PROLOGUE
Castle Questing
1255 A.D.
He saw him coming.
William de Wolfe, the greatest English knight on the Scottish border, was all-seeing and all-knowing when it came to matters of northern England. He had the pulse of the politics and the players but, unfortunately, he had missed something occurring within his very own family. He was still kicking himself because of it.
The truth was that his sons were becoming young men.
Young men with the natural needs of young men.
His twins, Scott and Troy, had just turned twenty-one years of age and their brother, Patrick, was fourteen months younger and a full-fledged knight. All of them were back with their father at his seat of Castle Questing after having spent years training at Kenilworth Castle, Norham Castle, and then Bamburgh Castle when the lord of Bamburgh lost several men to an illness. It was only temporary, but it had been good experience. Now, they were some of the most highly trained knights in all of England, a tribute to their magnificent father.
The rest of his sons – James, Edward, and Thomas were in various stages of training. All of them growing up, all of them turning an eye to young women.
And one son in particular, he had just found out, had done more than simply turn an eye.
Now, there was trouble.
“Papa!” Patrick de Wolfe was in the doorway of his solar. The tallest man in the family at several inches over six feet, he’d reached that height at an early age and was still growing. “Uncle Paris is here!”
William was calm, watching his oldest and dearest friend, Paris de Norville, ride in through the massive Castle Questing interior gatehouse astride a fat, gray war horse. A few of Paris’ soldiers followed, but they remained back by the gatehouse in an uncertain bunch. They didn’t follow their liege towards the keep.
There was a reason for that.
“I know,” William said steadily.
Scott, the first-born twin, was suddenly in the doorway next to Patrick. “Papa?” he said, sounding anxious. “Did Atty tell you?”
Atty was what the family called Patrick, a childhood nickname for the little boy who couldn’t pronounce his name correctly.
William nodded.
“He did,” he said. “I can see him from here.”
Patrick and Scott looked at each other, trying not to appear too panic-stricken.
“Papa,” Scott hissed. “He’s here. You know why!”
William turned to his sons. “You will keep your apprehension under control,” he commanded quietly. “Seasoned men do not let their emotions show. You know this.”
Scott was trying not to, but he was an emotional man to begin with. “I do not think you understand the seriousness of the situation,” he said. “We have tried to explain it to you. Troy has explained it to you. You know why Uncle Paris is here and yet, you stand there calmly? I do not understand.”
“What would you have me do?” William asked, looking between them. “Run out there and beg for mercy? Better still, draw my sword against him? He has every right to come here and you both know it. I understand the seriousness of the situation fully. But we will discuss this calmly, like men. There will be no bloodshed this day and most especially not between Paris and Troy.”
He meant what he said even if Scott and Patrick didn’t look convinced. He returned his attention to the bailey, completely calm until he caught movement. His son, Troy, was making his way out into the bailey, dressed for battle. The man was armed to the teeth, everything dark and deadly reflecting the light as he walked.
So much for composure.
William bolted.
He pushed in between Patrick and Scott, charging towards the entry of Castle Questing’s massive keep. He’d nearly reached the door when his second in command, and another old and dear friend, came off the stairwell.
“Paris is here,” Kieran Hage said grimly. “He just came through the gatehouse.”
William threw open the door. “I know,” he said. “Worse still, Troy knows. Come, Kieran. I will need your help.”
Kieran didn’t hesitate. A massive man with dark blond hair and dark brown eyes, he was William’s right hand at Castle Questing. Kieran and William and Paris had known each other since they had been squires and they’d bonded over adventures, misadventures, and everything in between. There were no bonds stronger in England, so much so that William, Kieran, and Paris had married three women who were cousins. Now, they were family and those family bonds were unbreakable.
But those bonds were about to be tested.
William knew that. God help him, he did. Kieran knew it, too. Unfortunately, they’d been so focused on Paris and Troy that they didn’t notice they’d lost Scott and Patrick. The brothers had run off to collect their own armor and weapons, determined to protect Troy against what would surely be a battle to the death.
For certain, Paris was mad enough to kill.
No one really blamed him.
Troy was standing at the base of the steps leading from Castle Questing’s keep. It was a temperate day in late May, still moderate and lovely, before the warmer days of summer would come. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky overhead, the deep blue expanse alluding to the fact that it could have been a glorious day.
Could have been.
But at the moment, it was a very uncertain one.
William barked at his son.
“Troy,” he snapped quietly. “Back away. Go and stand by the entry door.”
Troy turned to his father. Dark and handsome, he wasn’t as tall as William was, but he was powerfully built. Even at his young age, he showed skill well beyond his years. He’d also inherited an innate Scots rage from his mother’s side of the family, a woman born and bred in Scotland, because he was faster to temper than almost anyone William knew. He wasn’t afraid to act on that rage.
And that was William’s fear.
“I will not,” Troy said. “This is my battle, Papa. Kindly stay out of it.”
William shook his head. “I cannot and you know it,” he said quietly. “Let me speak with your Uncle Paris first before this gets out of hand.”
“It is already out of hand.”
“Please, Troy,” William begged softly. “Stay here with Kieran. Just… humor me. Please.”
Troy wasn’t pleased. “Papa, you are not involved in this,” he said. “I did what I did and I shall face it. Alone.”
William cocked an eyebrow at his stubborn son. “You involved me when you came home and confessed everything to me,” he said. “You pulled me into this, so do not tell me I am not involved. You are my son. I will always be involved in anything that affects your well-being.”
Troy stiffened, preparing for a fight with his father now, but Kieran put himself between William and Troy in an attempt to defuse the situation. Big, gentle Kieran was dearly loved by all of the de Wolfe and Hage and de Norville children, a man who was supremely patient and supremely wise. William could hear Kieran’s soft, deep voice speaking steadily to Troy as he headed off in Paris’ direction.
Paris, too, had come dressed for battle. He was wearing all of his mail and plate protection, with weapons strapped all over his body. Paris was a big man, muscular and agile, and he had been at William’s side in many a battle. William trusted him with his life and he had, too many times to count. William knew very well what the man was capable of. As Paris dismounted his war horse, William went to meet him.