William grunted. “Hector had better not be an animal if knows what’s good for him.”
“Nor Apollo,” Kieran pointed out. “If he so much as tries to steal a kiss, I’ll take it out on his father.”
Paris couldn’t even rise to the threat. All he could see where a pair of hypocrites. He was about to tell them so, but he just started laughing. They’d accused him of being foolish but, as it turned out, they were just as foolish.
Possibly worse.
The three of them argued and bickered all the way back to the great hall where Paris announced another de Wolfe wedding in the near future. Two months after that glorious and pivotal night, a fat and healthy son was born to Scott and Athena.
Little William de Wolfe had the weight of an entire empire already riding on his tiny shoulders as his grandfathers celebrated the arrival of an heir. Little did they know how close he would come to increasing the de Wolfe empire…
Or breaking it.
Upon Will de Wolfe’s shoulders would come the biggest burden of all.
CHAPTER ONE
Carlisle Castle
1293 A.D.
“Keep your shield up, lad. If you lower it, an enemy will take advantage.”
A little boy of six years was trying desperately to listen to his father as an older boy, with more skill, cracked a wooden sword over the younger boy’s shield. The little boy swung his dull, wooden sword so hard at his opponent that the shield ended up in the dirt. He then launched himself at the older boy, trying to bring him down.
William de Wolfe, known as Will since the day he was born, grinned at his aggressive youngest son.
“Atticus,” he said firmly, moving to pull him off of the other lad. “Enough. You cannot attack a man because he makes you angry. You must always keep your wits about you, else your opponent will take advantage of that and kill you.”
Atticus de Wolfe was so angry that he was starting to cry, but not wanting his father to see tears, he simply wiped at his face furiously, smearing dirt all over his cheeks.
“He does not play fair,” he said, sniffling. “He is taller and he tries to hit me in the head.”
Will put his hands on his hips as he faced the boy. “And you do not think you’ll face taller men in battle?” he asked. “You must learn patience, lad. You must also learn to fight with your mind more than your muscles. I have told you that before.”
Atticus knew that, but he was still eyeing his opponent angrily. His adversary’s family was an old friend of the House of de Wolfe, bred from a long line of knights, and he was fostering with Will at the powerful and prestigious compound of Carlisle Castle. When Will wasn’t looking, Bradford Payton-Forrester stuck his tongue out at Atticus. The boy lashed out a foot and caught Bradford in the shin, sending him howling.
The lesson was over for the day.
Taking Atticus by the hand, Will pulled him away from his nemesis.
“Truly, Atticus,” he scolded softly. “I am ashamed of you. What will Bo and Poppy and Bonny think of your actions?”
He was referring to his own father, Scott de Wolfe, known as Bo, short for Bodach, to his grandchildren. It meant Old Man in Gaelic, something Scott’s Scottish mother had called him upon the birth of his first grandchild, and it had stuck. Will’s three children had Bo and Dearest as their grandparents on their father’s side, a doting grandfather and grandmother if there ever were such a pair. Bonny, of course, was Will’s grandfather on his mother’s side, and Poppy and Matha were his grandparents on his father’s side. They were all still alive and well, so Will’s children – Athena, Andrew, and Atticus – were well-supplied with grandparents and great-grandparents who spoiled them lavishly.
And that was part of the problem.
Atticus, being the youngest of his children, was so incredibly spoiled that the boy had difficulty not having his way in all things.
Like a wooden sword fight.
“Poppy gave me my sword,” Atticus said, holding up the weapon. “He has been teaching me to use it. Why can I not go to foster with Andrew, Papa? I will learn much more if I can foster with him.”
It was a question Will had heard before but he was distracted by shouting on the walls. At Carlisle Castle, perhaps the largest and most fought-over castle on the English-Scottish border, the soldiers on the walls were always vigilant, all night and all day. There was never one moment when they were not stationed atop the red-stoned walls, watching the magnificent greet landscape for any signs that the Scots were back to try and regain the castle.
It was an extraordinarily active castle, but Will had been the garrison commander long enough to know when his men were worried and when they were not. The castle sat right on the edge of the town of Carlisle and the soldiers had evidently sighted a merchant caravan moving along the main road through town, something that had their interest. The castle itself was a mass of concentric walls, berms, moats, gatehouses, and drawbridges, nearly impossible to penetrate. It had become that way because every time the Scots held it, they fortified it, and when the English took it, they fortified it a little more.
There was probably no safer castle in all of England.
Which was why Will kept his family here – at least, his youngest son and his wife, Lily. So far, they had one daughter and two sons, and Lily was current pregnant with their fourth child. Life was good, Will was content, and the truth was that he didn’t want to send Atticus away just yet. Athena and Andrew, his older children, were fostering quite far to the south at Ramsbury Castle, seat of the Duke of Savernake, but he wanted them back in the north where their family was in power, so soon, they would be heading to Bamburgh Castle.
And little Atticus might just go with them.
But not yet.
Will put an enormous hand on Atticus’ head.
“You will go to foster soon enough,” he said. “Don’t you like living here with me and Mama?”
Atticus nodded his little red head. Then, he shook it. “I want to go with Andrew.”
Will shrugged, realizing the lure of a brother was greater than the lure of a father. At least, at the moment. He was about to reply, but Atticus caught sight of a knight coming through the inner gatehouse and he took off running.
“Marcellus!” the boy called. “Marcellus, will you fight me?”
Marcellus de Shera grinned at the eager little boy. Tall and handsome, with auburn hair and flashing green eyes, quiet and obedient Marcellus was a favorite of the women in Carlisle.
“Alas, Master Atticus, I cannot,” he said regretfully.
“Why not?” the child demanded.
Marcellus pointed to Will. “Because your father has entrusted me with duties that I must fulfill,” he said. “Mayhap I will fight you later, before sup.”
Atticus wasn’t too terribly pleased, but he didn’t argue. He saw his nemesis again, walking towards the stable yard because as a page, he also had duties to attend to, and he ran after him.
Will watched him go.
“I am either going to have to send him to foster with his brother so he has someone to play with or I shall have to bring some more children to Carlisle,” he said. “He cannot keep commandeering my knights for playmates.”
Marcellus smiled. “He’s a good lad,” he said. “I really don’t mind. Except when he insists that he win and I must fall to the ground and die a dramatic death.”