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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Reaching out, he touched her on the shoulder, by her neck, and a wild fire ran up and down her spine, causing her breath to come out in a painful gasp. Rhoswyn had never known the touch of any man, so Troy’s warm hand against her shoulder sent sparks firing through her body like nothing she’d ever experienced. His other hand came up, touching her other shoulder, and she must have made some kind of noise that suggested she wasn’t opposed to his warm, gentle touch because the next thing she realized, his mouth was on the side of her neck.

  After that, it all seemed to pass in a blur.

  Rhoswyn closed her eyes because the sensations Troy was creating overwhelmed her, swallowed her, and the only way she could fully realize them was to close her eyes and digest the powerful experience. His mouth moved over her neck and onto her back, where he was kissing the flesh. Kisses that caused her body to tremble and her breathing to come in odd pants. As she sat there on the edge of the bed, his big body moved up behind her and his enormous arms went around her, pulling her back onto the bed.

  She was on her back now, smelling the stale hay from the mattress as Troy covered them up with a blanket that smelled of horses. It was scratchy and rough, but Rhoswyn wasn’t paying attention. Troy was straddling her somehow – she didn’t dare open her eyes and look – but she could feel him hovering over her.

  And his hands were moving.

  Surely, confidently, they were moving. Stroking her arms, moving to her hands and pulling them to his lips. He was kissing her fingers and she could feel his hot breath on her flesh. Then he was nibbling on her hands, her wrists, and he dropped her hands long enough to yank her thin linen undertunic over her head in one swift movement.

  He almost yanked her head off with it and Rhoswyn gasped with surprise as she ended up naked from the waist up. Pulled from feelings of warmth and excitement, a flood of embarrassment filled her at her nakedness and she thought to protest but she quickly remembered that she’d promised him that she would not resist. He’d asked her to trust him, so she had little choice. But thoughts of resisting and embarrassment abruptly faded when he came down on top of her and his heated mouth began to suckle on a warm nipple.

  Witchcraft!

  That was all Rhoswyn could think when he fondled her breasts, suckling between them, and she liked it. Aye, she liked it! Somehow, the man had bewitched her into liking what he was doing to her. Trust took on a whole new meaning as his mouth, his tongue, moved over the flesh of her torso while his fingers now pulled at her hardened nipples, tugging at them, and every time he did it, she would gasp and groan. Her body seemed to be making the sounds all on its own, as if she had no control over what was coming out of her mouth. Something else seemed to have taken hold of her, for things like shame and fear had fled, leaving a quivering and willing shell in their wake.

  She had no will of her own.

  For certain, Troy seemed to be a man possessed. Along with the kissing and suckling he was doing, she could hear him inhaling deeply, as if sucking in her scent, breathing in her very essence. He was feeding off of it, suckling and biting at her torso, dragging his tongue over her belly. Her breeches were the last frontier, a garment that was laced at her hips to keep them tight, but Troy yanked the ties free and, with one hard pull, drew them all the way down to her ankles.

  As he pulled off one of the legs, leaving the other leg still bunched up around her ankle, he shoved his face into the thatch of dark curls between her legs and inhaled deeply. It was intimacy in the most basic way, a man acquainting himself with what belonged to him. It was the scent of his woman.

  Then, he went into a frenzy.

  Troy’s fingers began to probe wet, intimate places. Shocked at the unexpected move, Rhoswyn forgot her promise not to resist and she put her hands on his, trying to pull him away. But Troy wouldn’t let her remove his hand; he bent over to kiss her arms, her wrists, before pulling her fingers away to suckle on them. The action forced Rhoswyn back into the realm of warmth and arousal, feeling a strange heat between her legs and having no idea what it was or how to quench it. All she knew was that there was a hunger there now that she’d never had before, and when Troy finally put his manhood against her threshold and thrust slowly but firmly, she began to understand what that hunger was, because he was beginning to feed it.

