Wolfeheart de wolfe pack.., p.9
WolfeHeart: de Wolfe Pack Generations, page 9
“The Earl of Berwick is speaking to Shand, even now,” Amabella said. “Berwick’s son was just here and we spoke briefly. He knows I sent the missive to Berwick and he knows that Shand did not know about it. He promised to protect me.”
“From Shand?” Savia wiped at her eyes. “The man is a viper. He would have tae be a great knight, indeed, to protect ye from such a man.”
Amabella thought back to the extremely tall and extremely large knight that had so recently been in the chamber. She’d never seen such a big man, with cropped dark hair, a shadow of a beard, and blue eyes that smoldered beneath dark brows. To say the knight was handsome was an understatement; he was far more than that. He was probably ten or twelve years younger than she was, a fine young man in his prime.
In fact, it did her heart good to have such a handsome, noble man pledge to protect her. It satisfied something deep, something kept beaten and buried by years of Roget’s disregard for her.
Was it possible she was worth protecting?
“Ama!” Ambra piped up again, cutting into her daydreams. “Yellow eggs!”
Sighing heavily, Amabella knew when she was beaten. Her youngest would not quiet down until she had her yellow eggs and even though Amabella had promised Sir Markus that she would remain in her chamber and lock the door, he was also aware that she’d already asked permission to get her child something to eat. That was the routine when Ambra awoke from her nap. Amabella knew she could slip out to the kitchens and return before he even realized she had gone.
“Ama?” Aleanor spoke up. “I am hungry, too. Will you bring me something?”
Since her husband saw fit to strip her of servants except for a few kitchen servants and the nurse, it was common that Amabella fetched her children food or did any number of things servants usually did. Living a life of leisure as the Lady of the Manor was something unknown to her, but the truth is she didn’t mind when it came to her children.
“Of course,” she said. “I will bring something for all of you, but you must remain here until I return, please. There are many soldiers out in the bailey and I do not want anyone falling into trouble.”
She meant Alfie, who was over by the hearth building a mighty castle with his sticks in an oddly quiet moment for him. But he wasn’t paying any attention to her, so she turned for the door. The moment she opened it, however, a big figure was coming off of the stairs in front of her. It took her a moment to realize that it was Atlas.
Amabella’s mouth popped open in shock.
“Atlas!” she gasped. Then, she was running at him, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Atlas! You are finally here!”
She hit him so hard that Atlas was in danger of falling back down the stairs. He had to grab the wall for support before righting himself and hugging his mother warmly.
“Ama,” he murmured, giving her a squeeze. “Aye, I’ve come. Did you think I would not?”
Amabella was close to tears as she hugged her first born. The moment was both joyful and surreal. As if she didn’t truly believe he would ever come until this very moment, the young man who would inherit an awesome and turbulent mantle.
She stood back, looking at him in awe.
“Look at you,” she said. “You have grown up since I last saw you. You are so tall!”
Atlas grinned. “I am certain I am taller than Roget.”
He had never been able to call his father anything but his given name. Even now, he spoke of the man as if he were a stranger, someone distant. Amabella put a hand up, gently touching his cheek.
“I know you are.”
Atlas was puffed up proudly as he caught sight of his siblings pouring through the open door. Ambra was first, running towards them, followed by Alfie and finally Aleanor. Ambra ran right to her mother, shy in the presence of her eldest brother whom she had only seen a handful of times since her birth and didn’t really know, but Alfie knew him. He ran straight for Atlas and rammed into his legs.
“Atlas!” he shouted. “Look at me! I am big, too!”
Atlas crouched down beside his little brother, pulling the boy into his embrace. “King Alfie,” he said, affection in his tone. “I expected to see you outside with your horse guard. Do you still have one?”
Alfie allowed Atlas to hug him for about two seconds. After that, he was finished with the greeting and grabbed Atlas’ hand.
“I have a great guard,” he said, tugging. “Come and see them!”
Atlas laughed softly as his brother yanked on him, but Amabella put a hand out to stop Alfie from pulling his brother’s arm from the socket.
“In a moment, Alfie,” she said. “Atlas has only just arrived. Let us go into the solar and speak to him for a few moments. Would you not like to speak with your brother?”
Alfie was still yanking, only this time it was towards the open solar door. “Come inside,” he commanded. “Do you want to play with my sticks? I am building a castle.”
Atlas was still grinning as he allowed himself to be pulled into the chamber with his mother and sisters in tow. Amabella was holding Ambra as Aleanor tucked in behind her, shy from a brother she had hardly seen over the years. Alfie pulled Atlas over to his pile of sticks and forced him to sit.
Amabella simply shook her head.
“Alfie, your brother may not wish to play with your sticks,” she said. “Did you even ask him?”
Alfie looked at Atlas as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “You do want to play, don’t you?”
Atlas lowered himself onto the floor. “Of course I do,” he said, picking up several sticks. “I do not have much of a chance to build at Castle Questing. I am always working.”
Amabella sat down in the chair nearest her boys, propping Ambra on her lap. “You look fine, Atlas,” she said. “They do not work you too hard there, do they?”
