WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  That calm demeanor impressed Tor. He, too, had a calm manner and was often the one sent to negotiate in difficult situations because he wouldn’t become angry or aggressive no matter how stupid or insulting the circumstances would be. That was also part of the reason he had been sent to Blackpool Castle. With an easy, likable manner about him, he was perfect for dealing with the hotheaded Scots.

  As Ronan was speaking to Steffan, Tor was watching the men at the table, preparing to move if they drew their weapons. They were all heavily armed, but none of them had moved for their weapons. Ronan was young, but he was seasoned, and it wasn’t the fact that he could not defend himself in a fight. He could. This may have been his fight because it was his sister who had been slandered, but Thomas has been absolutely right – it was the entire family whose honor was at stake.

  They were all ready to clobber de Featherstone.

  Surprisingly, it wasn’t Steffan who drew his weapon first. It was Ronan. Apparently, Steffan was refusing to move and Ronan intended to force him. When Ronan drew his sword, two of the de Royans knights stood up and unsheathed their weapons. Whether or not they were actually going to make a move against the young knight would be something for debate in the days to come but, at the moment, it looked very much like Ronan was in trouble.

  That was when the room exploded.

  Nat and Jeremy came flying in through the window over the table, their broadswords arcing in the weak light of the common room. That was all it took for Tor to jump into the fray as the entry door and the rear door blew open to reveal more armed de Wolfe and Hage knights.

  In an instant, people begin screaming and scattering as the battle turned very bloody, very quickly. The crowded tavern cleared out rapidly because no one wanted to be caught in the midst of a knight fight. Not just any knights; de Wolfe knights. The tavern keep, a tall and slender man, didn’t even try to enter the fight or stop it. He began screaming at his servants to clear the floor, and the frightened wenches ran for the doors. The safest thing was to clear out the place and let the knights do what they did best.

  Destroy.

  It was unfortunate and a little confusing for the de Royans knights, who recognized Thomas early on. They knew he was the Earl of Northumbria, so raising a sword to the earl was not only forbidden, but confusing. They didn’t know what to do. Thomas noticed their confusion because when he came near, they lowered their weapons. So he used that to his advantage.

  Explaining to them that this was a fight that did not involve the House of de Royans, but only de Featherstone, he ordered them away in the hopes that they would comply. Three of them did, but two of them did not, and it was those two who engaged in a nasty battle with Alec and Nat as Ronan went after Steffan.

  Tor and Jeremy and Nathaniel manhandled the de Royans knights out of the tavern as Alec and Nat subdued their opponents. They didn’t want to kill them, but they did move to disarm them and as their weapons fell away, they grabbed the knights and pulled them away from the table where Ronan was still battling with Steffan.

  Now, it was the brother of the bride against the runaway groom.

  Tor and Thomas monitored the situation, watching Ronan battle against a man who had excellent skills. Ronan may have been young, but he was a de Wolfe, and that meant his talent was limitless. He was quite skilled with a blade. Just when it seemed that Ronan might gain the upper hand, something unexpected happened.

  Tor saw it first but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He could see his youngest half-brother, Alexander, back in the shadows because he had come in through the rear entry. He hadn’t engaged in the battle so far, but mostly lingered on the fringe to make sure no one else was going to try to jump in and injure any of his relatives.

  But Alexander unexpectedly moved.

  Before Tor could stop him, Alexander came up behind Steffan. The de Royans knight caught the movement out of the corners of his eyes and turned into panic with his sword leveled. Alexander had his sword lifted and it was enough to prevent him from being killed, but not enough to prevent part of Steffan’s blade from cutting into his chest.

  That brought Tor on the run.

  Steffan de Featherstone never had a chance with Tor bearing down on him. Tor’s sword came up and over, completely overwhelming Steffan as a man tried to defend himself from the attack. Thomas started shouting, begging Tor to back away, but it all happened so fast. Tor wasn’t listening to him and the price of Steffan cutting into Alexander was Steffan’s very life.

