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

by Kathryn Le Veque

“Then you have been raiding my lands for your own benefit.”

  A pause. “I have been takin’ what I need.”

  It seemed to confirm to William and the others that these men were not sanctioned by their clans. Knowing he was dealing with rogue Scots, men who cared not for honor or, more than likely, reason, William proceeded carefully.

  “Barden, we are at a crossroads,” he said. “My men have invaded your bailey and captured your tower. Your men are either subdued or dead. That only leaves the tower at this point, and we shall take it eventually. We can, therefore, do one of two things; you can surrender and I promise you and your men shall not be harmed, or I will order my men to begin bombarding the roof with flaming oil. You cannot combat it and it will eventually burn everyone in the tower. You know this. I will, therefore, give you the choice of how you wish to proceed.”

  Barden was seriously contemplating what he’d been told. De Wolfe was giving him the choice of what should be done, which saved his pride in a sense. Barden understood that, but he also understood that either choice would end in his surrender. He turned back to his men and snippets of angry conversation could be heard. It was several moments before he replied.

  “We’ll not yield tae ye,” he said, “and most of this tower is made of stone. If ye must burn us down, then get on with it.”

  That brought a bit of information William hadn’t known – most of this tower is made of stone. He could mean the walls and the stairs, but what of the floors? They could be wood or stone, or a combination of both. William wanted the tower intact, but maybe he could burn enough of it – whatever would burn – to smoke them out.

  “Then you would die with your men rather than surrender and go free?” William asked. “I do not intend to take you prisoner but, in order to go free, you must surrender your weapons and leave. I’ll not have bands of armed Scots roaming these lands.”

  Barden seemed to grow angry. “These are our lands, Sassenach,” he said. “Ye’re in our country and ye have no right tae be. If ye want a surrender, it ’twill not be from us. Ye’ll have tae kill us first.”

  William was coming to see that there was no way around it. He had suspected this would be their answer and he was prepared. He was about to reply when an arrow suddenly sailed out of the tower, from the roof area, and hit James on the upper arm, penetrating his mail. It wasn’t a bad strike, but bad enough. The message was clear. When William saw the arrow protruding out of his son’s arm, it was all he needed to give the command for the archers to launch.

  He would waste no more time.

  Men began scrambling to fulfill his command and, soon enough, the sky was full of flaming arrows, hitting the stone walls of the tower but also hitting the roof, igniting both men and wood. William had brought two smaller trebuchets with him, war machines that had managed to burn a great deal of the interior of the bailey. And now those same engines were hurling flaming bombs of oil that, when smashing on the roof of the tower house, sent flames flying everywhere.

  Very quickly, the siege turned into a raging inferno as the tower house began to burn. Screams could be heard from inside the stone structure as the English eased up on their bombardment. The flames were doing more than they ever could at this point. Troy stood with his father, watching heavy black smoke rise up into the afternoon sky and listening to the cries of the men inside. He shook his head sadly.

  “Rather than surrender, they will die,” he said. “I cannot fathom that kind of zealous behavior.”

  William watched the smoke pour from the windows. “Put men on chopping through the door,” he said. “Open it. At least if there are men who wish to escape, they can do so. It could be quite possible that they are being prevented from escaping.”

  Troy looked at his father. “Opening that door could increase the flames,” he said. “Are you sure that is what you want to do?”

  William cocked a dark eyebrow. “It does not matter,” he said. “Whether the flames grow stronger or weaker, they are burning inside. It is an ugly death. Mayhap if we cut down the entry door, some will be saved.”

  Troy moved away from his father, grabbing Patrick and Tobias and telling them what his father had ordered. Very quickly, there were two very big men with axes chopping through the heavy oak and iron entry door to the tower, making holes in it, enough for terrible black smoke to escape. They could hear the Scots on the other side, coughing and crying out in fear but then cursing the English who were trying to break through. Troy, who was standing right behind the big soldiers who were doing the axing, began to shout at the men inside.

  “Save yourselves!” he yelled, coughing as the smoke poured into his face. “Get out of there!”

