Paris had come off the steps of the keep, fully preparing to run into the midst of the gathering warriors and demand to know what was happening, but he was intercepted by Deinwald and Michael de Bocage.
Michael, a mountain of a man with bright blue eyes, had been Paris’ second-in-command at Northwood for several decades. His eldest son, Tobias, commanded Roxburgh Castle. Paris had a long history with both Michael and Deinwald, but he wasn’t happy with the entire Northwood army being mustered and him not knowing a thing about it.
Deinwald and Michael were able to ease Paris’ irritation by explaining that the army was preparing to destroy a nest of reivers, which was the truth for the most part. No one sought totell Paris more because anything they told him would get back to William, and the man didn’t need to worry about anything other than his own health at the moment.
Therefore, Paris stood and watched, along with two of his oldest friends, as the Northwood army left the great gates in a driving rainstorm and headed out into the landscape beyond. In truth, it was a rather lonely moment for the old knights. None of the younger warriors riding to battle could have known what a sad moment that had been for the three old knights who had been left behind.
Once, it had been the three of them, and several others, riding to battle back in the glory days of William de Wolfe. Now, the army and the battle were ruled by a new generation, for their time had passed. William’s time had passed, as much as anyone hated to admit it.
It was a difficult truth to accept.
It was with that thought that the three of them returned to the keep and went to sit with William as the man lay in bed with a massive bruise on his head. Perhaps in that simple gesture, of sitting with an injured comrade, they were able to find some comfort in their days of glory that had once been.
Old knights never die, went the old saying.They simply fade into legend.
Certainly, these men were legendary.
But Thomas wasn’t thinking of his father or of the old knights who had ridden to battle before him as he headed from the gatehouse. He was focused on what needed to be done, of his coming duty, and as he looked to his left, he could see a line of his brothers riding side by side. The only one not present was Edward, and he was sorely missed. All of them, united in a line, united in brotherhood and solidarity even though this wasn’t their fight.
Nighthawk…
ShadowWolfe…
DarkWolfe…
The Dragon Wolfe…
Nay, it wasn’t their fight. It was Thomas’– but any fight he had became theirs, and Thomas considered himself extremely fortunate to have such brothers.
He very much wanted to be worthy of that bond.
StormWolfe…
As the youngest, directionless de Wolfe brother, he’d had a lot to live up to. He’d done what he’d done, he’d lived his life the way he wanted to live it, and he blamed his lack of interest in women on losing that tiny Welshwoman those years ago. As he pondered those thoughts, he realized he’d blamed his actions on everyone, and everything, other than himself. Now, he had an opportunity to change that, a moment in his life that would define him forever. He was going to do something great and noble with his life by saving children and saving the woman he loved.
Only to be forced to marry someone else.
It was a sobering thought, but it didn’t deter his determination. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to get through his marriage mass to Adelaide, but he would have to force himself. It wasn’t as if he had a choice.
He’d come this far.
Overhead, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed as the army moved to within a mile of Castle Heton. In truth, it was a little over six miles from Northwood Castle, so the army managed to reach the outskirts fairly quickly, just as the morning began to lighten. The storm was still raging, but they had more light to see by as a vast and soggy England lay out before them. That was when Hector and his sons, as well as the Ellsrod knights, put a halt to the army and had them hunker down.
Now, it was time for the de Wolfe men to shine.
“I will wait for your signal,” Hector said to Thomas, helping the man strap a crossbow onto his back. “I’ll wait for your red arrows to fly into the air. When they do, we’ll charge.”
The rain was soaking the men who had just taken off their oiled cloaks, now strapping daggers to their bodies. Those were the only weapons they dared to carry. Thomas took his wolf’s head dagger, the one he’d lost and recovered, and shoved it into a sheath strapped to his thigh. Fastened to the crossbow were two arrows, each one with a bright red flag tied to it.
“If you do not see the arrows within the hour, send Hermes and Atreus to see what is happening,” Thomas said. “Tell those two to keep their heads down. I know how excited they can get. I do not want them giving the armies away.”
Hector looked over at his excitable sons. They were very nearly pawing the ground, eager to get on with the battle. “They have de Norville and de Wolfe blood in them,” he said. “They are perfect warriors, Tommy. They shall perform flawlessly.”
Thomas grinned over at his nephews, who were very disappointed not to be in the advance party to rescue the children and their guardian.
“Spoken like their father,” Thomas said. “But if those two fail, tell them that I will revive the Helm of Shame. Do they know what that is?”
Hector started to laugh. “Of course they do,” he said. “We all do. I will make sure they know that you have threatened them with his heinous thing.”