  Big brother Tor wasn’t going to let the man injure his younger half-sibling without consequence. He struck hard and struck fast, as he was the de Wolfe with the hardest strike of all. Before anyone had realized what had happened, Steffan lay on the hard-packed earth of the common room, bleeding out all over the dirt.

  Tor had nearly sliced his head off.

  “Christ,” Thomas hissed as he rushed forward, crouching over Steffan to see the damage. Already, he could see that it was hopeless. “Damnation!”

  But Tor wasn’t listening, nor did he care. He was bent over Alexander, peeling back layers of tunic and mail to see how badly the young man was hurt. It was a nasty slice that had cut Alexander from his neck, across his collarbone, down his chest and across his right forearm.

  It was a bad wound.

  No one other than Alec and Thomas seemed to be paying any attention to the dead knight on the floor. Everyone was crowding around Alexander, wanting to help, wanting to see how badly he was injured. Tor sent a panicked Jeremy for hot water, wine, and boiled linen, and the young man ran off into the kitchens screaming for the items. Nathaniel, the usually hot-headed middle brother, was surprisingly calm as he helped Tor.

  “You were very brave, Alex,” Nathaniel assured him, hand on his brother’s head. “It is not a bad wound. Simply bloody.”

  Alexander was pale and shaking as blood from his wound stained his de Wolfe tunic and began to splatter on the floor.

  “It is not bad?” he asked, wanting to be reassured.

  “Nay,” Ronan said steadily, bending over him, seeing for himself that it was a fairly serious wound. But he lied about it. “It is not bad. You will heal quickly.”

  Alexander’s trembling was growing worse. “He was trying to kill you, Ronan,” he said to the man he’d virtually grown up with. “I could not let him do that.”

  It was a sweet and honorable intention, but the older knights knew that it had been a dangerous one that had cost him. In truth, it had been the decision of an inexperienced warrior. But now wasn’t the time to scold him.

  “You are very noble,” Tor said steadily, grabbing a wad of boiled linen from Jeremy, who had swiftly returned. He began packing it against open chest wound. “I will stitch you up myself. You will heal quickly.”

  Alexander was in pain but trying to be brave about it. “This is my first real injury,” he said. “It happened so… quickly.”

  Tor was trying not to think about the events that Alexander’s youthful mistake had put in motion that had resulted in not only a dead groom, but a dead de Royans knight. Now that he realized that Alexander was going to live, he pulled Ronan forward and told him to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. Leaving Ronan and Nathaniel and Jeremy to tend Alexander, he stood up and faced the results of his actions.

  Steffan was dead a few feet away. Thomas, Alec, Nat and Artus were standing there, looking down at him, muttering softly. Taking a deep breath, Tor went over to them.

  “Whatever you may think of my actions, know that I do not regret my choice,” he said. “De Featherstone was going to kill Alexander. I was not going to let that happen.”

  Thomas sighed heavily. “You know that Alexander acted stupidly.”

  “Of course I do. Was I supposed to simply stand there and let de Featherstone gore him?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “You did what you had to do. But now we have a big problem.”

  That was an understatement. Not only had Isabella�
�s groom been killed, but there was possibly great damage to the alliance with the House of de Royans because of it. But Tor didn’t regret anything.

  “I am not going to pretend that de Featherstone was innocent in all of this,” he said, his usually cool demeanor hardening. “The man compromised Isabella and then ran out on her. When confronted, he made the choice to fight. What did he think was going to happen? What did any of you think was going to happen? He chose the sword and he died by it, so I have no remorse for what has happened. He got what he deserved as far as I am concerned. But the only concession I will make is that Alexander behaved stupidly. That still does not mean I would allow him to be killed because of it. I am willing to go to de Royans and explain my part in all of this if that is what you are afraid of.”