  More cursing, more chopping, until a portion of the door broke down and half-unconscious Scots began to push through the opening, one at a time. The knights standing at the entry, and there were several of them, began to pull the men out and away from the fire, which was gaining intensity. Only ten or so Scots made it out, leaving the rest to die in the inferno that burned long into the night. The smell of smoke and human flesh hung heavy on the air for days after that.

  It was a smell not many of them would soon forget.

  Monteviot Tower, or what was left of it, now belonged to William de Wolfe. As dawn broke over the following day, it was the green and black de Wolfe banners that flew proudly from the walls. But true to his word, William allowed those men who had escaped the tower to flee without taking them prisoner.

  Flee they did, and word of de Wolfe’s victory spread very quickly in Southern Scotland. In particular, it spread to the clans who had an uneasy peace with de Wolfe. Fearful of rousing the man’s anger, no one sent any men to counter him. De Wolfe’s anger could bring tens of thousands of English, and no one wanted that.

  But no one wanted him with another base in Scotland, either.

  For a lesser branch of the Clan Kerr, it was a particular issue because Monteviot Tower was on their land. It was an issue they needed to deal with. Their lands bordered de Wolfe lands all along the border from Coldstream to Carter Bar. They already had to tolerate Wolfe’s Lair in their lands, mighty English bastion that it was, but now there was a second fortress for de Wolfe to gain a foothold.

  Keith Kerr of Clan Kerr, chief of a smaller offshoot of the clan, was the one who mostly had to deal with de Wolfe. Known as Red Keith, he knew he couldn’t shake de Wolfe. It was better not to try. But he also didn’t like de Wolfe becoming greedy and taking a disputed outpost.

  Therefore, he would have to deal with de Wolfe in a way the man would understand.

  He would have to bargain with his very blood.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sibbald’s Hold

  Home of Red Keith Kerr

  Thirteen miles west of Monteviot Tower

  “Pa, how can ye ignore what the Wolfe is doin’? Are ye blind to him, then?”

  A very angry young woman dressed in hose and layers of tunics stood in the low-ceilinged hall of her father’s home, smoke gathering near her head from the hearth that was spitting sparks and gray ribbons into the darkened room. But the man she spoke to, sitting near the fire in his long tunic and coat of heavy, dirty wool, gazed back at her with some displeasure.

  “De Wolfe was cleanin’ out the rebels from Monteviot Tower,” he muttered. “Those same men have been raidin’ his lands. We expected he would do this, so it is of no great surprise.”

  The woman let her hand slap against her thigh in frustration. “So ye let the Sassenach remain? Now Monteviot becomes his holdin’?”

  It was sunset over the land and, deep in the heart of the clan of the Red Keith Kerr, Keith Kerr eyed his passionate, strong, big-mouthed daughter with increasing disapproval. It wasn’t that anything she said was wrong in any fashion; the great Wolfe of the Border had, indeed, launched a siege on Scot lands and, technically, on one of his holdings.

  Monteviot Tower belonged to Keith but he didn’t have enough men to hold it, so reivers had confiscated the property
and had been using it for their base to launch raids into English lands. Most of those lands belonged to de Wolfe, so Keith had been expecting, at some point, that de Wolfe would come after Monteviot. The exchange for purging the reivers was that now de Wolfe had another holding in Kerr lands.

  But there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  “Lass,” Keith growled, perturbed that she was calling him out in front of his men, “ye know the situation. Ye know that I dunna have the men tae hold Monteviot much less take it back from de Wolfe. If ye can bring me a thousand Scots, I may be able tae reclaim the property, but for now… I canna do it by force.”

  “Ye mean ye willna.”

  “I mean I canna.”

  Rhoswyn Whitton Kerr faced off against her father, feeling an abundance of shame and frustration. He didn’t seem willing to fight the English off of his very land and, to Rhoswyn, that was a sign of weakness.

  She’d never known her father to be weak before.

  And his excuse… that he didn’t have enough men to do it. Her father was chief of a smaller clan, an offshoot of the larger Clan Kerr that held most of the lands in this area. Why, all her father had to do was to call upon his cousin, the Kerr of Clan Kerr, and he could have those thousand men he needed to chase off de Wolfe. Never mind that her father and his cousin were at odds, and had been ever since her father had married her mother those years ago. His cousin had wanted the woman for himself and it had been the cause of an estrangement between them. But that was old history as far as Rhoswyn was concerned.

