WolfeHeart: de Wolfe Pack Generations, page 16
Markus changed the subject.
“Mayhap,” he said. “Meanwhile, let us return to the subject at hand – sheep and money. There’s something else to consider – orchards. Trastamara used to have a great one, hence the name of The Orchard crossing, but your father let those trees go to waste. Berwick has a small orchard that isn’t half the size of what Trastamara’s used to be and we make a good deal of money from our fruit. I would suggest you revitalize those pear and apple trees because you are literally sitting on a fortune.”
Atlas opened his mouth to reply when the door to the solar suddenly creaked, as if someone were leaning against it. All conversation ceased as they looked to the door, listening to it creak and pop. Atlas was the closest. Lifting a finger to his lips to beg for silence, he quietly made his way to the door, put his hand on the latch, and yanked it open.
Several little bodies fell forth.
Alfie was on the top of the pile, quickly scrambling to his feet. Beneath him, his “knights” were all struggling to stand up. Two out of the three had small wooden swords in their hands, a definite improvement from the sticks they used to wield. They had Markus to thank for that, who had found the castle’s wheelwright and had the man make small, dull swords from scraps of wood.
But that meant they were properly armed.
And determined.
“We’ve come to take over the solar and claim it for me!” Alfie declared. “My knights have come to fight you!”
Atlas started to laugh but Aldwin used the flat side of his sword to smack him right across the groin. As Atlas doubled over, startled and in pain, Aldwin and Alfie and another boy named Manley charged into the solar, prepared to fight.
Markus and Cassius rose from their seats.
“Surely there must be a peaceful solution to this,” Markus said steadily. “We do not need to fight to the death.”
Alfie had bloodlust in his eyes. He pointed at Markus. “You have made us weapons and now we shall use them against you!” he said imperiously. “Give us this chamber. My horse guard needs a place all their own!”
Markus looked at Cassius for his reaction, only to see that the man was trying very hard not to burst into laughter. Seeing his brother’s struggles only made Markus want to laugh, too. It was a naughty, bold child who would try to usurp his brother’s private chamber.
But it was typical Alfie.
“Your horse guard can have a place of their own, but not this chamber,” Markus said. “Go now in peace and I will forget that you barged into a private meeting. Test my patience and I will take your weapons by force.”
Rather than intimidate Alfie, Markus’ words were a challenge. Markus and Alfie had become very good friends over the past week, spending a good deal of time together as Markus helped train Alfie’s horse guard. Not only did they have suitable dull weapons now, but they even had two real helms, both of them having belonged to Roget. In fact, Alfie had one of those helms on his head at this very moment, which made him feel particularly powerful.
“Atlas has this whole castle,” Alfie said. “I have nothing. I deserve a chamber of my own, too.”
By this time, the sting of being slapped in the groin with a sword had worn off and Atlas came up behind Alfie, grabbing his brother by the neck.
“You little devil,” he scolded. “I am going to tell Mother what you have done and…”
“What has he done, Atlas?”
Amabella was now standing in the doorway, a basket of freshly dried clothing in her arms. She had just come in from the kitchen yard and heard the argument. For a moment, no one said a word, and certainly not Markus and Cassius, because they didn’t want to get involved in what had simply been a family dust-up. But Atlas still had Alfie by the neck; his grip tightened and he thrust the child at his mother.
“Take this demon-child away from here,” he said. “He charged in here and demanded we turn over the solar to him or he would fight us. He needs a swift beating.”
Amabella’s gaze immediately turned to her youngest son, who was trying to pry his brother’s fingers off his neck.
“Did you do this?” she asked with underlying hazard in her tone.
Alfie was unrepentant. “Atlas has everything and I have nothing,” he said. “I want a chamber for my horse guard. I am the king!”
Atlas let go of his brother and gave him a kick to the buttocks. “You are not the king,” he said. “Get out of here.”
Alfie didn’t take to be kicked kindly. He rubbed his bum before rushing his brother, little fists balled, and Atlas was forced to push him away by his head. Alfie landed on his buttocks, but he didn’t stay there for long. He came up swinging.
“Enough,” Amabella snapped softly, reaching out to grab Alfie by the arm before he could make contact with his brother. She yanked the boy from the chamber. “You will behave yourself, Alphonse. One more offense against your brother and you will no longer be able to play with your horse guard. I will send them all away.”
That was a serious threat for the king. Alfie looked at his mother, trying very hard not to weep now that he realized that he was thwarted.
“But I need them,” he sniffled.
“Then you will behave yourself,” Amabella said sternly. “Now, take your knights and go back to the kitchen yard. Do as I say.”
Alfie turned to his knights, standing fearfully near the door, and motioned to them. With hung heads, the children followed their king from the chamber, ashamed of their failed coup.
Amabella stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her disapproval evident at the would-be raiders. When Alfie and his cohorts trickled through the entry and out into the bailey, she turned to the men in the chamber.
“My apologies,” she said. “I hope they did not disturb you overly.”
Atlas was standing the closest to his mother and answered her. “We can withstand his invasion attempts,” he said. “But he is very bold, Mama. He is going to get into trouble when he gets older.”