  Thomas shook his head, putting his hand on Tor’s shoulder. “Nay,” he said. “I will go. It will be better coming from me because I can try to mend whatever damage this has caused. But you… you take your foolish half-brothers back to Castle Questing and tell my brother that his son has created a hell of a mess.”

  “De Featherstone created the mess, Uncle Thomas. That was where this all started.”

  Thomas cast him an annoyed look. “I am not going to debate this with you,” he said. “I know where this started but the situation is delicate. Get your half-brothers home and tell Scott what has happened.”

  “I’ll do it,” Alec said grimly. “Isabella is my niece, after all. I must speak to Scott about the situation, anyway. I will take Ronan and the de Wolfe brothers home to Castle Questing. Tor, you and Nat can return the body to de Featherstone’s father. You can tell the father what happened to his dishonorable son.”

  Since the House of de Featherstone wasn’t far from Tor’s fortress of Blackpool, it made sense that Tor should deliver the bad news. Without an argument to that, Tor simply nodded.

  As Thomas went to find the de Vesci knights and use them as his muscle when he sent the de Royans knights away without telling them what had become of Steffan, Tor went in search of something to wrap up de Featherstone’s body with, but the care he took with it wasn’t cautious or kind.

  The man didn’t deserve it as far as he was concerned.

  The best thing Tor could find was a big, dirty horse blanket from the livery behind the tavern and between him and Nat, they managed to wrap up de Featherstone tightly and haul him back out to the livery, storing him in one of the stalls as Tor returned to Alexander to stitch up his considerable wound.

  With the excitement of the night over with, it was time to deal with the aftermath.

  Confiscating one of the small sleeping chambers for Alexander, the tavern keep could find nothing better than heavy woolen thread to stitch up the young squire’s wound. Tor made the man boil it first, knowing that would help keep the poison away.

  Alexander was very brave as Tor took that rough, heavy thread and put neat stiches from his neck to his ribcage, but it wasn’t painless in the least. For every grunt of pain that escaped Alexander’s lips, Tor was glad that Steffan de Featherstone was dead because if the man wasn’t, he would have been before the night was over.

  Thomas had been right. They had created a hell of a mess, thanks to a runaway groom. Tor couldn’t help but wonder where, exactly, it was all going to end now.

  A small spark often ignited a wildfire.

  CHAPTER TWO

  One week later

  The village of Haltwhistle

  “He’s starting to smell.”

  The words came from Tor, plodding along on Enbarr with the body of Steffan slung over the horse’s rump, still wrapped up in that old horse blanket. Only now, it was held together with a good deal of hemp rope.

  No one wanted the putrefying corpse escaping.

  Nat, a broad man who looked a good deal like his late father, Kieran Hage, made a point of staying ahead of Tor.

  “I know,” he said. “Why do you think I am riding in front of you?”

  Tor sighed heavily. “I hate to go through the village, but there is no other way to reach the de Featherstone manse,” he said. “Hopefully, we can get through without attracting too much attention.”

  “Or flies.”

  That was something they both agreed on.

  They continued along, entering the edge of town and passing by people who were going about their business. The sky overhead was relatively clear but puffy, dark clouds loomed, suggesting that more rain was in store for them.

  Unfortunately, there had been a good deal of rain over the past week and part of the smell emanating from the body was because it had been repeatedly soaked from the rains and hadn’t entirely dried out. Mildew was sprouting and God only knew what else, and Tor knew that they had to get that corpse into the ground as soon as possible.

  “I must admit that I am hesitant to present this corpse in its current state to Steffan’s father,” Tor said. “I haven’t looked at it in a couple of days but, based on the smell, I’m fairly certain it’s not in the best of condition.”

  Nat glanced back at the bundle. “It’s starting to seep through the horse blanket,” he said. “Those fluids are beginning to leech out.”

  “That’s a charming thought.”

  “Do you know Steffan’s father?”