  Couldn’t bygones be bygones?

  “Ye could if ye wanted tae,” she pointed out. “But ye willna ask the Kerr for his help. It is a silly grudge ye hold against him and…”

  “Silly?”

  “Aye,” Rhoswyn pointed a long finger at him. “It has gone on for nearly twenty years now, since before me birth. It is time tae make amends, Pa. It is time tae pull together tae fight de Wolfe from our lands.”

  Keith sighed heavily. It was his own fault that his daughter was the way she was. He’d only had one child – Rhoswyn – and for a man who had badly wanted a son, the girl bore the brunt of that longing. He’d raised her like a son, teaching her to fight, to track, to hunt, and any number of things that men did. She could drink most men under the table and she had been known to fight on occasion. It was something her mother, God rest her soul, had tried to balance out by teaching her daughter what she considered the finer points of being a lady – sewing, singing, and learning to both speak and read in three languages. Rhoswyn was a fine student, and very intelligent, but her natural personality had her thriving on the things her father taught her more than the ones her mother insisted upon. The result was a warrior all men feared, a woman who was as tough and strong as most men.

  And she knew it.

  But Rhoswyn was also a woman of exquisite beauty. Her hair was long and thick and straight, hanging to mid-waist, in a shade of auburn that looked like the shimmering color of leaves when they changed in the autumn. It was all shades of burnished reds and golds. She had the face of angels, her mother had said, and big brown eyes with a fringe of dusky lashes. With a dusting of freckles across her nose, she looked like a fine porcelain statue and incapable of anything other than softness and love.

  That was what most men thought before she drove a sword into their bellies.

  Aye, Rhoswyn was both his exquisite creation and his disaster. Finding a husband for her had been impossible because no Scotsman in his right mind wanted a wife who could best him in a fight. And it was that thought alone that caused Keith a good deal of sleepless nights until he’d heard that de Wolfe had taken over Monteviot Tower.

  Then, an idea had struck him.

  Keith knew he couldn’t beat de Wolfe in a fight. A show of force wouldn’t do. But perhaps an alliance of sorts would. If he couldn’t run the man off his lands, then he really had no choice but to join with him. If he could only trick de Wolfe… that is, convince de Wolfe into accepting Rhoswyn as a wife for one of his men, or better, one of his sons, then he wouldn’t have to worry about de Wolfe on his lands at all. Rhoswyn would be married into the man’s family and, therefore, they would all be considered family. It might even make his snobbish cousin, the Kerr, respect him just a little. An alliance with de Wolfe would make him more powerful in his cousin’s eyes.

  But, in truth, an alliance like that wouldn’t be for respect. It would be for survival. It was far better to be at de Wolfe’s side than in his path.

  Of course, Rhoswyn didn’t know any of this, nor would she until the time was right. Until then, Keith had to keep his scheme to himself. He couldn’t even tell his men, because he knew it would get back to his daughter. Nay, he had to bide his time on this one. He had to make peace with de Wolfe because he didn’t have the numbers to stand against him.

  Rhoswyn was that peace.

  “I am not sure we can,” Keith said after a moment. “Lass, ye know old angers die hard. The Kerr has never forgiven me for takin’ yer mother away from him and whenever he looks at ye, he sees her. Ye remind him of what he lost.”

  “Then ye willna even try?” Rhoswyn asked, exasperated.

  Keith held up a quieting hand. “It seems tae me that de Wolfe isna a threat,” he said. “He’s held Wolfe’s Lair for more than twenty years and the only threat he’s ever had, aside from an occasional Scots raid, is attack from the English. Ye were just a wee lass at the time but nigh ten years ago, Carlisle marched on de Wolfe and laid siege tae the Lair.”

  Rhoswyn had heard of that battle, many years ago. It had something to do with Simon de Montfort at the time, and the fact that de Wolfe supported Henry, but she didn’t care about foolish English feuds. They were a ridiculous lot, anyway.

