The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gordon tried not to appear hurt. “Now you are being ridiculous.”

  Jeremy, focused on what he must now do, turned away from his father. “Go to de Wolfe, since it is obvious that you support him. I give you until dawn to clear out of Canaan. If I see you again after that, I shall throw you in the vault with the other de Wolfe supporters.”

  Gordon could not believe what he was hearing. But he knew, instinctively, that his son was not bluffing. He knew the man too well. And he knew that his son was beyond reason at this moment. Without another word, he turned for the hall and disappeared.

  He had to find Avrielle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Scott couldn’t believe it.

  He’d never faced a situation quite like before. Very shortly after leaving the protective bailey of Castle Canaan, he realized that his vassals were turning against him. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he found that more than that, he was hurt. Hurt that the men he had valued his alliance with had turned on him. He thought he had known them better than that; furthermore, he had believed the matter settled earlier. Fickle like women they were and when the hurt finally cooled, it turned into anger.

  A night battle was rare, rarer still considering the wicked weather. Gentle gray clouds at dusk had turned to angry black thunderheads that cloaked the night sky, pelting the land with furious rain. And the late hour was also rare; it was close to midnight by the time Scott and his army engaged in a full-scale battle under the ghostly gleam of intermittent lightning. Several dozen foot soldiers were also bearing torches soaked in flammable tar, smoking heavily in the dense rain but providing enough light to swing a flail by. It made for an eerie battle scene and an extremely dangerous one, especially now that Scott and his army were boxed between a fortress that didn’t want them and an army who did.

  When he first realized that Canaan had abandoned him, he had to make plans. Sending word to his seat of Ravenstone Castle, which wasn’t too far away, was impractical simply because they only had a minimum number of men to man the fortress because Scott had the bulk of his army with him. Therefore, he immediately sent two scouts northeast to his allies at Bowes Castle for reinforcements. But it would take at least three days to receive any help. Bowes was in the hands of the House of de Royans, associates of the House of de Wolfe, and they would send a sizable force, greater than his own army at the very least.

  Another ally was Pendragon Castle, the family of St. Hèver, and they were closer although Pendragon didn’t carry nearly the number of men that Bowes did. Still, he was sure he could get at least eight hundred men from Pendragon by tomorrow, which would add to his own sizeable force of fifteen hundred men. An army that size would easily crush the rebels he was currently trifling with, but he would save the most crushing blow of all for Castle Canaan herself when his reinforcement troops from Bowes arrived. He was finished with patience for Jeremy and his petulant knights, and his agitation was evident in every sword stroke, every command.

  An hour into the brutal battle, Auclair sustained a nasty groin injury. Scott was filled with a rage as murky and thick as tar from the earth. It roiled in his chest, rising through his arms and legs until, in desperation, it required an outlet. Dismounting his steed, Scott sent the vicious beast off to battle men on its own. Re-sheathing his sword, the third Baron Bretherdale proceeded to do what he did best in battle.

  He used his bare hands.

  *

  “Avrielle,” Gordon was hissing in her ear, shaking her gently. “Avrielle, wake up.”

  Avrielle twitched slightly. She had been dreaming of a man in armor, a low rumbling voice in her ear that spoke ever so sweetly to her. She couldn’t see his face, but she instinctively knew that it was not Nathaniel. Her father hissed again and she slowly opened her eyes. It was dark in her bedchamber, the smell of smoke heavy on the air as the fire in the hearth died a lingering death. By the state of the ashes, she knew it was near dawn. Stephen was pressed up against her swollen belly, sound asleep, while Sophia was molded into the curve of her back. She could hardly move for fear of waking them as she gazed sleepily into her father’s eyes.

  “Da?” she murmured. “What is it?”

  Gordon was grim. In fact, Avrielle had never seen him so grim. “Something terrible has happened, dear heart,” he whispered as the children stirred. “Rise and dress. We must leave.”

  A bit more awake now, Avrielle blinked at him in confusion. “Leave?” she repeated. “Why? What’s happened?”

  Gordon gathered up Stephen, who protested irritably. “Your brother has gone to war against de Wolfe. I’ll not have you and the children in the castle when it is sacked. We must get out of here before de Wolfe’s fury turns on us.”

