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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He wasn’t unwanted.

  Blayth poured himself another full cup of cider.

  “Even if you could not help him find his son, I am certain that the families of the men who once owned these possessions appreciate what you have done,” he finally said, his throat tight with emotion. “I am sure it means more than you know.”

  Jestin carefully replaced the broadswords, inspecting his collection before heading back to the hearth and his fire-breathing cider.

  “I do it because there is something in me that demands it,” he said. “I do not do it for the men who war monger. I do it for their souls, so that in death, they will know some peace. But the bones of war are not all I gather – I collect a great many things, as I told you. I have collected many documents over the years, and many items in general. You saw that the other chamber is full of such things. I even write down legends and stories that I have heard, local stories told to inspire or frighten the children. I record them so that someday, men will know of the legends of our land and they will know of our greatness.”

  Blayth cocked an eyebrow. “Then you are a scholar as well as a priest and a healer?”

  Jestin nodded. “When I told you that I was a Keeper, I meant it. I keep many things.”

  Blayth downed his second cup of cider, finding that it went down easier the more he drank.

  “You are like the birds that collect food and twigs to build their nests,” he said. “You feather your nest with anything you can get your hands on, including the bones of war, as you have put it.”

  Jestin nodded. “Now you see why I did not unbolt the door for you at the first. I have much to protect.”

  “I do not blame you.”

  Now, they both had at least two cups of the potent cider in them and tongues, as well as everything else, were loosening. Whatever defenses they’d had up between them were melting away as Jestin poured himself more liquor.

  “I am sorry if we started out badly,” he said as he poured. “I am not the rude sort, but I am careful. These days, we must all be careful.”

  Blayth nodded, his head buzzing with drink. “That is very true,” he said, thinking of Morys and how the man had lied and manipulated him. “We must be careful even with those we are close to.”

  “You speak as if you have known betrayal.”

  Blayth sighed heavily. “You could say that.”

  Jestin studied him carefully for a moment, the enormous man with the scarred and damaged head.

  “Tell me of yourself, James,” he said. “You seem to me like a man who has seen much in life. What great stories can I write about you?”

  Blayth lifted the cup to his lips, but he was grinning. “You would not believe me if I told you.

  “Try me.”

  Blayth took a long drink of cider before looking at the man. Truth be told, the story of his life, or at least what he remembered of it, was something that folktales were made of. Morys had always insisted that he would be a legend in his own time, but Blayth didn’t really believe it. Perhaps as the real bastard son of Llywelyn, he might have been, but as James de Wolfe, an English knight who’d been used and manipulated by an ambitious Welsh lord, he really wasn’t anything at all.

  But the tale of Blayth was a fascinating story.

  Perhaps it was something worth remembering.

  More cider, and a bit more prompting, and Blayth told Jestin the tale of Blayth the Strong, the bastard son of the last Welsh prince, and the greatest hero of all.

  It was a story worthy of a legend.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Asmara awoke to the sounds of snoring.

  It took her a moment to realize what she was hearing and when her eyes opened, she had no idea where she was. Nothing was familiar. It was a badly cluttered chamber, with dust everywhere, and sunlight was streaming in from the cracks in a shuttered window.

  Turning her head slightly, she realized that she was drooling. Wiping at her chin in disgust, she lifted her head, trying to determine where she was. More snoring drew her attention and she looked down to see Blayth sleeping on the floor next to her bed.

  He was sleeping on his back, his mouth hanging open as he snored loudly enough to rattle his teeth. Then, he’d stop, as if he’d awoken himself, and shift around before falling into a deep sleep again. The snoring came back. Asmara watched this cycle go on for a few minutes, enough to bring a smile to her lips.

  In truth, it was rather fascinating watching him sleep.

  Moving around in the bed, she could feel the pain in her shoulder, but it wasn’t too terribly bad. Cautiously, she sat up, waiting for a great stabbing pain, but there was none. Sore, yes, but no agony. She sat all the way up, gingerly moving her left shoulder as much as she could, thinking she felt much better than she should given the seriousness of the wound. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she saw that she couldn’t get to the floor without stepping on Blayth.

  The man would have to move.

  He continued to snore and every time he did, she tapped him on the belly with her foot. He’d stop, shift, and then start snoring again. Finally, after five or six taps with her foot to his belly, he opened his eyes and just stared at the ceiling. Asmara wondered if he was even awake. But then, his eyes moved to her, slowly, until their gazes met. She grinned.

  “You snore like an old dog,” she said.

  He blinked and licked his lips. “Is that so?” he said hoarsely. “And you talk in your sleep.”

  Her smile vanished. “I do not!”

  “How do you know?”

  She didn’t have a snappy retort for him so she turned her nose up. “That is not a nice thing to say.”

  He grinned, pushing himself up so he was still lying back but braced up on his elbows. “You cannot imagine the things you said in your sleep,” he teased because she was fun to tease. “Scandalous things. I never knew you had such thoughts.”

  She scowled. “I did not.”

  “Of course you did,” he said. “But you spoke of your undying love for me, mostly.”

  She looked at him, aghast. “I did no such thing!”