“He will be fostering by then,” Markus said, his gaze on Amabella. “He is young, still, but in another couple of years, he will go off to foster and they will temper that boldness. Let him be young while he still can. He has a fearlessness that few dare.”
Atlas shook his head at his brash, fearless brother, while Amabella smiled.
“I hope that always holds true,” she said. “And thank you for being so understanding of him.”
Markus simply nodded his head while Amabella collected her basket again and headed about her business. But even after she left the chamber, Markus’ thoughts were on her.
And that was the end of his attempts to school Atlas for the afternoon.
These days, Markus could think of little else but Amabella. The past week at Trastamara had been mostly spent with Atlas, especially since his father departed. Patrick seemingly had no issue leaving Markus behind for a time to help Atlas acclimate, so Markus had taken command for the most part, helping Atlas most of the time and Alfie some of the time. He genuinely liked the de Sauque lads.
The lasses were another issue altogether.
Aleanor still turned pale with fright when she saw him, but she was getting better about it. Ambra was nearly as bad as Alfie with her demands for his time, but he didn’t really mind. When she wasn’t with her nurse, she was with her mother, and sometimes she would slip her little hand into his big one as he went about his duties, following him.
That meant her mother sometimes followed, too.
Even if he was simply around Amabella, he was content. She was very polite with him, warm most of the time, but she had yet to cross that line that she would consider showing romantic interest in him. In fact, she treated him pleasantly and respectfully, as one would the son of her liege. But after a week of being pleasantly, politely, and respectfully treated, he was becoming dissatisfied with it.
It wasn’t as if he weren’t the most handsome, capable knight on the border.
But Amabella wasn’t falling at his feet for some reason.
He was thinking that he wanted to change that.
As Cassius took over the discussion on expanding Trastamara’s agricultural empire with a revitalized orchard near The Orchard crossing, Markus stood by the lancet window overlooking the bailey. He saw Alfie and his horse guard as they retreated to the kitchen yard and he stood there long enough to see Amabella leave the keep and head towards the great hall.
Tonight, the feast in the hall was going to be the start of something different.
He hadn’t remained at Trastamara out of the goodness of his heart. In the beginning, it had been out of his seeming infatuation with Amabella, but he remained because the infatuation had turned into something else. He wasn’t sure what.
But he was going to summon the courage to find out.
Trastamara had settled into a routine with shocking speed now that Roget was gone.
As the Lord of Trastamara, Roget had treated the evening feast like court and only his favored were allowed to attend. The great hall was fairly large, enough to accommodate at least two hundred men, but Roget had only allowed a select number of favorite soldiers in, mostly men who had come into service after he’d inherited his properties from Amabella’s father. He considered those men loyal to him and the men who once served Alonzo Hemada Abril to be questionable.
As Markus had discovered, there has been a definite hierarchy when it came to the soldiers at Trastamara. Atlas, however, felt everyone should be treated equally and even though the hall wasn’t big enough for all of his soldiers, they were all invited on a first-come, first-served basis.
Men who had served Atlas’ grandfather now found themselves with a seat at the lord’s table once again while the smaller force of Roget’s men were split. Some were inside, some were outside, eating their meals around a big bonfire that burned near the kitchen yard.
But all of them were unhappy with the new lord’s rules.
Markus had seen within the first two days that the Trastamara soldiers were starting to split into two factions – those who had served Alonzo and those who had been brought in by Roget. It was concerning, something he expressed to Cassius and Damien and the other de Wolfe men, but it wasn’t something he expressed to Atlas. He didn’t want to create a situation in the young man’s mind until they could see if it righted itself.
But a week later, supper on this cold, clear evening was shaping up to exhibit the same division of men – Alonzo’s against Roget’s. As Markus approached the hall with Cassius, he could see the same Roget loyalists around their bonfire in the bailey, separating themselves from the rest of the men in the hall.
It had become a familiar sight.
“What do you intend to do about the army separating itself like that,” Cassius said, gesturing to the men around the bonfire. “We’ve been watching this for the better part of a week. An army in factions is ripe for defeat.”
Markus knew that. “As you know, I have refrained from saying anything to Atlas because I had hoped the situation would resolve itself,” he said. “I am still hoping it will ease, with time, especially once they see what a fine lord Atlas will be.”
“Do you think we should send word to Papa?”
Markus shrugged. “If it is still like this next week, mayhap,” he said. “Meanwhile, it bears watching. We must think of things to draw the men together, like drills or exercises. We cannot let them separate like the chaff from the wheat.”
“I think the time has come to tell Atlas what is happening. It is his right, after all.”
Markus reluctantly agreed. At that point, they entered the hall, which was half-full with soldiers. Damien and Kieran were already at one of the tables along with Alfie and Atlas. As Markus and Cassius drew near, they could see that Aleanor and Ambra were there, also, but they were at the head of the table, with Ambra seated upon her sister’s lap.
Markus made his way down to the end of the table.
“Good eve to you, my ladies,” he greeted the sisters as he sat on the very end of the big table. “It is agreeable to see you here tonight.”