  Avrielle sat up, a cumbersome movement because of her belly. Sophia, still asleep, rolled away from her mother and burrowed under the covers.

  “What do you mean?” Avrielle demanded, becoming more alert as a slow fear gripped her. “Why has Jeremy done this?”

  Gordon put Stephen down at the end of the bed. Swiftly, the old man moved to the wardrobe and collected a large satchel and began throwing garments into it. Avrielle rose from the bed as quickly as she could manage and stopped him.

  “Answer me,” she demanded. “Why has my brother done this?”

  Gordon sighed heavily, his daughter’s hand warm and soft on his arm giving him pause. “He believes that de Wolfe has brought nothing but sorrow to this house. He seeks to punish him for his role in Nathaniel’s death.” He shook his head sadly. “He is wrought with madness, Avrielle. I cannot reason with him.”

  Avrielle’s beautiful face was drawn, tight. “And the knights follow him?”

  “They do.”

  “Mayhap I can reason with him,” she said softly.

  Gordon shook his head. “He will not listen. His temper has overtaken his good senses and I fear he will only upset you.”

  Avrielle watched her father, his movements and obvious distress. As immersed as she was in the grief of her husband’s passing, she still had enough sense to recognize that Jeremy was about to ruin her children’s legacy with his dramatics. Oddly enough, last night as she’d cried in the arms of that mysterious knight, it was as if the temporary madness that had swamped her had been chased away by a deep voice and a warm embrace. Something in her soul had been satisfied with that comfort, enough so that the bone-numbing grief she’d been experiencing has been soothed.

  Eased.

  Something inside her had definitely been eased and even as she spoke with her father, it was with a clarity she’d not experienced in months.

  Now, as she listened to her father’s tale of her brother’s vengeance, all Avrielle could feel was rage. No matter how competent Jeremy was as a knight, still, she was the Lady of Castle Canaan and Nathaniel du Rennic’s wife. This was her home and she would not let her brother destroy all that her husband had worked for.

  “Ridiculous,” she hissed, going in search of her slippers. “I will speak with him.”

  Gordon looked at his daughter, seeing more animation in her than he had seen since Nathaniel’s death. It was surprising, really, considering the overtures of grief he’d seen from her over the past few months. But now, the stubborn, determined woman was making a marked return because of a crisis and he was glad. So very glad. Still, he could not permit her to exert herself so, especially in her condition.

  “Nay, Avrielle,” he said firmly. “Leave your brother be. His mind cannot be altered.”

  Avrielle found her slippers and her fur-lined cloak. “I do not intend to alter his mind,” she snapped. “I intend to erase it altogether.”

  She struggled with the shoes, trying to work around her massive tummy, and the heavy cloak slipped easily over her shoulders. It was a golden shade of brocade with a hint of green throughout. Nathaniel had given it to her on her twentieth birthday.

  Gordon watched her, torn between demanding she refrain from engaging her brother and secretly glad she had worked herself up into
the familiar fire. Dear God, it was good to see the usual spirit in her once again. He had thought Nathaniel’s death might have killed it but was relieved to see that it had not died.

  The old Avrielle was still there, still lurking.

  He thanked God.

  “Avrielle,” he said, more calmly. “You should not…”

  “Do not tell me what I should not do,” she barked angrily. “I’ll not allow my brother to destroy my son’s birthright. This is my castle, someday to be Stephen’s. Never was it Jeremy’s to do with as he pleases.”

  Gordon opened his mouth to argue but she fled out the door. Stephen started to cry and rub his eyes, and Gordon forced himself to comfort the boy. Besides, if Avrielle was going to confront Jeremy, ’twould be best if he wasn’t there to inflame the man. Jeremy considered him a traitor, and Avrielle wouldn’t listen to him anyway. She never really had, strong-minded wench that she was. The only person she had ever listened to was Nathaniel, and he was dead.

  With that thought, Gordon held Stephen closer, praying that the clash between his children wouldn’t tear the castle apart. He wondered if he was being weak by not trying to mediate their showdown. In truth, it had now come down to a situation between just the two of them; he was an outsider to their conflict. As strong as they both were, each in their own way, he would wager that there would only be one true victor in this battle of wills.