  It was a primal need that took over her instincts. To Troy’s surprise, Rhoswyn thrust her hips forward, awkwardly, and he slid into her warm, wet body nearly his entire length. He also quickly realized that she had no maidenhead, probably lost somewhere in the years of riding horses, as sometimes happened with women. But her tight body and grimacing expression told him that she was, indeed, a virgin and he withdrew, coiling his buttocks and driving his full length into her. As Rhoswyn groaned with the unexpected and slightly painful experience, he began to move.

  His thrusts were deep and measured, and the pain quickly subsided, leaving that same strange hunger that seemed to grow every time Troy thrust into her. Rhoswyn lay on her back, legs parted and gripping Troy around the neck as he continued to move in her, grinding his pelvis against hers when he was in too deep to go any further. The grinding of the pelvis caused sparks to fly and her body to quiver, and as Rhoswyn was trying to absorb all of the pleasurable and strange new sensations their lovemaking had to offer, the hunger between her legs seemed to roar.

  The tremors of that roar rippled through her body as she experienced her first release, bringing a cry to her lips at the exquisite ecstasy of it. Rhoswyn held on to Troy tightly, feeling as if she needed an anchor. Surely if she didn’t hold on to something, the effects of that roar would blow her all over the chamber. Gasping, she held on to him as hard as she could, hearing his soft grunt in her ear as he found his release as well.

  It was over, but it wasn’t over. Troy remained on top of her, still moving in her, still touching her. His lips were on her forehead, kissing her tenderly, and somewhere in the kisses, his soft voice told her to sleep.

  Rhoswyn didn’t need any prompting; her body was already halfway there, languid and boneless. She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried. All cuddled up in Troy’s enormous, warm embrace, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. She was safe and she was warm, and she was content. She’d never known such satisfaction of the soul in her entire life.

  Witchcraft, indeed.

  When she awoke the next morning, Troy was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “A marriage.”

  “Aye… a marriage.”

  The muttered words came from Fergus and Artis, sitting with Dunsmore outside of the hall near a fire they’d built themselves, unwilling and unable to sit inside with a host of Sassenach soldiers while Rhoswyn was married to one of them.

  This wasn’t the outcome they’d hoped for.

  Fergus most of all. He was grossly disappointed by it and grossly insulted that he hadn’t been consulted on such a matter. It had been a shocking decision on Keith’s part and nobody was very happy about it – a marital alliance. Had Keith told him what he’d been planning all along, Fergus would have done his best to talk him out of it. Protested if he had to.

  Tie the man down and beat some sense into him if it came down to it.

  But there had been no chance for protests because the deed was done. Rhoswyn was married to a de Wolfe son and was even now in the tower with her new husband, doing things that would bring about a de Wolfe heir and a potential claimant to the wealth of Clan Kerr. It was true that because of the laws of tanistry, or the Gaelic succession rights, no female or the offspring of a female could inherit the chief’s position, meaning that a de Wolfe grandson couldn’t become the chief of Red Keith’s clan. But Keith could certainly gift the child, and his daughter, with what fortune he had accumulated. That would split the clan’s wealth with a half-Sassenach bastard and no one wanted to do that.

  Therefore, those meant to inherit what Keith had were quite displeased with the recent turn of events. But what to do about it was the questi
on.

  It was true that Fergus was a man who avoided conflict. It wasn’t that he was a truly peaceful man; it was simply that he had a cowardice streak in him, something his brother overlooked. He was family, after all, but that cowardice streak was why Fergus had remained on the hill with Keith’s men when Keith and Rhoswyn had gone to confront the English. That was the brutal truth of it. But now Fergus was wishing he hadn’t remained behind given the bargain that Keith had struck.

  “I canna believe he’s done such a thing,” Artis said, poking at the flames with a stick. “I never thought the man capable of betrayin’ his lands and his people.”

  “These are our lands!” Dunsmore banged his hand against the hard-packed earth. “He’s given them tae the English. He’ll give it all tae the English!”

