As he mulled over that very depressing probability, he could see four of his sons moving in his direction. Behind them came a man he didn’t recognize, a Scot in a long tunic, and then behind him came Andreas, Tor, Reed, and Corey. Eight de Wolfe knights and one Scotsman.
Something told him that this was the very Scotsman he’d been waiting for.
He stepped back into his tent to wait.
In a short amount of time, Scott and Troy stepped through, followed by Blayth and Thomas. They faced William as he poured himself a measure of wine before sitting heavily on a cushioned chair. But even that hurt his old body and he winced, trying to get comfortable.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” Scott asked. “Are you in pain?”
William shrugged. “At my age, always,” he said, making light of it. He gazed at the four enormous men facing him, fondness glimmering in his eye. “I miss seeing Atty and Edward with you.”
Atty, or Patrick de Wolfe, was the Earl of Berwick, commander of Berwick Castle, and Edward was an advisor to the king who spent most of his time in London. Patrick was between Scott, Troy, and Blayth in the birth order, the biggest de Wolfe brother who was hell on the field of battle. To the family, he was the gentle giant, but to the enemy, he was the knight no one wanted to face. Edward was a capable knight, but he was, and always had been, the family diplomat.
“Sadly, there was not enough time to wait for Atty to join us all the way from Berwick,” Scott said. “We did send him word on our actions, however. He knows what has happened. And Edward is in London.”
“He does not usually ride to battle,” William said. “He fights more difficult battles, I think. Political intrigue is always the most difficult battle.”
“True,” Scott said. Then, he gestured toward the tent opening. “We’ve brought you a gift, Papa.”
“What?”
“Ean Maxwell.”
William’s eye lit up. “You found him!”
“Aye,” Scott said. “He tried to evade us dressed as a woman, but he was betrayed by one of his own men. He is not particularly happy right now, but we knew you would want to see him.”
William was out of his seat. “See him, aye,” he muttered. “And tell him how unhappyIam about what he’s done. Bring him in.”
Scott nodded to Thomas, who was standing near the tent flap. Thomas stepped out and when he stepped back in, he had a squirming captive in his grip. It was a surprisingly young man with dirty, dark hair and a bloodied face.
Thomas shoved the man down to his knees before William.
“Murtairean Sassenach!” the man yelled. “Marbhaidh mi thu ma gheibh mi cothrom!”
English murderers! I will kill you if I get the chance!
Given that he was married to a woman who fluently spoke the language, and William had been dealing with Scots for more decades than he cared to admit, he knew exactly what the man had said. So did his sons, who looked less than pleased. In fact, Thomas slapped the captive on the back of the head, hard enough for the man to face-plant into the ground. Then, Thomas reached down and yanked him up by the hair.
“Speak more respectfully to the Earl of Warenton,” Thomas hissed.
Now, it was making some sense as to why the young man had a bloodied face. He couldn’t control his mouth and had received the appropriate warnings. William watched him squirm.
“You are Arduil Maxwell’s son?” he asked.
The young man looked at him, pure hate in his eyes. “Aye.”
“Then you are Ean.”
Ean’s response was to spit in William’s direction, which brought a kick to the kidneys from Troy. As Ean went down in agony, William watched him without an inkling of compassion.
“You have been creating havoc,” he said. “You should have realized your defeat when we took your women and children, but still, you tried to fight. Now, your clan is destroyed and you are my prisoner. I will, mayhap, not be so inclined to show mercy, young Ean.”
Ean was gasping as the pain in his back started to subside a little. “That is of no consequence tae me,” he breathed. “Ye’re a Sassenach bastard and I’ll fight ye until I die.”
“That will not come for a long time yet.”
Strangely, that brought Ean pause. He lifted his head, looking at William. “What do ye mean by that?” he said. “Kill me! I demand it!”
