“What happened?” he hissed. “Where is Steffan?”
Powell sighed sharply. “Dead,” he said. “The de Wolfe pack caught up with him and when he refused to return to marry the de Wolfe girl, he was killed.”
The older knight’s breath caught in his throat. That wasn’t the answer he had expected. His eyes widened and he slumped back against the passageway as the color drained from his face.
“Nay,” he breathed. “Tell me it is not true.”
“It is true,” Powell whispered. “I just lied to de Royans, Joah. I told him I knew nothing of Steffan’s activities and thank the sweet Lord that he believed me. Or mayhap he did not. I suppose time will tell, but I will deny any knowledge to my grave.”
Joah de Brayton put his hand over his mouth, closing his eyes as tears popped forth. He lost his composure while Powell stood there, completely unmoved by the tears. In fact, he yanked Joah’s hand from his face, his eyes blazing.
“Don’t you dare act as if you are crushed by this,” Powell hissed. “This was all a plot between you and Steffan to get your hands on a de Wolfe dowry and Steffan lost his nerve. I wish you had never spoken of it because now I am part of this… this dishonorable mess.”
Joah was a master knight at Netherghyll, a man with twenty years of training and battle experience. His credentials were good. But he was also a man who had grown disillusioned with his post. For the past few years, he wanted something better, the opportunity for riches and leisure. He found a partner in that dream, and in his bed, in Steffan de Featherstone.
But clearly, that dream had somehow shattered.
“You were agreeable enough to be part of it with the promise of the reward,” Joah reminded him. “You are not innocent, Powell. You overheard Steffan and me speaking of the de Wolfe lass and the dowry she would bring. You were eager enough to be part of it when we offered you a prestigious post with the de Wolfe army once Steffan married her. Nay… not only are you not innocent, you are complicit. Remember that.”
Powell knew that. God help him, he did. But he felt as if he were getting sucked deeper and deeper into a quagmire that he would have no hope of ever escaping. Joah and Steffan had been conniving, unscrupulous men and being young and ambitious, Powell had fallen into a dangerous trap.
Now, he was part of that filth.
“I have not forgotten,” he said after a moment. “But Steffan must have had a change of heart and ran out on the marriage at the last minute. We did not have time to speak in private before he was killed. We’ll never know why he decided not to marry the de Wolfe lass.”
Joah’s eyes started to well again as he thought on his lover. “How… how did it happen?” he asked. “His death, I mean. How was he killed?”
Powell couldn’t help the disgust in his eyes. “I do not know,” he said. “It looked as if his throat had been slit, but that was the only obvious wound. I do not know who did it, but we were set upon by the House of de Wolfe. They were all de Wolfe men.”
Joah wiped at his eyes, quickly. “Do you know who?”
Powell thought a moment. “The Earl of Northumbria was one,” he said. “I recognized several from a meeting with the king last year, when he gathered his northern warlords at Alnwick. They were all from Castle Questing or Berwick. I saw two Hage knights and the son of the Earl of Warenton was there; one of the older ones. I think he has his own command now near Carlisle, from what I heard. I think they call him Tor.”
Joah recognized the names. He’d served de Royans long enough to recognize most of the de Wolfe men and their allies – Hage, de Norville, and de Longley. They were all family, all thick as thieves.
“Isabella de Wolfe is the daughter of Blayth de Wolfe,” he said. “He’s the one who made a name for himself in Wales years ago, the de Wolfe brother believed to be dead. He is a powerful warlord. He was not part of this assassination contingent?”
Powell shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I believe his eldest was, Ronan. The lad looks just like him.”
“Ronan,” Joah repeated slowly. “How young?”
“Mayhap seventeen or eighteen years.”
Joah grunted. “Young and impressionable,” he muttered. “They are teaching him to be a good little killer, just like the rest of the de Wolfes.”
Powell wasn’t sure what to say to that, but something told him that Joah was sinking into the well of blame. It would consume him, surround him, and cover him. He would hold Steffan completely blameless for his own death.
“Northumbria is in the solar with de Royans,” Powell said. “If I were you, I would distance myself from Steffan. De Royans is not pleased and he knows that you are close to Steffan. He will ask you what you know.”
Joah was calming somewhat, but it was only the first wave of peace before the grief hit him again, later, and he would be swamped with it. But at the moment, he was looking to place the blame for his beloved’s death. In his mind, Steffan wasn’t to blame. He surely had a perfectly good reason for fleeing Isabella de Wolfe before the marriage could take place. What that reason was didn’t matter.
In fact, there was part of him that was glad Steffan fought marriage to a woman. Joah didn’t particularly want to share his lover, but the lure of de Wolfe wealth and prestige had been great. It would have taken him away from de Royans, where his talents and life were stagnating.
Perhaps Steffan had come up with a better idea or had a better offer.
Better than a de Wolfe.
And they had killed him for it.
“Do not worry about me,” he said after a moment. “Go, now. Tend to your horse and your men. I can handle de Royans and Northumbria if they come calling. You needn’t worry.”
Powell studied the man for a moment, wondering where the suddenly burst of steeliness had come from, but he didn’t have the inclination to ask. The further he remained away from de Brayton, the better.
The man was trouble.
Without another word, Powell headed out into the bailey, leaving Joah still in the servant’s passage because he could hear anything coming in and out of the solar.
He wanted to hear what Northumbria and de Royans had to say.
This may have been the end of Steffan, but it was not the end of the situation. Steffan was, in all things, above reproach in Joah’s mind. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that the de Wolfe pack must have unfairly cornered him. He was positive that Steffan had a good reason for running.
He only wished he knew what it was.
But that was of little consequence now. His lover was gone, his plans were laid to waste, and the common denominator to both of those things was the House of de Wolfe. Certainly, Joah could not attack any number of their fortresses to exact his revenge. He had no army, no men sworn to him. He was only one piece of a much larger war engine, a war engine that the House of de Royans controlled. Personally, he had nothing.
It was that sense of emptiness that had started this entire scheme.
He’d lost whatever connection he was going to have to the House of de Wolfe. He had lost a man he had loved very much for the past two years. Now, he had nothing more to lose, but that did not stop his sense of vengeance. As he saw it, Steffan was a victim in all of this. A victim of de Wolfe greed and ambition. They had everything – money, power, properties, and titles. They had everything and Steffan would have asked for so little. Marriage to a de Wolfe daughter would not have mattered in the grand scheme of the House of the Wolfe.