  Fergus listened to his passionate sons. “He willna give him our lands,” he said, his speech slow and weary. “When me brother dies, it will be me who inherits Sibbald’s. When I die, it belongs tae Artis. Keith married Rhosie tae the English but that doesna mean all is lost. I’ll talk tae him and…”

  “No more talk, Pa,” Artis interrupted angrily. “Rhoswyn said that Red Keith cared more for the clan than he does for her, but that’s not true. He has somethin’ else in mind by marryin’ her tae the de Wolfe son. I can feel it!”

  Fergus sighed faintly. “Ye canna know that.”

  “He wed Rhosie tae the English and ye knew nothin’ about it until it was too late,” Artis pointed out hotly. “We know that Red Keith never does anythin’ without a plan. And ye heard him today when he told Rhosie that he wished for English grandsons? Ye were there! Grandsons tae come and take over the clan!”

  Fergus shook his head. “They have no legal claim.”

  Artis pointed a finger at him, jabbing it in his face. “Mayhap they dunna, but until Red Keith is put in the ground, his wealth and lands belong tae him. He can do as he pleases. Who is tae say he willna give them over tae his English relations now? We’ll lose everythin’!”

  Fergus was tired of listening to his sons rage about the implications of their future now that their cousin had married into the House of de Wolfe. He was frustrated enough about it without them stirring the pot. Unwilling to listen to their unsubstantiated speculation, he stood up, stretching his legs. Artis glanced up from the fire when his father stood up.

  “We’re not finished, Pa,” he said. “We have somethin’ tae settle.”

  Fergus shook his head. “We’ll not settle it tonight, lads. And I’ll not listen tae any more of yer foolish claims.”

  “Then where are ye goin’?”

  Fergus gestured in the general direction of the stables. “Tae piss out all of this foul English wine,” he said. “And tae think. I canna think with the two of ye raging as ye are, so I need tae be alone. I need tae think this through.”

  Dunsmore started to say something but Artis put a hand on his brother’s arm, silencing him. Dunsmore looked at him curiously but kept silent as their father wandered away. When Fergus was out of earshot, Artis turned to his brother.

  “He willna do anythin’ about this,” he mumbled. “Ye know that. Our pa is a coward and he willna stand up against his brother. That means we must do somethin’ about this.”

  Dunsmore looked at him with some confusion. “Do?” he repeated. “What can we do?”

  Artis returned to poking the fire, the wheels of thought churning in his mind. “Rhosie doesna want tae be married tae the English,” he said. “Ye saw what we had tae do tae take her tae her own weddin’. Ye saw how she fought it.”

  “Aye, I saw. But what can we do?”

  Artis’ gaze lingered on the fire for a moment. “We help her,” he said simply. “Mayhap she’ll want us tae do away with him.”

  Dunsmore’s eyebrows lifted as he realized what his brother was saying. “Do away with him?” he repeated. “Kill him?”

  “Aye.”

  Dunsmore thought that was a very bad idea. “But ye saw the man, Artie. He’s a knight. More than that, he’s a de Wolfe. Would ye bring the entire House of de Wolfe down on us?”

  Artis looked at his brother. “Rhosie bested him,” he said. “He canna be so indestructible if she bested him.”

  Dunsmore still didn’t like what his brother was suggesting. He was the weaker of the pair, easily frightened, and his brother’s suggestion had him scared. “So what do we do?”

  Artis stopped poking at the fire as he seriously considered the question. “We will talk tae Rhosie,” he said. “We can come up with a way tae rid her of de Wolfe. If she has no husband, then she’ll have no children, and there will be no one Red Keith can give his fortune tae.”

  It sounded rather simple, but Dunsmore knew there was far more to it than the simplistic way Artis was presenting it. He hated it when his brother schemed like this, but part of him was glad for it. He knew that Red Keith’s wealth would stay where it belonged if Artis had anything to say about it.

  It wouldn’t go to the damnable English.

  “We canna talk tae her now,” he said, pointing to the tower. “She’s with the man she married.”

  Artis nodded, leaning back against the cold stone wall of the hall. “Not now,” he said. “Later. Let us go home with Pa and then we’ll come tae visit. By then, surely Rhosie will be a-wantin’ us tae help her. The more time she spends with him, the more she’ll hate him.”