Ambra had a big hunk of bread and butter in her hand. She was chewing happily, with butter smeared on her cheek.
“Mama said we could eat with everyone,” she said. “Cook is making chicken with cinnamon and onions in sauce. It is a stew. You will like it!”
Markus smiled at the young lady with the culinary inclination. “I will?” he said. “Is that one of your dishes?”
Ambra nodded firmly. “I was in the kitchen and I tasted it,” she said. “It is very good. And she is making rice with raisins.”
Markus nodded as he reached out to pour himself a cup of wine from the pitcher on the table. The entire week had been an adventure in culinary dishes, things he’d never had before in combination, all of them a creation of Ambra’s imagination. There had been mutton and eggs with honey and pepper, more stewed mutton with clove and vinegar, and other dishes he couldn’t even recall because every night was something different.
Everything revolved around mutton or fowl or fish, because those were the most readily available, and Ambra liked her cinnamon and cloves and onions and honey, so there was a good deal of that as well, but Markus never thought he’d eat food concocted by a five year old and like it.
But he had.
“I am certain it will be delicious,” he said. “You will make some man a fine wife someday and feed him until he is so fat, he will not be able to get through the door.”
He grinned as he said it and Ambra crowed at his humor. “I don’t want a husband!”
“Why not?” Markus asked. “Remember that my brother, Cassius, has expressed an interest in marrying you.”
Ambra looked across the table at Cassius, smearing more butter on her cheek when she took a bite of her bread.
“He is too old,” she said flatly, which was what she said the first time the subject had come up. “But he can marry Aleanor. She needs a husband.”
Aleanor, who had thus far remained invisible at the table, suddenly appeared stricken with fear to hear her name mentioned. Her eyes darted to Cassius, sitting across the table.
“I… I do not need husband,” she said quickly. “I am not old enough. Mama said I do not need to marry until I am ready, and I am not ready.”
That was the most Markus had ever heard come out of her mouth at one time and she had only uttered the words because she was so terrified. He put up a soothing hand.
“Truthfully, Cassius is not ready, either,” he said. “Not to worry, my lady. We are not trying to foist my brother upon you.”
Cassius, who had been speaking with young Kieran, heard his name. He turned his attention to Markus, frowning.
“Who is foisting whom?” he said. “You are the one who should marry, not me. You are the heir and you need to make a gaggle of little heirs.”
Markus opened his mouth to reply but he caught movement out of the corners of his eyes, turning to see that they were being joined by Amabella. She only had one trencher in her hand this time and she put it in front of Markus as several servants spilled through the servant’s entrance bearing more food and drink.
But Markus had eyes only for Amabella.
“I see that you have only brought one meal with you,” he said. “And now, you shall sit and enjoy the feast while the servants do the rest. I did not send all the way to Berwick for servants only to have you continue doing their job.”
Amabella smiled at him, some uncertainty in her expression. “And I told you that you did not have to do that,” she said. “I was not troubled by helping in the kitchens.”
“And I told you that I was troubled that you did,” Markus said, moving down the bench so she could sit. “You are the Lady of Trastamara and you should not be serving your guests or the army. You should be charming us with your wit and graciousness.”
He wasn’t cruel about it, but he was firm. The warm glimmer in his eyes told Amabella that he truly wasn’t irritated with her. In truth, he had that warm glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her most of the time, an expression of approval and friendship, something she was coming to long for every time she saw him. It had been years since she’d last seen a gleam like that in a man’s eyes where it pertained to her and she wasn’t even entirely sure Roget ever had that gleam.
But Markus did.
Sweet, beautiful, strong, and brilliant Markus.
The past week for Amabella had been one of bliss. Her days with Roget seemed like another lifetime ago even though it had only been a few days. Eight to be exact. But those eight days had changed her life in ways she couldn’t have possibly imagined, and Markus de Wolfe had been at the head of it.
He’d been her knight in shining armor.
It wasn’t that he spent an over amount of time with her, because he hadn’t. His time had been spent with Atlas, and rightfully so. Once the Earl of Berwick departed, Markus took command and he’d done a great deal with Atlas, and Trastamara in general, in that short amount of time.
The servants had been part of those efforts.
He didn’t like that Roget had treated Amabella like a servant, so two days after his father left, Markus sent word to Berwick for servants – kitchen servants and maids, mostly. In response, his mother, Lady Berwick, had sent ten kitchen servants and kitchen helpers, plus four maids, all of them reporting directly to Lady de Sauque.
Now, Amabella had a veritable army of servants under her command and she was still trying to become accustomed to it. She was so used to doing for herself that to have others doing for her had been a drastic change. Markus, for his part, saw her as a woman to be treated with respect and he was doing everything possible to set that example.
Amabella couldn’t help but adore the man for it.
Aye, she adored him. She adored him as someone who had come to her rescue and the rescue of her family. She adored him as one does when something is brilliant and unobtainable, a beacon of hope and strength that is the standard for others to follow. That was how she viewed Markus. She was so very grateful to the man.
And so very unworthy of him.
