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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She was spitting mad, flashing the dirk in their faces. The men were backing away because a woman who was clearly mad was threatening them. All but the antagonist of the group; he had backed off but he didn’t move away completely. His venom turned to Rhoswyn.

  “And what’s this?” he demanded. “Another de Wolfe whore? Do they have women fighting for them now? ’Tis a man without ballocks that lets a woman do his fighting for him.”

  Rhoswyn’s eyes narrowed. “Spoken by a man who doesna understand the depths of his own worthlessness.”

  The three de Troiu soldiers looked at her in shock. It was an excellent insult and more than one of them looked as if he was verging on a grin. Before Troy could pull Rhoswyn out of the way, their aggressive comrade snarled at her.

  “That’s not what your mother said to me when I bedded her last night, lass.”

  Rhoswyn didn’t hesitate even though she could feel Troy grab her arm. “Aye, yer mother,” she said. “I know the wench well. She’s such a filthy chit that when she takes a hot bath, she makes her own gravy.”

  The three soldiers burst out laughing at the surprising insult as their aggressive comrade’s features registered pure outrage. This was no longer a game where he held the upper hand. In fact, the Scots wench had cut him down to size. Him and his mother. He immediately drew his sword.

  “You’ll pay for that, lass,” he growled.

  Rhoswyn had the dirk and she didn’t wait for the man to charge her. Yanking her arm from Troy’s grip, she went right after him, kicking him in the groin much as she had attacked her husband on that first day. When the soldier doubled over from the blow, she rammed the dirk into the back of the man’s neck.

  He was dead before he hit the ground.

  After that, it was bedlam. With Rhoswyn out of control, Troy unsheathed his sword, charging at other three soldiers simply to protect her, but only one held his ground to engage. The other two ran off, screaming for their colleagues, and suddenly the entire village center erupted in a mass of screaming people running for their lives. De Troiu men were rushing towards the merchant’s stall while most of the de Wolfe men came rushing over as well, pulled from where they’d been waiting out their lord.

  The de Wolfe soldiers saw the de Troiu men and the fight ensued. Swords clashed all around the central square of the town where the well was, and the women who had been washing their clothes fled in terror. After Troy dispatched his opponent, leaving the man bleeding out on the dirt, his priority was Rhoswyn.

  She had started this mess and although he knew she was capable in a fight, he didn’t know how capable she was until he saw her fighting with a de Troiu soldier who was nearly twice her size. He was a big man but she didn’t let that stop her. As Troy watched, she ducked under the man’s swipe, fell to her knees, and rammed her dirk into his foot. It went all the way through his shoe, through muscle and bone, and into the dirt on the other side.

  As the man screamed and doubled-over, Rhoswyn withdrew the dirk from his foot and shoved it into his throat. He, too, fell to the ground, mortally wounded by a crazed Scotswoman.

  Troy could hardly believe his eyes. Rhoswyn was good; nay, more than good – she was a smart fighter. But she was in the middle of a battle with men who were wearing protection and all she had on was a woolen cote. No matter how competent in battle she was, that cote wouldn’t protect her from a blade and Troy knew he had to get her out of there. More than that, he simply didn’t want her to fight. He knew she was trained for it, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want his wife fighting. He was terrified she was going to be gored while he watched.

  Pushing through the crowd of men, he came to his wife as she was setting her sights on another English soldier. He grabbed her by the arm before she could get away and dragged her over to the edge of the fighting, back in the direction of the merchant’s stall. The entire time, Rhoswyn struggled against him, finally pulling away from him and turning to him angrily.

  “What did ye do that?” she demanded. “There are more men out there tae fight!”

  Troy thrust a finger into her face. “Not for you,” he said angrily. “Go back into the merchant’s stall and wait for me.”

  Rhoswyn couldn’t understand his anger or his words. “I willna,” she said heatedly. “Those men must be punished!”