Atlas shook his head. “Nay,” he said, focusing on putting a new floor on Alfie’s castle. “I am quite content there. My master, Tobias, says I will be a great knight someday. I will be a tribute to the Abril dynasty.”
He was speaking of Amabella’s family, not the House of de Sauque, in yet another display of his animosity towards his father. Even as a young boy, Atlas treated his father like a stranger, but Roget was to blame for that. He’d never shown much interest in his eldest son.
There was history there, and none of it good.
“You are already a fine tribute to your family,” she said quietly. “We are all very proud of you.”
Atlas carefully laid out small pieces of wood before looking at his mother. “I will bring back the honor that Roget destroyed,” he said. “I have been in the solar below with Berwick and Markus and Shand. I know what Shand has done, Ama. He is as greedy and underhanded as Roget ever was and I have made the decision to send him away from Trastamara.”
Amabella stared at him. “Away? To where?”
“I do not care where he goes, as long as he leaves. I do not want to see him ever again. I have Berwick’s full support in this matter.”
She looked at him in shock. “Shand is going… forever?”
“Forever.”
It was too much for Amabella.
Words she never thought she would hear.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she looked away, struggling to compose herself. Atlas saw this and he quickly stood up, talking Ambra from his mother and handing her over to Savia, who patted Atlas fondly on the cheek. A few whispered words from Atlas to the old nurse had the old woman taking all three children away. As they disappeared, perhaps in search of yellow eggs, Atlas sat down next to his mother and took her hands in his.
He studied the woman for a moment, the mother he loved with all his heart but had never been able to help. As a young boy, that had devasted him, and as a young man, the ache was even deeper. Deeper because he understood the helplessness of his position.
But he was no longer helpless.
“Ama,” he whispered. “You needn’t worry anymore. I am in command now and I promise you will have a good life. I will make sure that you do. I know what Roget did to you. You and I have had conversations about it and I’ve heard what others have said. I am telling you that you will no longer have to bear that shame. I will take care of you from now on.”
Amabella looked at her big, brave son, trying so hard to be a man in a world of older, more seasoned men. He’d grown up so much since she’d last seen him, that was true, but in her eyes, he was still her little boy. She still wanted to protect him from what he would be facing, but she knew that she had to back away and let him take the lead. He was a man now and he’d been well-trained. Moreover, he had the entire House of de Wolfe behind him.
He would succeed.
She had to believe that.
“I know you will,” she said softly, touching his face. “You will do a very good job of it.”
He smiled timidly but he ended up averting his gaze, having a difficult time looking at her.
“One of the first things I intend to do is go to Mordrington and evict Fenella,” he said quietly. “She will be the first shame you no longer have to bear.”
Amabella could see how difficult it had been for him to speak those words, a family shame that was not a secret. Truth be told, she’d stopped caring long ago. She couldn’t stand for Roget to touch her and was relieved when he would run off to Fenella. It had been a small price to pay to keep her husband off of her, but she didn’t need to tell Atlas that. He saw it for what it was – a family shame. He didn’t know that his mother had actually grown comfortable with the arrangement.
She squeezed his hand.
“Fenella has two sons,” she said quietly. “I told you of them. They are not very old; mayhap the same ages as Alfie and Ambra.”
Atlas stiffened. “I do not care,” he said. “They are bastards, mistakes that should have never been born. They are not my brothers, nor will I ever call them that. Fenella can go back wherever she came from and take those two aberrations with her.”
“She is from Clan Hume. You do not want to offend the clan, so be fair when you deal with her.”
Atlas looked at her, then. His brow furrowed. “Fair?” he repeated. “Was Roget fair with you when he took that… that whore to his bed?”
Amabella shushed him. “You will not speak so in my presence,” she scolded softly. “You cannot change the past. All you can do is change the future, and you are already determined to do so. I do not want the name of that woman or her poison entering our world, Atlas. Get rid of her, but be fair about it, and we will speak no more of her. Ever.”
Atlas calmed down a little, knowing his mother was correct. “Agreed,” he said. “But once she is gone, I will station fifty men at Mordrington and send an army of servants to clean it out and scour every piece of it. Then, you may go there whenever you like, secure in the knowledge that the home has no trace of her in it.”
Amabella smiled at him. “You are very thoughtful and I love you for it,” she said. “It was such a lovely house, though I’ve not seen it in years.”
“It will be lovely again,” Atlas said firmly. “All of this will be lovely for you again, Ama. It is what you deserve.”
Amabella kissed him on the cheek, her courageous and protective son. It did her heart good.
“You are already a fine lord,” she said. “But there is one more thing you must attend to.”
“What is that?”
“Your father’s burial. Shand was going to send to St. John’s for the priest. Mayhap you should do that now.”
Atlas nodded, but it was clear that he was not enthusiastic. “If it was up to me, I’d throw his body in the river and let the fish consume him,” he grumbled. But when he saw his mother’s expression, he lifted a hand to her. “I know; that was cruel, but it is how I feel. Short of feeding the fish, what do you want done with him?”