  Tor shook his head. “I’ve met the man on a couple of occasions, but nothing more,” he said. “It’s my understanding that Featherstone is the de Featherstone country house. Either they are named for it or it is named for them, I do not know. But I heard once that they have another manse in Carlisle.”

  Nat glanced at him. “The family is wealthy?”

  “From what I’ve heard, wildly so,” Tor said. “Money made in the merchant trade. De Featherstone’s main support to Brampton is financial – he pays a good deal of support for the man’s army and receives protection from it for his homes and his fleets.”

  Nat pondered the wealthy businessman, which here in the north was a fairly rare beast. Most people this far north were either warlords or farmers, or both.

  “But his son became a knight,” he said. “Not only does he not serve Brampton, he serves de Royans.”

  “It is a more prestigious house.”

  “To be sure, but you would think the son would follow the father.”

  Tor shrugged his big shoulders. “Steffan de Featherstone seemed to be a man who did as he pleased,” he said. “Mayhap he did not wish to become a merchant like his father, just as he decided not to honor a marital contract with Isabella. Who made that contract, anyway? Was it the father?”

  Nat shook his head. “From what I heard, it was Steffan himself,” he said. “Isabella is a pretty thing, you know. He saw her somewhere, I do not know where, and fancied her. He was the one who made the contract.”

  “And decided in the end not to honor it.”

  “That was my understanding, aye.”

  Tor looked on up ahead into the busy village at this time of day. “Then we shall make sure his father understands that,” he said. “You had better let me tell him while you remain out of the manse. In case I am taken prisoner against Steffan’s death, you will need to go for help.”

  That thought had occurred to Nat. “Or mayhap you simply dump the body at the door and run.”

  “I have considered that.”

  When Nat looked at him, he grinned, and the two of them snorted at the suggestion. Honorable knights didn’t run, no matter what the circumstances, and no matter how much they wanted to.

  They were going to have to face Steffan’s father.

  The deeper they progressed into the town, the busier it became. This was one of the larger villages in between Newcastle and Carlisle, so there were many peasants from the countryside bringing in their produce to sell. This far north, there was a great deal of agriculture and sheep, and as they entered the town center they could see big corrals stuffed with wooly, white sheep.

  There were more sheep in small herds outside of the corrals, being kept closely guarded by dogs and she
pherds. There were wool merchants haggling with the farmers over the quality of their wool and even as the bargains were struck, sheep were cut out from the herd and clipped by men whose entire profession it was to clip the wool from the sheep. Those men were very precise with their big, steel shears and they were in much demand by the wool merchants because they were very precise. A bad job of shearing could cost them money.

  Because there was so much going on in the town, no one seemed to be noticing two knights lumbering through the village on expensive warhorses. They were both wearing de Wolfe tunics, identifying them as being from one of the most powerful families in the north. Tor was hoping that they could get through the village without being noticed at all but, unfortunately, that was not to be.

  A situation arose.

  It all started out of their sight, in a corral on the other side of a livery that was at the edge of the town center. A man was selling beautiful and expensive Spanish horses, brought all the way from Madrid. He’d had twenty of them with the intention of selling them to the nobility of England, but because times were rather poor at the moment, he’d only been able to sell fifteen of the twenty on his journey through England.

  Now, he was down to his last five and they were the most expensive. They were fine Spanish Jennets, horses bred from Arabians and long-legged warmbloods. The resulting horse was a masterpiece of equine breeding, both fast and sturdy. At the moment, the man was trying to sell a gorgeous white mare to a woman who seemed to have a discerning eye for horseflesh. She inspected the horse, looking over every inch of it, before deciding she wanted to sit on it. The horse was only green broke and against the man’s better judgment, he let her sit on the horse.

  That was when all hell broke loose.

  Tor was first aware of it when he heard a scream go up. He was on the road heading towards a turn off that would take them south, but he saw the horse charging towards them. It was clear the woman on the horse had no control of it, struggling not to fall off.