  His face fell. “Then you do not love me?”

  Her shocked expression transformed into something thoughtful, then embarrassed, then warm. The jesting mood of the conversation faded as something quite real took hold.

  “I told you that I would marry you, did I not?” she said softly.

  “That does not mean you love me.”

  “Do you love me?”

  She had turned it around on him but rather than get defensive, he smiled. “There is nothing about you that is not to love,” he said quietly, his sleepy eyes glimmering at her. “How do you feel?”

  Asmara was touched by his words, warming her in ways she could not have imagined. His question had caught her off guard at first, but his reply had been honest and sweet. That giddy feeling swept her again, so strongly that she was nearly lightheaded with it.

  “I feel wonderful,” she said. “And there is nothing about you that is not to love, either.”

  It was a bold statement from a woman who was unused to speaking on her feelings. With a massive grin on his face, Blayth sat up all the way and reached out, cupping her face and bringing her lips to his for a sweet kiss. But their lips against one another sparked an immediate blaze, one that roared for a few seconds until Asmara lifted her left arm to put it around his neck. The moment she did so, a great pain bolted through her shoulder and she immediately gasped, dropping her arm.

  “Are you well?” he asked, great concern on his features as he helped her hold her arm and shoulder still. “I did not mean for a kiss to injure you.”

  Asmara shook her head. “It did not,” she said, holding her left arm against her chest. “I simply did not think. It really does not feel too badly, so long as I do not move it too much.”

  He began to peel back the bandages to see if she tore the stitches. “Then we must make sure you do not move it until it heals,” he said. “It does n
ot look like the stitches are torn. Jestin did an excellent job of tending the wound because it is healing very well already.”

  Asmara was relieved to hear that. “That is good news,” she said. Then, she looked around the cluttered, dusty chamber. “Where is Jestin?”

  Blayth yawned and stood up, scratching his head. “Probably in the church,” he said. “That seems to be where he goes in the morning.”

  Asmara looked up at him. “How would you know that?”

  “Because he went there yesterday morning.”

  She frowned. “Yesterday?” she said. “How long have we been here?”

  He looked at her. “This is the second day,” he said. “You have been asleep for two nights and a day. The poppy potion he gave you must have been potent.”

  Asmara was surprised to hear that. She felt groggy, that was true, but she didn’t feel terrible. But then, a thought seized her and she reached up, grasping Blayth’s hand.

  “No one has come looking for us, have they?” she asked anxiously.

  He patted her hand. “Nay,” he assured her. “Not that I have seen. Even so, the horses are tucked away where they cannot be easily seen. When you feel better, we shall leave.”

  “I feel better now,” she insisted. “We can leave today.”

  He eyed her. “There is no great rush,” he said. “We can afford the time for you to heal.”

  She shook her head and stiffly stood up from the bed. “We cannot,” she said. “Every day that we delay is another day that Payton-Forrester might leave Lioncross Abbey. If we want to catch the man, then we must hurry.”

  She had a point, but Blayth wasn’t going to insist they depart for Lioncross sooner than she was ready. He might push his men like that, but he wasn’t going to push her like that.

  “And we will,” he said. “But it is my suspicion that he will be there for some time. When we released him from the vault, he had been starved and tortured, and I can imagine the ride to Lioncross must have taken a lot out of the man. Therefore, I would wager to guess that he will be at Lioncross for a time until he has sufficiently recovered his strength. I think he will be there for at least a few more days, certainly enough time for us to make it to Lioncross, too. Besides… given that we have stopped at a church, I had an idea.”

  She wasn’t following his train of thought. “What idea?”

  “You said you would marry me, and we have a priest at our disposal,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Mayhap we should take advantage of the situation.”

  Asmara quickly knew what he meant, and her cheeks flushed, feeling her excitement. “I think he believes that we are already married,” she said. “When we first came here and he asked our names, I never told him that we were not married.”

  Blayth snickered at the thought of duping the priest. “He did let us sleep in the same chamber,” he said. “He must believe we are married. I hope he is not too angry to find out that we are not.”

  “I suppose there is one way to find out.”

  Blayth shrugged. “True enough,” he said. “I will find him. Meanwhile, you can change out of your torn and soiled clothing if you wish. I will bring your satchel to you so that you can clean up.”

  Asmara thought that sounded like a wonderful idea.” I would be appreciative,” she said. “And mayhap some water? I would like to wash my hands and face.”

  He put up his hands. “Remain here,” he said. “I will bring you everything. You do not need to move around overly with that shoulder.”

  Smiling faintly, Asmara sat back down on the bed, watching him as he quickly headed into the other chamber. She realized that she could get very used to the man’s chivalry, something that had endeared her to him from the start. He was kind, gentle, and thoughtful. As she’d told him – what wasn’t there to love?

  She patiently waited for him to return with her satchel, and he did so quickly. The sun was becoming brighter now, sending long beams of yellow light into the room from the cracks in the shutters. Once Blayth brought her satchel and a bowl of cold, clear water from the bucket near the hearth, he went to the window and pulled back the shutters, letting the daylight in.