  Troy was so furious that he was beginning to sweat. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

  “Listen to me and listen well,” he growled. “When I married you, you became my wife. My wife does not fight my battles. My wife also listens to my wishes and she obeys them. Right now, you are not doing either of those things. You will obey me. Now, get into that merchant stall and wait for me. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Rhoswyn was truly at a loss. She’d been raised a warrior; it was her natural instinct to fight. And now Troy was telling her not to do what came naturally to her. Is this in any way unclear?

  It was all unclear.

  “But… but I can help ye,” she insisted. “Why will ye not let me help ye?”

  He snapped. “I do not want your help. In fact, I did not need you to defend me. Do you have any idea how foolish you made me look in front of those soldiers?”

  Rhoswyn was stricken. “Is that all ye care about?” she asked. “That I made ye look foolish? Those soldiers were goin’ tae kill ye! I couldna stand by and watch that happen!”

  Troy’s anger deepened. “If you believe that, then you have little faith in my abilities as a knight,” he said. “You made us both look like fools, Rhoswyn. You do not seem to understand that I am perfectly capable of settling my own affairs. I do not need another warrior; I need a wife.”

  She cooled dramatically. “I am tryin’ tae be that. But when can a wife not defend the husband she adores?”

  Troy’s head snapped to her, his expression one of shock as well as anger. The husband she adores? Nay, he wasn’t going to believe that. He couldn’t believe that. Now she was lying to him.

  …but, God… what if she wasn’t?

  “What you did has nothing to do with adoration,” he said, his voice hoarse with rage. He simply couldn’t believe she had feelings for him. Adoration, she called it. He couldn’t believe it because, if it was true, then it would make it easier to admit that he might be feeling something for her, as well. It can’t be true! “Furthermore, I do not need your defending, not now and not ever. And I do not need you lying to me about your reasons for your actions. If you cannot be what I need you to be, then mayhap I do not need you at all.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and charged out into the fray, dropping men and fighting off the de Troiu soldiers who were beginning to break up and flee. He had to run because he couldn’t look at her any longer, fearful that the conversation would become more and more heated, perhaps more and more emotional. He just couldn’t do that to Helene. He couldn’t disrespect her memory because, deep down, he wanted to admit that there was something there for Rhoswyn. He was feeling something.

  But she would never know it.

  As Troy used battle to distract himself from the turmoil in his heart, Rhoswyn simply stood there, feeling as if Troy had just taken that big broadsword he used and shoved it right into her guts. She felt as if she’d been cut to shreds by his anger, by the fact that she’d made him feel like a fool.

  By his words, he couldn’t have done more damage to her if he’d tried.

  I do not need you lying to me about your reasons.

  Those were the only words she could hear, cutting into her brain, searing their particular brand of pain into her fragile heart. It wasn’t a lie, any of it. She did adore him; she knew that now. When she’d seen him facing off against four heavily-armed soldiers, visions of his bloodied body flashed through her mind. It would kill her to see him injured, or worse. That was how she knew, at that moment, that she adored him. All of the warmth and attraction she felt for the man had turned into something else, something deeper.

  But Troy didn’t understand tha
t. And if he did, he’d rejected it. He didn’t understand that all she’d wanted to do was to help the man she adored. To him, she’d shamed him. All of the bad meals and slovenly dressing couldn’t embarrass the man, but one thing did – her attempts to fight for him. Finally, she’d done that which she’d feared.

  He was ashamed of her.

  If he didn’t need her, then she would leave. She had to leave. Gutted, and devastated, Rhoswyn dropped the dagger in the mud and made a dash for the livery where her horse was tethered. She was running blindly, so very shattered by Troy’s words.

  Taking her big horse from the livery corral, Rhoswyn tore off through a secondary road south that would take her out of the village and to the countryside beyond. Sibbald’s Hold was only an hour or so away; she knew she could make it by nightfall.

