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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She wanted it as badly as he did.

  Blayth’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own. He was a red-blooded man, with all of the needs of a man, and there were appetites inside of him that he’d kept repressed. They hadn’t been fed in any recent memory and now they were beginning to roar. As he suckled on her lips, he shoved her back into the corner of the stall to trap her, and his hands pulled up her tunic so that it was bunched around her waist as his hands moved to her full, soft breasts.

  Both hands clamped down on her breasts and Asmara gasped. For a brief moment, she tried to push him away, unbalance by the intimate touch, but his hands were warm and gentle, and her body quickly relaxed. Blayth could feel her trembling beneath his touch as he kneaded her breasts, pinching her nipples.

  All the while, his kisses were passionate and heated, and he had a raging erection that had happened fairly quickly. There was no way he could touch the woman’s delicious body and not react physically to her. All he could think of was satisfying himself, and of the contentment he would feel buried within her slick folds. Somehow, he managed to pull her out of the corner and lay her down on the dried grass of the stall. When she weakly tried to protest, he buried his head beneath her tunic and, in the darkness, his mouth latched on to a tender nipple.

  Asmara’s protests died in her throat as he suckled her breasts, giving her pleasure that she’d never known before. In fact, she was letting him do whatever he wished and hardly uttering a word about it. Her body, young and strong and virile, was responding to his touch, and when his hands moved from her breasts and found their way into her hose, she still didn’t protest. It appeared she was without thought, without any opinions whatsoever. All she wanted to do was lay there and enjoy what he was doing to her, and Blayth was more than happy to comply.

  He had her where he wanted her.

  The skin of her buttocks and thighs was soft beyond measure, warm and inviting. His big hands gripped her buttocks first, squeezing them as he continued to suckle on her breasts but, before long, he was moving to the intimate junction between her legs. It was warm and safe and inviting down there and she trembled at his touch, even more when he stroked her with a finger. But that touch also seemed to awaken her from her haze of passion, for the long legs started to kick and she struggled to pull away from him.

  “Nay,” she breathed. “We must not… you must not…”

  His response was to suckle her harder. His hand was between her legs even as she tried to move away and he inserted a finger into her love-slick passage. Asmara gasped aloud at the sensual intrusion and she very quickly succumbed to his touch once more. Whatever he was doing to her was making her legs tremble, as if she had no control over them. And as his fingers probed her, the sensations he brought about dashed every thought out of her head.

  She couldn’t fight him off, not even if she wanted to.

  As she lay there with his hand between her legs, his head emerged from beneath her tunic and he began kissing her again, oh-so-gently. Between his tender probing and his gentle kisses, Asmara was like mud in his hands. She had no bones, no will of her own. But that soon came to a startling end when voices were heard.

  Men were entering the stables, preparing to feed the animals, and Blayth abruptly stopped what he was doing and quickly yanked Asmara’s breeches up. She, too, was scrambling to her knees, pulling her breeches up and her tunic down, and Blayth stood up, seeing where the grooms were. Holding out a hand to Asmara, telling her to stay down and stay quiet, he headed out into the main part of the stable.

  He made a preemptive move against the grooms, announcing himself as he came from the darkness. The grooms were surprised to see him but he pointed to Asmara’s horse, explaining the wound on the hoof that he’d come to tend. It was a bald-faced lie, but he had to say something. He then asked for help with the animal, sending one man for hot water and salt, while the other man went to the grain stores to get buckets of oats for the horses. When the men were out of the stable as they headed about their business, Blayth quickly went to the stall where Asmara was hiding and extended a hand to her.

  She took it.

  Quietly, he pulled her to her feet, holding her hand in his as he led her back over to her horse.

  “One of them has gone for hot water so you can soak the horse’s hoof,” he said quietly, looking to the entry to the stables to see if anyone else was coming in. “You can be here, ready to tend your animal, when he returns.”

  He turned to look at her in the growing light of morning only to realize that she was covered in hay and chaff. Swiftly, he began to brush her off, turning her around so he could sweep off the entire backside of her as she quickly moved to do the same on her front half.

  “God’s Bones,” she muttered. “I look as if I have slept with the animals. They are going to know what we have been doing!”

  Blayth shook his head to dispute her until she pointed at him and he, too, realized that he was covered in chaff. Then he started beating at his own clothing to shake it off, but as he swept and brushed and beat, he began to laugh.

  “I do not mind for myself, of course,” he said. “But I would hate for anyone to think ill of you. And it would not be particularly healthy to have it get back to your father.”

  Asmara reached out to brush off his left shoulder. “Nay, it would not,” she said. “He would make me go back to Llandarog for certain if he thought… well, if he thought I was compromised in any way.”

  Blayth watched her as she finished brushing herself off. “I am not sorry I kissed you,” he said quietly. “I very much wanted to. But the rest of it… if you were uncomfortable, then I apologize. It will not happen again.”

  She blushed, finding it difficult to look at him. “If my father found out what we have done, he would probably force you to marry me.”

  “Who says I will not?”