“He can be buried at St. John’s with your grandfather and grandmother.”
Atlas scowled. “You would put him next to people I respect and admire?”
Amabella lifted a dark eyebrow. “As I told Shand, put him next to my father, a man he was happy to see die. Let him spend eternity explaining his actions to him.”
Atlas rather liked that idea. “I will,” he said. Then, he released her hands and stood up. “Now, if you do not require me, I should get about my duties and my first duty is to send Shand on his way. I want that man out of Trastamara this very moment.”
Amabella stood up, studying her son’s serious face. “Be fair,” she said softly. “How you deal with men, even men who have wronged you, will define your command.”
Atlas snorted. “That is the same thing Berwick said.”
“He is correct.”
Atlas nodded as he headed for the door. “I will be fair because it is required of me,” he said, reaching for the door. “But I would truly like to kick that man right in the arse for all he’s done.”
Amabella fought off a grin. “You can still do it,” she said. “Just make sure no one sees you.”
Chuckling, Atlas quit the chamber and quietly shut the door, leaving Amabella to ponder the man her son had become. Up until just a short while ago, she was looking at a future of fear and uncertainty. Now, all she could feel was hope.
Hope and joy.
Everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They were all lined up with their stick horses and leaf banners.
King Alfie was delivering commands.
Markus stood at the gate leading into the kitchen yard, grinning at the sight. While his father was over near the gatehouse speaking with Anson and Damien, Markus was wandering the grounds, looking for any sign of insurrection. He saw Hermes and Shand over near the stables, and young Kieran was with them, which gave him confidence that Shand was being contained for the moment.
Markus could wander, unhindered.
He’d heard a child shouting when he’d neared the kitchen yard, peeking inside the gate to find Alfie and his guard. They weren’t hard to miss. The children had crowns of vines on their heads. In one case, one of the boys was wearing an old bucket with part of it pulled away so he could see, and they all had weapons or shields they’d fashioned out of scraps they’d come across.
The horse guard in all its regalia.
As Markus watched, Alfie drilled his guard – first they went one way in a line and then they’d turn about and go the other way, all in a line. One of the boys tripped, and the two children following him fell over him. It ended up a pile of children in the dirt as Alfie stood over them, hands clasped behind his back, and told them to be more careful. He had a big stick in his hand that he waved around, but he made no attempt to strike anyone.
And then there was the goose.
As the children marched in a line, a fat, white goose followed. When the children moved faster, the goose moved faster. When the children turned around and headed towards the goose, the bird would honk and rush out of the way only to continue honking at the children as it once again attached to the rear of their guard.
The best part came when Alfie would yell at the goose and shake his stick at it, only to have the goose chase Alfie. Poor King Alfie ended up running a lap around the kitchen yard with the nasty goose chasing him. He would finally take a stand and shake his stick at the goose again, who would waddle away and pretend it had business elsewhere.
It was some of the best entertainment Markus had seen in a long while.
He stood there and laughed as Alfie and the goose fought for control of the horse guard. The lap around the yard happened twice and at the end of the second go-around, Alfie caught sight of Markus standing in the open kitchen gate. He came to a halt.
“Sir Knight!” he yelled. “You will join my horse guard!”
Grinning, Markus entered the yard, heading towards Alfie and the gang of children who had come to a halt as the massive knight approached. They cowered somewhat, unused to seeing strange knights.
But Alfie was brave. He pointed to the children behind him.
“You will have a place of honor in my horse guard,” Alfie said. “You will be my champion.”
Markus’ eyes twinkled at him. “You are a king,” he said. “Don’t you already have a champion?”
Alfie looked at a servant boy, perhaps eight or nine years of age, wearing the old bucket on his head. “Just Aldwin,” he said. “You will fight him and the winner will be my champion.”
Markus looked at Aldwin, whose eyes widened to enormous proportions. The terror in the child’s face was evident at the prospect of a fight against a real knight and Markus fought off a smile.
“Sir Aldwin,” he said formally, dipping his head to the boy. “I surrender to you. You may continue to be King Alfie’s champion, for I am certain that you are far greater than I.”
The declaration did nothing to allay the terror on Aldwin’s face. “But I dunna even have a real sword!” he cried.
Markus put his hand over his mouth so the children wouldn’t see him grin. “You will need one as King Alfie’s champion,” he said. “Mayhap I will see about having one made for you. But there should be more than one knight. A king needs many knights.”
Aldwin looked at two other boys near his age, skinny and blond. “Bartram and Manley are knights,” he said, pointing to the pair. “We have taken an oath.”
“Is that so?” Markus said. “What oath is this?”
“All hail King Alfie the Bold. We say those words and we are knights.”
Markus nodded; an oath was an oath, even among servant children, no matter what the words were.
“Alfie the Bold, indeed,” he said. “Make sure you serve him well.”
The three boys nodded eagerly, looking over the enormous knight and a little more comfortable with him now that they had engaged in conversation. They began to study him, looking at the massive broadsword strapped to his leg, the assortment of daggers on his waist, the mail coat he wore that went to his knees, and the leather boots that covered up his feet and calves.