  At that moment, she only had one thing on her mind – going home and forgetting about the three days of her life when she’d been her happiest. For her, it had only been fleeting and the life to be, the one she’d had a taste of, was only something now to be revisited in her dreams. Troy’s words had made it clear that the dream was ended.

  Mayhap I do not need you at all.

  For certain, the dream was over.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been less than an hour after the start of the skirmish Rhoswyn had instigated, an hour that had Troy stewing in his anger with his wife. He’d killed at least three de Troiu soldiers and wounded a few more before they fled in a panic.

  Meanwhile, three of his own soldiers had been wounded so he’d helped one of the sergeants tend to the wounded, one man with a fairly serious gash to his forearm. The merchant who had accumulated such a pile of goods for Rhoswyn was also the one who supplied fine silk thread to sew the wound up. Troy took care of it, as he was a good battlefield medic. He sewed up the man’s arm and purchased the goods for Rhoswyn.

  In truth, it had taken Troy all that time to calm down. He’d been so bloody confused about Rhoswyn that he’d literally had to put her out of his mind while he mopped up the fight she’d started.

  The husband she adores.

  Those words kept flashing through his mind, as much as he tried to ignore them. He had himself convinced that she’d only said it to soften his anger against her. She’d lied to him about why she’d entered the fight when the truth was that, perhaps, she really couldn’t help herself. She’d been raised a warrior and the scent of a battle in the air brought all good warriors in for the feeding frenzy. She’d tried to tell him that it was because she wanted to defend him.

  He just couldn’t believe her.

  He didn’t want to.

  It was all very puzzling, in truth. As he paid for the merchandise and thanked the shaken merchant for supplying the goods for Rhoswyn, he noticed that his wife hadn’t gone back into the merchant’s stall as he’d told her to do. He assumed she was somewhere between the merchant’s stall and the livery, more than likely sulking after the tongue-lashing he’d given her. In truth, it was a painful conversation for him to remember. He regretted some of the things he’d said to her because he’d said them in anger, but he didn’t regret all of it. There were lines that needed to be established in this marriage so it was good to establish them early.

  Still… some things, he should not have said. As he came out of the merchant’s stall, pondering the things he’d said to Rhoswyn, he found Audric standing on the roadside.

  “You were not hurt in that skirmish, were you?” Troy asked him.

  The priest shook his head. “Nay, m’laird,” he said. “I stayed well away from the fight. Who were those men?”

  Troy glanced out to the village center, which had been torn up a bit in the fight. Only now were villagers returning to repair the minimal damage.

  “Enemies of my father,” he said. “I saw them enter the town when we were standing here, waiting for my wife in the shop, but I’d hoped not to confront them. In fact, I’d hoped to leave this village without a battle but it seems that was not to be. Speaking of battles, where is Rhoswyn?”

  Audric shrugged. “I have not seen her since the fight started. But I will admit – I hid across the road, over in the field. A battle is no place for me.”

  Troy looked at the little man, a half-grin on his lips. “Then you did not see Rhoswyn challenge them?”

  Audric shook his head, appearing somewhat concerned. “Did she, now?”

  “She most certainly did.”

  Audric sighed. “I canna say that I am surprised, given that the lass knows warrin’.”

  Troy’s smile faded and his jaw began to tick faintly. “It is all she knows,” he said. “I suppose I cannot expect miracles after only three days, but I was hoping she would have the sense not to try and fight again.”

  “Again?” Audric repeated. “’Tis goin’ tae take more than three days tae break the woman of what her father has done tae her. Ye’ve been patient so far; ye must continue tae be patient.”

  Troy sighed heavily. “I am afraid that I was not very patient with her this time,” he said. “She said that she was defending the husband that she… oh, it does not matter. I believe she said it simply to make an excuse for entering the fray.”

  Audric was watching him closely; the man seemed greatly troubled over the situation. “She said that she was defendin’ her husband? It isna unusual for a wife tae defend her husband, m’laird. With Lady de Wolfe, however, I have a feelin’ she’ll not back down from any fight that involves ye.”