  “I remember bein’ told,” she said impatiently, “and I dunna care. All I care about is gettin’ the man off our lands. If ye willna make amends with the Kerr, then what will ye do?”

  There she was again, challenging his authority in all matters. Keith glanced to the men around him; his younger brother, Fergus, and Fergus’ sons Artis and Dunsmore. Fergus was even more of the passive type – the man didn’t like confrontation – while his sons were much more like Rhoswyn. The younger generation had the fire of ambition in them and the fuel of inexperience to feed it.

  “I will do what needs tae be done, Daughter,” he finally said, with a firm tone that told her she’d better still her tongue. “Trust that, in all things, I will do what is best for us all.”

  Rhoswyn heard the warning tone but she’d never been one to back away. “And what is that, Pa?”

  Keith eyed the woman. He knew she wasn’t going to leave this alone unless he gave her a satisfactory answer. Rather than let her continue to publicly humiliate him, he stood up, straight into the haze of smoke that was hanging around the room. His eyes stung. But his gaze was sharp on his daughter.

  “With me,” he said.

  He was motioning to Rhoswyn and she immediately went to him, following him out of the hall and into the bailey beyond.

  It was a small bailey, crowded with men and animals, and smelling like a barnyard. Sibbald’s Hold was a small but highly fortified tower that had been built about sixty years before by a man named Sibbald Kerr. As Keith’s father, he’d passed the fortress to his son and it became Keith’s permanent home after his falling out with his cousin. It was comprised of a tower attached to a hall that used two of the exterior walls of the fortress as part of the structure.

  Everything was packed in so tightly into the bailey that there was little room for anything more than what they already had, including people. Keith turned to his daughter when he sensed they had a nominal amount of privacy.

  “I’ll not have ye questionin’ every move I make,” he said, his tone low. “I have tae do what’s best for our people. If I charge de Wolfe, he will destroy us. Do ye not understand that?”

  Rhoswyn did, deep down, but it wasn’t in her nature to relent. “But Pa,” she said. “
If ye dunna challenge him, then mayhap the next time, he’ll come for Sibbald. What will ye do then? If ye let him gain more of a foothold than he has, then he’ll walk over us before we know it.”

  Keith cocked a dark eyebrow. “Then what would ye have me do?”

  Rhoswyn blinked in surprise; he didn’t usually ask her opinion. Even so, she was ready with it. “If ye send tae the Kerr…”

  Keith cut her off. “I will not send word tae me cousin,” he said flatly. “He wouldna come, anyway. Ye can put that thought out of yer mind. Tell me again what ye would do.”

  Truth be told, Rhoswyn didn’t have much of a backup plan. “What of yer allies?” she asked. “If ye send word, they will help ye.”

  Keith shook his head. “’Tis a fool ye are, lass,” he said. “Do ye really believe the Elliot and the Armstrong would send men tae purge de Wolfe from a tiny outpost? And risk the wrath of all of the English lairds along the border? Nay, lass, they wouldna. Tae fight de Wolfe, we must be smarter than he is. And wolves are smart animals.”

  Rhoswyn knew what he said about their allies was true; they wouldn’t risk angering de Wolfe because the man could very well take it out on them. But she hated feeling so alone and so helpless.

  “How would ye be smarter than him, then?” she asked.

  Keith held up a finger as if a grand thought had occurred to him. “By attackin’ the English the only way we can.”

  “And do what?”

  There was a glimmer in Keith’s dark eyes. “We can pick away at them,” he said. “I could send men every week tae pick at the outpost, tae steal their horses or their cattle, tae make their lives miserable. I may not be able tae bring a massive army tae their door, but I can make their lives uneasy. Now, by all accounts, de Wolfe is a reasonable man. He’s not given tae fits of fury or madness. Mayhap, I will invite de Wolfe tae Sibbald and discuss a truce. If he doesna agree, then we will pick at his men like vermin. There willna be many of us, but enough tae give them no peace.”

  Rhoswyn was shaking her head, even as he spoke. “That willna matter tae them,” she said. “With their numbers, we would simply be flies buzzin’ around their heads. It would be annoyin’ and nothin’ more. They may even swat at the flies and kill one or two. Do we want tae risk our men like that?”