  It was an interesting thought, one that, hopefully, would prove true. If Artis and Dunsmore wanted to protect what was theirs, then surely drastic measures had to be taken. But Dunsmore wasn’t so sure they should take them against a de Wolfe because it was a potentially devastating situation should de Wolfe seek vengeance on them for a murdered son.

  Still… Dunsmore wasn’t so sure they had any other choice. If they wanted to protect what was rightfully theirs, then something had to happen.

  The de Wolfe son had to be removed.

  *

  “Well? Did all go well last night?”

  The question came from William. Troy had just emerged from the tower before dawn to find it full of men ready to depart. In fact, the shouts from the bailey had roused him from his sleep, a sleep so blissful that to pull himself away from it had been difficult. He hadn’t experienced that kind of contentment in a very long time.

  With Rhoswyn’s long, warm body pressed up against him, it had been heavenly, feeling like he was whole again. Losing Helene had taken something from him that, last night, Rhoswyn had unwittingly put back.

  And that scared him to death.

  Because of that, his father’s question startled him. He looked at his father, approaching through the darkness of the early morning, and he resisted the urge to spill out his confusion. It was confusion, because last night he’d sworn he didn’t have any hopes or expectations of the marriage, but this morning might have seen that opinion change.

  “It proceeded without incident,” he said, unable to stifle a yawn.

  William came to a halt, eyeing his son. “She did not become hysterical again?”

  Troy shook his head. “She did not.”

  William was pleasantly surprised. “Then that is good news,” he said. “I will admit that we were worried.”

  Troy’s brow furrowed. “We? Who is ‘we’?”

  “Me,” Paris said as he came up behind William, dressed in full armor at this time of the morning because of the troop movement. “I was worried. God’s Bones, Troy, that is no ordinary woman you married. In my daughter, you had a gentle and obedient woman, but the warrior woman you took to your bed… God help you.”

  Troy looked at his former father-in-law, sensing that all was not well with him. He’d not spoken to him much about the marriage other than right after the bargain his father had made. All four of the older knights had closed in on him, trying to convince him that the marriage to the Kerr heiress was the wise thing to do. But the more Troy thought on it, the more he realized that Paris, throughout the night, hadn’t said much of anything about it. H
is father and Kieran had been doing all of the talking.

  That told him that something was amiss.

  “It will be fine,” William said, looking pointedly at Paris. “Troy is married to the woman and that marriage will create a strong alliance.”

  Paris still didn’t seem apt to discuss it. He simply turned away, calling to Apollo to ensure the troops from Northwood were ready to depart. Both Troy and William watched him go.

  “What is it with him, Papa?” Troy asked. “What is wrong?”

  William sighed as he returned his attention to his son. “I am not entirely sure, but if I could guess, he does not wish for you to remarry,” he said quietly. “He seemed in support of it initially, but as the evening progressed and he ingested too much wine, he started lamenting over Helene’s memory.”

  Troy looked at his father, puzzled. “What about her memory?”

  William lifted his big shoulders. “Mayhap he sees it being wiped away with your new wife,” he said. “I cannot be for certain that is what he is feeling, but I suspect that might be the case.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Nay, but I have known Paris for most of my life. I know how he thinks.”

  “And he thinks I am disrespecting Helene’s memory by taking another wife?”

  William could see that Troy was working himself up. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Nay,” he said flatly. “He has not said anything to that regard. You know that he would not. But you are Helene’s husband and to see you married to another… certainly, Paris must feel torn about it.”

  Troy stared at his father a moment before charging off, pushing through the crowds of men who were gathering in the pre-dawn. He was following Paris and the man hadn’t moved too far away before Troy was behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him to a halt. When Paris looked at him, surprised that he had so forcefully pulled him to a stop, Troy got in the man’s face.

  “Is that what you think?” he hissed. “That my marriage to Rhoswyn is disrespectful to Helene’s memory?”