Page 214 of Historical Hotties
“Such as a marriage to one of the greatest heiresses in England.”
Gage paused, eyeing him suspiciously. “Of whom do you speak?”
“I will tell you when your son arrives.”
That was the first indication that Thor had been summoned by Henry. Before Gage could reply, Henry gestured to someone at the back of the hall and Gage turned to see his son being admitted. Quite tall, and very muscular, Thor was an imposing man wherever he went. He never went unnoticed in any room he entered, for he was a figure that immediately attracted attention. Like now.
The war god had arrived.
Edward de Wolfe immediately broke away from Roi and headed toward Thor, a man he considered a friend because they’d spent so much time together. Gage could see Edward muttering to Thor, who didn’t seem particularly perplexed that he’d been summoned, but he did seem surprised when he spied his father.
Surprise that turned to confusion. Whatever Edward was telling him had his brow furrowing, and Thor looked to his father as if to speak to the man, but Henry took control of thesituation. He didn’t want the de Reyne men to converse before he had a chance to say what he needed to say.
“Sit, Thor,” Henry directed. “That’s right—on the bench next to where your father is standing. I have something to say to you and I wish for your father to hear it.”
Thor was at least a head taller than his father, who was a big man in his own right. He looked at Gage curiously, but all Gage could do was shake his head and indicate the seat on the bench next to him. Slowly, Thor lowered his big body, but he genuinely had no idea what was going on. In fact, he looked to the men around Henry, a group he was usually a part of, and thought he might have missed something.
“Your grace,” he said, feeling like he needed to explain himself. “I was not aware you had a conclave. I informed your chamberlain that my horse has been ill and I wished to see to him this morning. I brought a man in from Flanders who swears he can heal what ails him and—”
Henry cut him off. “Nay, Thor, you were not expected to be part of this,” he said. “I knew about the horse. How is he?”
Thor visibly relaxed. “He seems to be better, your grace,” he said. “He has always had trouble with his lungs, but he is breathing much easier this morning.”
“Good,” Henry said. “Then we may discuss important matters?”
“Aye, your grace.”
Henry nodded and continued. “Thor, it is no secret that your father wishes to take you north,” he said, indicating Gage. “He tells me that he has only loaned you to me for my trip to the Levant, and since we have returned early, he wants you to come home. Were you aware of this?”
Thor looked at his father. “I am, your grace.”
Henry’s gaze lingered on Thor for a moment before he turned back for the big, cushioned chair he always sat in. His boneswere old, his joints painful, and the cushioned chair was the closest he could come to something comfortable. He needed to be comfortable so he could think clearly, because he had to plan this out carefully or all would be lost.
He proceeded.
“I think you are a man destined for great things,” he said after a moment. “You are not a man who should be relegated to a garrison commander for your father and then for your brother when he inherits the title. You are your father’s greatest son, yet you will inherit nothing. Nothing I have said is untrue.”
Henry was hammering home something that had been Thor’s most disappointing issue. The reality was that he would not inherit anything. Everything would go to Brian. It wasn’t something he complained about or lamented because he knew that it was simply the way of things and his brother would make an excellent earl, but those closest to him knew how it troubled him. Perhaps it was something that drove him to be better and faster and stronger than anyone else because he knew he had to earn whatever he gained in life. The king hit him where it hurt. But he kept his chin up as he answered.
“It is true, your grace.”
“That is not a life you wish for yourself, is it?”
Thor’s gaze had never left Henry. “I have worked hard to earn what I have, your grace.”
Henry lifted a thin eyebrow. “And what is that?” he said. “True, you are my Lord Protector and I have paid you well for the past two years, but before that, you served your father at Ashington. Did he pay you well?”
“He did, my lord.”
“And before that, you traveled with your father’s uncle, Varro de Soto, the Aragon mercenary,” Henry said. “The man known as the Viper. Of course I know all about that. You served the man for several years, traveling to a dozen countries, fighting wars fora dozen different warlords who paid you handsomely. What was it they called you?”
“El Martillo, your grace.”
“And that means…?”
“The Hammer, your grace.”
“Ah,” Henry said, though he’d already known the answer. “The Hammer. And you have fought many.”