  From the window, he could see the vibrant green landscape beyond. There were trees in the way, but he could see the meadow across the road and the white flowers that grew there. There were some clouds in the sky but, to him, he’d never seen a more beautiful day. With Asmara by his side, every day was beautiful.

  “It looks to be good traveling weather,” he told her. “I shall go find you something to eat and then I shall speak with Jestin. Do you require anything else?”

  Asmara had untied her bag and was pulling forth items, trying not to use her left arm as she did it.

  “I do not believe so,” she said. “But I am rather hungry.”

  “I would believe that.”

  “What did you do all day yesterday while I slept?”

  Blayth made a funny little laugh, scratching at his temple as he turned to look at her. “Suffered through one of the worst aching heads I have ever had,” he said. When she looked at him curiously, he explained. “Jestin makes cider from the apples in his orchard that is like drinking lightning. It is potent enough to get a man very drunk if he is not careful. Unfortunately, I was not careful.”

  Asmara laughed at him. “Let that be a lesson to you,” she said. “Beware of priests and their ciders.”

  He wriggled his eyes in agreement. “In the future, I certainly shall,” he said. Then, he turned away from the window and headed towards the chamber entry. “I will leave you to dress. Or would you like for me to stay and help you?”

  Asmara looked at him, feeling her cheeks flush as she fought off a self-conscious smile. “Once we are married, I shall gladly accept your assistance.”

  He could see that she was sweetly embarrassed by his offer. “Then I shall hurry and get the priest now.”

  She laughed. “I will be dressed by the time you return.” He was almost through the doorway when she called to him. “Blayth?”

  He paused and looked at her. “Aye?”

  Her smile faded. “When we are married, what shall I be known as?” she asked. “What I mean is that wives assume their husband’s name. What shall I be called?”

  It was a very good question but one he’d not really considered until now. After a moment, he shook his head. “Ap Llywelyn is not my name,” he said quietly. “That has been established. Until we can establish what, exactly, my name is, then you shall be addressed as My Lady Wife, Lady Blayth.”

  “But… your name is James.”

  “What would you prefer to call me?”

  “What are you comfortable with?”

  “As I said, until my identity can be established without question, I shall continue to go by Blayth. It is the only name I remember.”

  Asmara nodded, an acknowledgement of a most confusing issue. Blayth gave her a smile, and a wink, before leaving the chamber in search of Jestin.

  As Asmara cleaned up, Blayth nosed around the main chamber for food and came across a half of a loaf of brown bread, covered up with cloth, and some hard, white cheese. He took it back to Asmara for her to eat before heading out of the small residence and into the cold morning beyond. The grass was wet with dew and moisture hung from the trees. He headed for the church, with its enormous tower and chapel attached, and entered through a side door.

  Inside, it smelled of earth and incense, and he looked up at the heavy crossbeams across the ceiling, supporting the pitched roof. It was the first time he’d been inside the church because yesterday, as he’d told Asmara, he’d spent most of the day nursing a horrific headache, which meant he’d spent his time mostly lying down because it was more comfortable. He’d wanted to inspect the broadswords of Jestin’s collection, but he didn’t quite make it. He’d slept heavily last night only to be awakened by Asmara’s smiling face and blatant insult.

  He wanted to wake up that way for the rest of his life.

  In truth, he
really didn’t know if Jestin spent his days here in the church. He’d only said that because the man left early yesterday morning, and this morning he’d also left early and had headed in the direction of the chapel. Therefore, Blayth could only assume the man was somewhere in the church and he found himself heading for the big tower, plainly seen through an open door on the west end of the chapel.

  “Jestin?” he called.

  He thought he heard a muffled reply coming from the tower so he continued on, entering the low doorway that led into the great stone turret, and he immediately saw Jestin sitting to his right, hunched over a table that was positioned below a window. The effect was such that there was light on the table, illuminating vellum, something Jestin appeared to be writing on. The table was crowded with pieces of vellum and writing instruments. The priest lifted his quill when he saw Blayth enter, turning towards the man.

  “Ah,” he said. “So you have escaped the clutches of the demon cider?”

  Blayth gave him a lopsided grin. “If you know it is sanctioned by Satan, then why do you make it?”

  Jestin laughed softly. “Because I like it,” he said. “That must mean that I am sanctioned by Satan. But let us not discuss my immortal soul; let us discuss you and your lady wife. Has she awakened yet?”

  Blayth nodded; he was coming to like this irreverent priest, just a little. “She has, indeed, awakened,” he said. “And I have a confession.”

  “Then you have come to the right place.”

  “She is not my wife. We would like for you to rectify that situation.”

  Jestin lowered his quill completely. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose nothing untoward has happened since you have been here. But why did you not tell me the truth?”

  Blayth shrugged. “There was never really the opportunity, I suppose,” he said. “She was injured and I was only concerned with her care. We did not intend to be deliberately subversive.”

  Jestin really didn’t seem to mind. “And I did not ask you if you were married; I only assumed,” he said. “No harm done, I suppose. But we shall remedy the situation. I would be pleased to perform the rite.”