  And his money was on Avrielle.

  *

  Avrielle found Jeremy in Nathaniel’s war room, a small solar that had been transformed by her husband into a place of war and strategy. A smoking fish oil lamp burned in the middle of a heavy, oak table laden with maps and other documents as Jeremy and the knights hunched over, reading and murmuring between them. Avrielle, without a hint of hesitation, marched into the room to confront her brother.

  “Jeremy,” she demanded. “What is it that you are doing to my castle?”

  Jeremy was calm, his blue gaze curious on his sister. He knew Gordon had run right to her and was frankly surprised it had taken her this long to seek him out. But he was grossly irritated that his father has sought his sister to stop him. As if she could. He hadn’t had to deal with her in months and he had been the happier for it. With only him and his father in command of Canaan, Jeremy had been exactly where he wanted to be – in command of a mighty fortress with no interference from his sister.

  But that was evidently about to change.

  “It is surprising to see you lucid, Avrielle,” he said evenly. “Shouldn’t you be out hoeing the ground somewhere?”

  It was a direct slap to her face, a cruel taunt about the grief she’d been stricken with and the weakness she had shown. At least, Jeremy had perceived it as weakness.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “And shouldn’t you know your place?” Avrielle asked with equal malice. “You are not in command here, Jeremy Huntley. I am. And you will tell me what you are doing to my castle.”

  Jeremy’s expression tensed at his sister’s insult. He deserved it, but she’d humiliated him in front of his men. That disturbed him greatly.

  “I am protecting it.”

  Avrielle was in no mood for his half-truths. “You call doing battle against our liege defending my fortress?” she asked, her anger building. “Have you gone completely mad?”

  “You would know.”

  “Answer me before I have you thrown over the battlements and into de Wolfe’s waiting arms.”

  They could go on insulting each other all night but Jeremy knew, in the end, the men would obey her over him. It was her castle, after all, and his pride took a hit. Damn… he’d been happy and full of confidence commanding Canaan in the wake of Nathaniel’s death and his sister’s grief. But that was all about to come to a crashing halt. Not wanting to find himself slung over the walls, he put up his hands to soothe her.

  “You need not concern yourself, truly,” he said. “I must do as…”

  She thrust a finger at him. “No, Jeremy, you must do as I command,” she snarled. “I am the Lady of Castle Canaan. And I say that we do not resist, nor go to war against Baron Bretherdale. I’ve no desire for Stephen’s legacy to be ruined because of your thoughtless decisions.”

  A flicker of temper came to Jeremy’s eye. “You know nothing of the ways of war, Avrielle,” he said, making one last attempt to control her. “Go back to your children. Let the men handle this.”

  He couldn’t have said anything worse. Furious, she ripped the maps from the table, dislodging the fish oil lamp and sending it crashing to the stone floor. The room was not dark, however. A bright flame burned in the hearth, illuminating her as she stuffed the parchment into the fireplace and watched it spark brilliantly. Adam and George moved to save the maps, but Kristoph stopped them. No one dared move against Lady du Rennic in her current state for fear of being stuffed into the hearth, too.

  “How dare you patronize me,” she hissed at Jeremy. “This is not your fortress and not your decision to make. You have no say in all of this, do you understand? Were it not for my grace, you would be a homeless drunk without a pence to your name. My husband was gracious enough to invite you and our father to live here, to serve him and to serve me. It was Nathaniel who helped you forget the drink so you could have some purpose in life other than drowning yourself in wine every night. Do you comprehend? You are here to serve me, not the other way around.”

  The room was silent with shock from her tirade, but each man knew that she was correct; Lady du Rennic had the power. Jeremy did not. Without her support of his actions, he was impotent. Jeremy, however, was used to wielding the power Nathaniel had been so generous with and unwilling to part with it so easily. He stared at his sister, determining the best course to take with her. She could be a spitfire when roused, as he had learned many times over the course of his life, and he had no desire to come to blows with her.

  In the end, he would lose.

  He tried another tactic.