  Troy didn’t like the sound of that. “I am afraid of that, to be truthful. She is going to get killed if she keeps that up and I do not want to bury another wife. It would be… difficult.”

  Audric sensed that there was something more on his mind. “Aye, it would be difficult,” he said. “Ye’re concerned for her, then?”

  “Of course I am concerned for her.”

  “Is that why ye became angry with her? Out of concern?”

  Troy was becoming increasingly agitated. “I became angry with her because she inserted herself where she did not belong,” he said. “I am perfectly cable of handling a volatile situation and I certainly do not need the help of a woman. She made me look like a weak fool, and then for her to justify it by saying she did it because I am her husband and she adores me… that was a cheap trick, a lowly attempt to play on my sympathies.”

  Now, the situation was starting to make some sense. The woman had displayed some sentiment and de Wolfe was having trouble accepting that. He was careful in his reply.

  “Since the moment ye and the lady married, ye’ve been inseparable,” he said. “At least, it seems that way. I have seen ye two together a great deal. I thought ye were gettin’ on splendidly.”

  Troy kicked at the ground, agitated. “We are,” he said. “At least, we were. Oh, hell, I do not know anymore. I thought we were getting along well enough, certainly well enough considering our first meeting.”

  Audric studied the man, his irritation. “And ye feel as if she has somehow betrayed that? As if it was all a lie?”

  Troy stopped kicking the ground. He was having difficulty looking at the priest. “She tried to tell me that the reason she challenged those soldiers was because she adored me and she did not want to see me injured,” he said. “’Tis just like a woman to say something like that, to play on my sympathies.”

  “What if I told ye it was the truth?”

  Troy did look at him, then. “It could not possibly be the truth.”

  “Why not?”

  He scowled. “Because we have known each other three days!”

  Audric smiled faintly. “I’ve seen the way the lass looks at ye,” he said quietly. “When she told ye that she adored ye, I dunna believe she was lyin’. I believe she does.”

  Troy just stared at him and, as Audric watched, something odd rippled through his expression. Was it disbelief? Was it joy? It was difficult to tell.

  “How can that be in so short a time?” Troy asked quietly.

  Audric s
hrugged. “Look at the life the lass had before she met ye,” he said. “Not much of one, if ye ask me. Raised by a father who wanted a son, never knowin’ someone to be kind and patient with her. Ye gave her all of that, m’laird. Ye endeared yerself tae her. Of course she adores ye. And a woman like that… with such strength and fight in her… she probably adores ye with everythin’ she has.”

  Troy’s gaze lingered on the priest a moment before looking away. He was starting to think that he’d been overly cruel to Rhoswyn when she confessed her feelings. But she had terrified him, for so many reasons. Was it true? Did she really mean what she’d said?”

  Confusion reigned.

  “I do not want her adoration,” he finally muttered. “I cannot have it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I swore I would never love anyone other than my wife, Helene. My heart belongs to her and it always will.”

  Audric could see the conflict in the man and he felt rather sorry for him. In a gesture of pity, he put his hand on Troy’s forearm.

  “Helene has no more need for yer heart,” he said softly. “She’s with Our Lord and in heaven. She has all the love she needs. Do ye really think she’d be so selfish as tae expect ye tae never love another? Wouldna she want ye tae be happy again?”

  Troy thought heavily on Helene; whereas her sister, Athena, Scott’s wife, had been a bold personality, passionate in everything she did, Helene was the quiet and passive type. A generous woman with a heart of gold. Troy knew the answer to Audric’s question – of course she would have wanted him to be happy again. She would have wanted him to love again.

  It was his own guilt that was holding him back.

  “I do not know anything anymore,” Troy said, shifting the basket of goods he was holding and setting out for the livery. “I do not know what I want to feel, for anyone.”