  The coy smile vanished from her face and she looked at him, eyes wide with shock. “Marriage?” she repeated. “Who has said anything about marriage?”

  He chuckled. “You just did.”

  “I did not mean it as an offer.”

  “I did.”

  Asmara had no idea what to say to him. Her eyes were wide and now her jaw was hanging open, genuinely astonished by the words coming out of his mouth. After a moment, she simply shook her head.

  “You must be mad,” she finally hissed. “Who would want to marry a woman like me? No man wants a wife who can best him in a fight.”

  Blayth cocked an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

  Her father had, but she didn’t want to throw him to the wolves. She shrugged her shoulders. “Everyone knows that. Everyone says it.”

  “I do not say it,” he said. “Moreover, you cannot best me.”

  She closed her mouth, not looking so surprised now. “Of course I can,” she said. “What would make you think that I cannot?”

  “What makes you think you can?”

  She was full of outrage as he snorted, laughing at her, and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh at him in return or challenge him. The warrior in her demanded a challenge.

  “You have insulted me for the last time,” she said. “Now I will have to challenge you to a battle since you seem so keen on offending my honor.”

  He wasn’t finished laughing. “Is that so?”

  “It is!”

  “If you wish it, demoiselle,” he said. “What is the weapon of choice?”

  Asmara was genuinely irritated at a man who would laugh at her abilities as a warrior. “The staff,” she said. “If I win, you will declare to everyone that I am the greatest warrior you have ever known so that there will be no doubt.”

  He nodded. “Very well,” he said. “And when I win, you will marry me and stop this warrior’s life. I would have you as my wife, not as a fellow soldier.”

  She lost some of her humor then. “But… but I have always been a warrior,” she said seriously. “You cannot ask me to give that up. I do not know what I would do wi
thout it.”

  “I do not want my wife on the field of battle.”

  “Then I shall not be your wife.”

  “Aye, you shall.”

  She put her hands on her hips in growing frustration. “I do not agree to your terms.”

  He matched her, stubborn against stubborn. “You are the one who challenged me,” he said. “I have agreed to your terms. It is very bad form for you not to agree to mine.”

  For the first time, Asmara began to back away, uncertain with his demands. Was he jesting? Was he not?

  “Please,” she said softly. “I cannot be any less than what I am. I would not be happy.”

  Blayth could see the genuine sorrow in her eyes and he was coming to feel badly. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he was fairly serious about not having a warrior wife. He would be worried every minute of every day if he did, worried that she might be injured or killed. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened.

  Faintly, he sighed.

  “But you will marry me.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes like pools of undulating emotion. “If I do not have to give up what I have always known, I would be agreeable.”

  Blayth felt a wave of joy wash over him. The woman was actually agreeable to marrying him in spite of their different opinions on what a wife should, or should not, do. He’d never felt such elation in his entire life. All jesting aside, it was a monumental moment.

  “You would?” he murmured.

  She nodded. The irritation was out of her expression. All he could see was honestly in her features.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “Truly?”

  “Aye.”

  He took a step in her direction, his eyes riveted to her. “You do not care of my past?” he muttered. “You know that I do not know the truth of where I come from or who I am. This does not bother you?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. I know all I need to know about you.”

  “And you would not be ashamed of me?”

  “Never. And I will kill anyone who would say otherwise.”

  It was like music to his ears. He could hardly believe it. “My sweet girl,” he said. “I never thought I would know a moment such as this. Now that it is here, I can hardly comprehend it.”

  Asmara fought off a grin, seeing her own excitement and disbelief reflected in his features. “My father will not believe it, either,” she said. “All he wants is grandsons. Now he may actually have some.”

  Blayth smiled. “God willing,” he said. “But do you still wish to fight me?”

  She giggled, lowering her gaze. “I suppose it is not necessary since I have already agreed to your condition,” she said. “Will I have to give up my warrior ways?”

  He shook his head. “I would not wish for you to be less than who you are,” he said. “But when those grandsons come along, I will ask that you do not fight whilst the child grows in your belly. Will you at least agree to that for me?”

  She pursed her lips petulantly, but it was short-lived. “If I must.”

  “It would make me happy.”

  “Then I would wish to make you happy.”

  He simply smiled at her, joy in his heart that he could not describe. “Thank you for this honor, demoiselle,” he said softly. “I shall endeavor to be a good husband and to always make you proud.”

  It was a sweet thing to say and Asmara was deeply touched. In fact, she was rather overwhelmed with the entire conversation, which had been quite unexpected. But nothing had ever felt so right. In her heart, it felt right and true. She’d known many men, and a few had tried to court her, but she’d never felt in her heart and soul that it was the right thing to do. But with Blayth… there was no reservation whatsoever. She cared for him and she knew he cared for her. They could have a wonderful life together.

  Except for one thing.

  “You know that Morys will not be happy about this,” she said. “Blayth, I know he saved your life and he shall always have my gratitude because of it, but he does not wish for us to be together. We both know it.”