  “You are simply overwrought,” he said, trying the gentle approach. “I am only doing what is best for Canaan. You must trust me. You always have before.”

  She was too smart to be fooled by his calm tone. “Aye, that I have. But what you plan now will destroy us, not save us. I forbid it.”

  Jeremy didn’t like that word. He scratched his head with waning patience. “But I am afraid the die has already been cast. De Wolfe is aware of our challenge. In fact, I expect a full siege very shortly. There is nothing you can do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He rode out around midnight to vanquish an attack against our walls. We shut his army out and imprisoned the de Wolfe men still within our walls. When he is finished with the rebels, he will turn on us and lay siege. It is too late to change our mind now, even if we could.”

  Avrielle felt sick. Her father had failed to mention the extent of Jeremy’s rebellion, and now suddenly all became clear. That being the case, her brother was most likely right. There was probably nothing more she could do now but wait out the siege to her beloved castle.

  Furious and distraught, she grabbed the nearest thing she could get her hands on and hurled it at her brother’s head. Jeremy ducked a pewter cup that could have potentially done a great deal of damage. The other knights froze, anticipating the next projectile. Over the past few weeks, they had become accustomed to them; sometimes too overcome with grief to speak or cry, Lady du Rennic had taken to throwing things. That was, of course, when she wasn’t hoeing the dead earth in the garden until her palms were raw.

  “Damn you,” she hissed, her anger deflating and a true sorrow taking hold. “Damn you for condemning us, Jeremy. First I lose my husband and now my home. How could you do this?”

  Jeremy was quickly becoming genuinely remorseful. In spite of the power struggle between them, he really didn’t hate her. She had saved him, many times. In truth, he didn’t like to see her so upset, but he truly believed he was doing what was best.

  “De Wolfe
has brought nothing but pain to you,” he whispered earnestly, hoping she would see his point. “Do you think I can welcome this man with open arms when I see what he has done to you? Do you think I can serve him, knowing he is responsible for Nathaniel’s death? I must protect you, Avrielle, and that means protecting you against de Wolfe.”

  Avrielle, too, was losing some of her anger at him. He was prideful, quick to temper, and rash, but he wasn’t wicked. He was simply stubborn, much like she was. She sighed heavily. “But you fail to understand that you have no choice in this matter,” she said, looking at him as if he were an imbecile. “Do not you understand, Jeremy? You have made this your war when it isn’t. You have taken matters into your hands that are not your right. By your own arrogance, you have condemned us all.”

  The room was deathly silent. Brother and sister stared at one another, each lost in the turmoil of their own thoughts. Jeremy knew he was right; Avrielle knew beyond a doubt that he was wrong. Feeling terribly ill all of a sudden, Avrielle simply turned for the door. She hadn’t the strength to deal with her brother any longer.

  “We do not resist de Wolfe, Jeremy,” she whispered hoarsely. “We will surrender and submit to his mercy. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Jeremy’s jaw ticked, torn with emotion at her command. “Avie…”

  “Nay,” she said, more firmly. Briefly, she paused in the doorway. “We surrender. Make it so.”

  Jeremy felt foolish, angry, everything he could possibly feel. “De Wolfe doesn’t take prisoners, Avrielle. He’ll destroy us all without thought. Have you considered that?”

  Avrielle could remember hearing that once, from Nathaniel. Without another word, she moved from the archway and out into the darkened foyer. When she was out of the knights’ view, she made a determined move. Instead of turning for the stairway leading to her bedchamber, she turned for the bailey and the southern gatehouse beyond.

  *

  The melee throughout the night had been particularly ugly.

  Scott felt as if he had been fighting his entire life, with no rest or reprieve. It had been one of the most intense battles he could remember, with fierce, untrained men who bit and kicked at Scott’s well-schooled troops. In truth, he had no idea whose men they were because they flew no colors and bore no distinct marks. He thought he saw one or two knights, possibly in command, but they vanished like ghosts towards the beginning of the fight. He hadn’t seen them since. Stewart thought the men were French mercenaries, but Jean-Pierre assured him that they were not. Teutonic mercenaries were more the truth and they proved extremely vicious.