PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1284
August
Lioncross Abbey Castle, The Welsh Marches
It was dawn.
From the rains the previous night, the fields were green but the road was muddy, thick and uneven, like a puddle of congealed gravy. It made for difficult travel as the two-thousand-man army from Lioncross Abbey Castle returned from a nasty battle for control of Goodrich Castle, several days’ journey to the south. The English held it, a local Welsh lord wanted it, and the Lord of Goodrich had called upon most of his allies, including the mighty House of de Lohr.
It hadn’t been a long campaign as far as campaigns went. They’d been on longer, but this one had been particularly brutal because of the Welsh tactics. They didn’t want to give up Goodrich and the English had to beat them back repeatedly. But in the end, the banner of William de Valence, Lord of Goodrich and half-brother to the king, flew proudly alongside the de Lohr blue lion standard.
The battle, for now, had been won.
But it was a battle that had taken a toll on the knights of de Lohr. William de Lohr, son of Chris de Lohr and the great-grandson of the great Defender of the Realm, Christopher de Lohr, had sent out most of his knights to answer the call of service. Those who rode out were some of the most elite knights on the Marches – his own sons, Curt and Lucas, were leading the army along with Jorden de Russe, a mountain of a man from the legendary de Russe family, Rhun du Bois, son of Maddoc du Bois, and perhaps the best knight out of all of them, Thomas “Tor” de Wolfe.
Though it was an impressive group, the toll on their strengths and spirits had been substantial.
The men from Lioncross Abbey been gone almost three months to Goodrich, long enough so that the Welsh grew weary of fighting and of losing good men, and three months away from home was a very long time for them. All of the knights had families, including Tor, who was expecting his first child with his wife, Jane.
God, he’d missed her.
Therefore, the three months away had been difficult for him. As the army crested the rise to the south, with the massive fortress of Lioncross Abbey on the horizon up ahead, he felt a considerable amount of relief.
Finally, he was going to see Janie again.
In spite of the muddied roads and exhaustion of the army, they seemed to pick up the pace when the great stone bastion of Lioncross was sighted. Tor, who had been riding mid-pack with the wagon carrying the wounded, spurred his mud-covered warhorse forward, charging up the line until he reached the front.
His heavy Ardennes stallion kicked mud on nearly everyone within a ten-foot radius as he brought it to a halt. Mostly, men moved aside anyway when they saw Tor’s horse coming because it was the biggest, most muscular horse anyone had ever seen, with legs as big around as a man’s body and a chunky, powerful build. His name was Enbarr, after a horse of the old Irish gods, but Enbarr had a secret – he may have been big and powerful, but he had two distinct personalities. In battle, he was hell, but out of battle, he behaved like a puppy. He was the sweetest, most docile animal and he’d been known to follow Tor into the keep, much to Lady de Lohr’s horror.
However, Enbarr was exhausted on this day, like the rest of them, and he was edgy as Tor reined him near his liege.
Curtis de Lohr, or Curt, was nearly the exact image of his famous great-great-grandsire. He had thick blond hair and a blond beard, and a size that was purely de Lohr. He was a proud tribute to a great family and as mud came flying at him from Enbarr’s hooves, he turned his head away quickly so he wouldn’t get hit in the face.
“Keep that big, ugly dog away from me,” he said. “The last time he came too close, he tried to nibble on my face.”
Tor fought off a grin. “That is because he loves you,” he said. “You should be flattered.”
“Yet, I am not.”
Tor’s grin broke through. “Then I will remove him from you completely,” he said. “Would you mind if I went on ahead? Jane should have already delivered our child by now and I would very much like to see to her.”
Curt looked at him, his eyes twinkling wearily. “I was wondering when you were going to ask,” he said. “You have not said a word about it nearly this entire campaign. I was coming to wonder if you even remembered that your wife was with child.”
Tor shrugged. “Battle is no place to speak of a pregnant woman,” he said. “I needed to keep my mind on the fight and not on my wife.”
“You did not even receive a missive from home, did you?”
“Nay,” Tor said, shaking his head. “It would have been too much of a distraction, so I asked that nothing be sent. If I had received word, I would have wanted to go home right away, and that would not have been good for my focus. It was my intention to make it back to her whole and alive.”
Curt laughed softly. “And so you have,” he said. Then he gestured towards the castle in the distance. “Ride on. And congratulations, Papa.”
With a thankful smile, Tor spurred Enbarr and the horse took off. Those powerful legs could run for days and the horse thundered over the muddy road, only slowing down twice to avoid swampy sections. The section of the road that he was on bypassed the village that was nestled to the northeast of Lioncross, so it was an unimpeded ride the entire way.
All Tor could think about was his family.
This was an important moment to him.
Tor and Jane de Merrett, a former lady-in-waiting for the Countess of Hereford and Worcester, had married a little over a year ago. He had been young to be a groom, barely twenty years of age, but Jane had been pregnant and he had quickly married her so as not to cause a scandal.
The de Merretts were a big family in Manchester and even though the House of de Wolfe was larger and more powerful, Tor hadn’t wanted any issues with de Merrett. Nothing would have been more embarrassing than Lord de Merrett riding to Castle Questing and demanding satisfaction for a randy son of de Wolfe.
Tor knew his father would have killed him.
Therefore, he and Jane had married in secret and her parents could not have been more delighted, fortunately. Marrying one of the heirs of the House of de Wolfe had soothed any outrage they might have felt, and Tor had dodged what could have been a bad situation purely with his familial connection. But he and Jane paid a hefty price for their youthful, lustful behavior when she miscarried the child early on.
Only a scant two months later, she was pregnant again.
It was that child that Tor was so eager to see. His older brother, William “Will” de Wolfe, already had a child and Tor, as always, was eager to follow in his brother’s footsteps. Will was far to the north now, in command of one of their father’s mighty bastions along the Scots border, but Tor had remained behind at Lioncross Abbey Castle where they had both fostered. It had been his home for a few years and he loved life on the Marches even though he knew it was only temporary. At some point, he’d be expected to return to the north and take his rightful place beside his brother, as the second son of the Earl of Warenton, Scott de Wolfe.
There was the heir and then there was the spare – and that was Tor.
But until then, he enjoyed the experience of life on the Welsh Marches. They were as volatile as the Scottish Marches. Maybe more so. But he loved the scenery, the greenery, the icy rivers and the flowers in the spring. He enjoyed all of those things probably more than the next man simply because, beneath that warring exterior and quiet demeanor, Tor had a gentle nature.