  His smile faded. “He has made that clear,” he said honestly. “In fact, that is why he has kept me by his side for the past few days. He wants that my focus should be on him, and on the rebellion, and not you. I saw how he spoke to you when he returned from Carmarthen. He will not do that again, Asmara. I swear it.”

  Asmara. It was the first time she’d heard her name from his lips and it sounded like the angels singing. She’d never heard her name said the way he’d pronounced it. Or perhaps she’d never noticed anyone else as they’d said it. Some men had said it sweeter, some harsher… who knew? Whatever the case, to hear her name from his mouth made her feel warm and giddy all over.

  “You cannot end years of animosity simply by your command,” she said. “Although your desire to champion me is noble, I am afraid it may cause more problems. If Morys is already seeing me as a distraction, then it may make the problem worse if you try to intervene.”

  Blayth knew that. He knew how Morys was; he’d seen the petty, ugly side of the man, and he’d seen his behavior towards his brother over the past few years.

  But now… things were different.

  “I will speak with him,” he said. “I cannot let him demean you. I will not. He will understand that we are to be married and if he has any respect for me, then he must respect you, also.”

  He was being chivalrous again. Asmara had never known a man to show her such concern.

  “Since you and I have come to know one another, when you are not insulting me, you have shown me that you can be quite chivalrous,” she said quietly. “It occurs to me that you must have learned that somewhere. Surely a man who has been beaten and tortured his entire life, as Morys has said, would not show the qualities that you have shown. Did you ever think of that?”

  He hadn’t. “Nay,” he said. “I have not. I am as you see – simply me.”

  She smiled. “I realize that, but there are things about you that a man is taught,” she said. “Your sense of chivalry, for one. And your ability to fight for another. You have tactical abilities that are learned, Blayth. I saw it when we overran Llandarog. You fight like a man who has been trained to fight, and that is not something English captors taught you. Does that make any sense?”

  It did and, truthfully, he’d never thought of it that way. He knew what he knew, but he didn’t know how he knew it, only that he did.

  “Aye,” he said. “Sometimes… sometimes I have dreams about men I do not know, and battles that I do not recognize. It is frustrating because I feel as if I should know these men. I told Morys of my dreams and he told me that I am dreaming of the men who tortured me, but I do not believe that is the case. When I am with these men, I feel… camaraderie. That is the best way I can describe it.”

  Asmara was listening closely. “But you do not know these men in your dreams?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I did.”

  She pondered that. “And when the Saesneg knight called you James,” she ventured. “You did not feel anything when you heard that name?”

  Again, he shook his head “Not at the time,” he said. “But it has become something of increasing interest to me. It is a feeling of curiosity and frustration – as if I should know the name, but I do not.”

  Asmara didn’t push him, but she was glad she had asked him the question. They were closer now. And belonging to each other, she felt more comfortable with him than she’d ever felt with anyone in her life. He had been open and honest with her, and she felt as if she could be the same. She was greatly concerned with the way Morys treated him, like a possession, and the way Morys seemed to control Blayth’s memories. Therefore, she ventured to say what was on her mind and prayed it didn’t offend him.

  “On the night Morys returned from Carmarthen, you mentioned what the Saesneg knight had said to you,” she said. “Do you recall how angry he became? There was no reason for him to become so angry, but he did.”

 
; Blayth remembered that moment and nodded faintly. “I do recall.”

  “I have been concerned with the way he treats you for some time,” she said. “When you told me that he gave you your memories and your name, that seemed so very strange to me. How would the man know of your past? How would he know everything about you?”

  Blayth lifted an eyebrow. “I have wondered that very same thing.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “I did last eve, in fact,” he said. “I asked him to send word to Llywelyn’s teulu, the men he claimed brought me to him. He has agreed to do it.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Until he proves otherwise, I will give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Asmara could see that there was still a great part of him that trusted Morys, the man who brought him back to life. There was some loyalty there and she knew it. She didn’t want to turn Blayth against Morys, but she wanted the man to know that, as an outsider, she thought the situation with Morys was odd.

  Something, she suspected, that Blayth already realized.

  “All I am saying is that I believe Morys knows more about your past than he is telling you,” she said. “The way he reacted when you mentioned the name that the knight called you – de Wolfe – tells me that he knows more. Much more.”

  Blayth simply nodded, mulling over her words, as the groom suddenly reappeared, bearing two big buckets of steaming water. Morning was upon them and the castle was coming alive, but the private conversation they’d been able to have for the past few minutes had been priceless. Blayth thought that, perhaps, it had been the best conversation of his life.

  But the first thing he had to do was tell Morys about the situation.

  With the grooms around, and more people in the stable yard, his time alone with Asmara was finished. With a smile and a wink, Blayth left her to tend to her horse while he headed up to the keep to have a particularly serious discussion with Morys. Given the complexity of the situation in general, he felt he needed to be honest with Morys, most of all, and assure him that even though he planned on marrying Asmara, it did not weaken his passion for the rebellion, nor would it affect his duties in any way. Blayth hoped that those factors would be all Morys cared about, but something told him that, deep down, there was more to it. Morys could be jealous and petty, and Blayth had a feeling those particular traits of Morys might come into play.