable Lands,” Scottish Borders
The heavens hadopened up.
Surely, the torrents of rain were indicative of an angry God because there had been nothing but chaos since the storm had rolled in three days ago, right as the battle in the Valley of Blood commenced. The first blow from a sword coincided with the first crash of thunder and then, after that, bedlam reigned.
It was madness.
It was also a blood feud, meant for vengeance. About six months prior, two knights from a castle known as The Keld, seat of the House of de Bourne, had been traveling north on business for their lord when they were captured by men from Clan Maxwell. The Maxwells of Westerkirk were notoriously unfriendly, and suspicious, and they executed the men as spies, which brought the wrath of Ares de Bourne. He was not only the Lord of The Keld, but he was also the Sheriff of Westmorland,and he amassed an army of two thousand and crossed the border on his quest to obliterate the Maxwell of Westerkirk.
Unfortunately for the House of de Wolfe, a few of their properties were in the path of that massive army and the fact that they were allied with de Bourne meant they sided with the man in this feud. That made it difficult because Gar’s grandfather was Red Keith Kerr, allied with some of the Maxwell clans. But this specific clan seemed to be quite rebellious and even their own clansmen weren’t particularly fond of them, so three days ago, about fifteen hundred Scots and nearly four thousand English collided in the aptly named Valley of Blood for a great battle.
The bloodiest valley in Scotland.
That was what they called that particular vale and Gar de Wolfe, in command of Gleann na Fola Castle, which literally meant Valley of Blood in Gaelic, guarded the southern gateway to it. It was located in the desolate area called the Debatable Lands simply because no one was really sure if it truly belonged to the Scots or if it truly belonged to the English. Even so, one thing was for certain—everyone agreed that it was guarded by a man the Scots calledCù fola.
Blood Wolfe.
That name was never more evident than it was at this very moment. Three days of battle, blood, and brutality had left the entire army covered with mud and filth and blood, all of them pouring back into the bailey of Gleann na Fola like a tide of walking dead. The injured were being dragged, carried, or carted back to the castle while the quartermasters organized areas for the wounded and the unwounded, which was no small feat considering how many there were of both.
Everyone needed a place to settle down.
Fortunately, Gar had two quartermasters who were perfection when it came to their craft. One of them, an oldsoldier who had served his grandfather at Castle Questing on the England side of the border, was even his majordomo. Without a chatelaine at this godforsaken castle, it was up to men to do the jobs that women normally did. But Gleann na Fola, a remote and windswept castle, was no place for any woman.
It was hardly a place for men.
But here they were, fighting a war that would hopefully prevent the entire border from blowing up. Wildfires of vengeance and rage could explode quickly, so the hope was that in beating down the Maxwell clan who had recklessly killed two English knights, revenge would be satisfied and there would be no retaliation.
One could hope, anyway.
