Page 5 of Wolfehound
But James’ death had done something to him.
It had changed him.
Perhaps the man in the most distress about it was Sir Kieran Hage, William’s second-in-command and, next to Paris, his closest friend. He was a man of great wisdom, of reason, and even he couldn’t seem to snap William out of his darkness. There had been so much fighting going on with the Welsh this year, something that had only been a duty to the men sworn to King Edward of England, until James’ demise at Llandeilo in the summer.
Now, the battle had become personal.
“William,” Kieran said, reining his horse alongside William’s steed as the man overlooked the English encampment where they had the prisoners gathered. “Did you hear the question? I am rather curious, too. What are your intentions with the children of Dafydd and Llywelyn?”
William’s gaze was hard as he watched the activity in the encampment. It was sunset at the end of a very long day and the colors brought on by the clouds looked like blood. It was ominous. It had been a productive day, perhaps even a satisfying one, but William gave no indication that he was either pleased or satisfied by it.
There was no indication of anything he was feeling.
He was stone-faced, as usual.
“I heard the question,” he finally said. Then he looked over his shoulder where his sons were positioned, exhausted knights on horseback after a long day. “Scott? You will bring Dafydd to me when I settle in my tent. I want to talk to the man.”
Scott de Wolfe, William’s eldest, glanced at his two brothers before answering. “It has been a very long day, Papa,” he said. “Dafydd is badly injured and being tended to. Whatever you have to say to him can wait until the morrow.”
William’s piercing gaze lingered on his son. “Are you disobeying my order?”
“Nay, my lord,” Scott said, being formal with his father because the man was so volatile these days. “I am simply stating a fact. The prisoner is injured and needs tending or he will not survive. If your questions cannot wait until the morrow, then I will bring you to him. But he should not be moved.”
William didn’t argue with him, but it was clear that he wasn’t pleased. When there was no retort to his statement, Scott silently motioned to his brothers and to Paris and Kieran’s sons to vacate the area and go about their duties. In fact, that wouldbe preferable to waiting on pins and needles for William to make more demands that no one wanted to carry out.
Scott, Troy, and Patrick headed off along with Hector and Apollo de Norville, all of them returning to the army to settle the men and complete their assigned tasks. Only Kevin Hage remained. Kieran’s middle son was very much like his father, a man of great emotion and counsel. He had spent a good amount of time with his father and Paris and William, mostly supporting his father’s efforts to supply William with advice and comfort. Kieran wasn’t well these days and hadn’t been for a while, yet he’d come to Wales with William because he would never let William fight without him, so Kevin’s presence was more to support his father than anything else.
He’d promised his mother he would.
Kieran knew this, and he could see Kevin out of the corner of his eye. He eventually turned to his son, silently ordering him away, but Kevin wouldn’t move. Not when William was in a mood like this. This moment wasn’t merely a culmination of almost a year in battle for William, but also for Kevin because James had been his best friend. He, too, had watched him die in a horrific ambush, so Kevin was as invested in this moment as much as William was.
Invested in the end of something that had brought them such grief.
“Uncle William?” Kevin said, directing his horse in front of William’s. “May I bring you some wine? Anything at all? It has been a long day. Surely you are weary.”
William turned to look at the young knight. He looked a good deal like his father, but William saw beyond that. He saw Kevin and James together, friends since birth. They were essentially the same age. He saw two young boys stealing sweets, or stealing the potent wine that their fathers drank. They had been around six years of age at the time and Kieran had caught them, forcingthem to drink the entire bottle, which had made them ragingly drunk. As a result, Kevin had tried to fist-fight his father while James had run out into the bailey, challenged every soldier to a sword battle, and then vomited all over the dirt before passing out in his own filth.
They never stole wine again.
The memory had always made William smile.
In fact, that was why he had a faint smile on his lips at the moment. He could still see those two little hooligans, running around making mischief.
It was such a grand memory.
“I do not know who was worse,” he finally said. “You or James.”
Kevin cocked his head curiously. “Who was the worst at what?”
“At troublemaking,” William said, his voice sounding dull. “Out of all of my sons, James was the most… lively. Scott was mature before his time, Troy was the brooder, Patrick was simply big and frightening, and Eddie and Tommy were young and foolish. But then there was James. He was the naughty one. Paired with you, it was like taking a spark to kindling. You were both positively incandescent when you came together.”
That statement had Kieran and Paris smiling, too. They well remembered the duo of James and Kevin and their tomfoolery.
Kevin smiled broadly.
“It was all his fault,” he said. “I was a perfect angel, but James forced me to do his bidding.”
That actually brought a chuckle from William. “Untrue,” he said. “I seem to remember that you were responsible for the wine adventure, when the two of you stole wine and your father forced you to drink it all. That wasyou, Kevin.”
