She was both defiant and contrite. “I did,” she said, thrusting up her chin. “I could not, in good conscience, keep such information from him. How would you like it if someone kept information about William or Perri from you? They are your sons, Bhrodi. You would have a right to know. So does my father. It simply wasn’t right not to tell him.”
He really wasn’t angry at her and even if he was, it never lasted long. He sighed heavily. “As I said,” he muttered as he turned back for the stable, “your father should be here any day now. We can discuss the situation with him, but I have a feeling he will want to go into Wales to see for himself and if that is the case, I cannot stop him. You know I cannot stop him. And I have been afraid all along the man is going to go charging into Wales and get himself killed.”
Penelope shook her head. “He will not do anything so foolish,” she said. “But you are correct when you said he will want to see for himself. I do not know what we can do about that.”
“You de Wolfes are a foolish bunch.”
“Foolish and loyal. When we love, it is deeply, and it is for life. Much as I love you.”
Bhrodi just shook his head and Penelope received the impression that he was greatly distressed that William de Wolfe should want to go into Wales at all. The last time the man had been in southern Wales, he’d lost a son, or so he thought. Bhrodi couldn’t even fathom what would happen this time around.
As Bhrodi blew his wife a kiss and meandered back into the stable to see to his horse, Penelope was lost to thoughts of her own. Her father would soon be here, and they would decide what to do about James and the rising rebellion. She had quickly come to learn that the case of her brother returning from the dead wasn’t simple in the least. Speculation on him being an agent for Edward had entered the situation, making it more complex than ever.
As Penelope wandered along the edge of the training ground, heading for the main portion of the bailey and the gatehouse, she thought back to the day when her father had returned from Wales with only three sons and not the four he’d left with. She remembered the army returning, the massive de Wolfe army coming in through Castle Questing’s three-storied gatehouse, and she remembered distinctly when her father went to her mother, who was waiting patiently for her husband, and threw his arms around her. She also remembered watching him whisper something in her ear, and she heard her mother wail.
It had been the beginning of a horrible day, one that none of them would ever forget. As her mother had wept in her father’s arms, Kieran had approached Rose, who was James’ wife. She had given birth to a girl while the army was in Wales, and she’d been standing with the infant in her arms and a small boy standing beside her. Kieran had taken the child out of her arms, handed it over to Rose’s mother, and then calmly informed Rose that her husband would not be returning home.
The news must have confused Rose because she tried to run away. She tried to run right into the returning army and she would have had Patrick not grabbed her. She fought Patrick viciously, howling and screaming that they were all lying to her and that James was somewhere in the army. She simply had to find him. It had been a chaotic scene as Rose’s mother had taken Rose’s children back into the keep, struggling to keep everyone calm.
But Rose wouldn’t be calm. She’d been hysterical until she abruptly fainted in her father’s arms.
After that, the news had spread.
James de Wolfe had died at Llandeilo.
Penelope sighed heavily as she still remembered that day. It still brought tears to her eyes to think of it and the anguish they’d gone through. Life had gone on, and Rose had eventually married a fine young knight who accepted James’ children as his very own, but life had never been the same for the House of de Wolfe. They had lost one of their own, and that hole would always be there.
That was why she was so determined to go to Wales.
What if the hole could be filled? What if the belief of James’ death had been some horrible mistake?
The wind was picking up now as Penelope crossed from the training area and into the main part of the bailey. Almost immediately, she saw a couple sitting beneath the yew tree that had grown into a monstrosity of a tree. There were benches beneath it, and it was a good resting place with lovely shade, and she passed close to it as she emerged into the bailey. She could see a man sitting on one of the benches, his back turned to her, but the woman was fairly close, checking the hoof of a gorgeous young stallion. Appreciative of horseflesh, Penelope moved closer, noting the fine lines of the animal.
“What a beautiful horse,” Penelope said. “How old is he?”
The woman’s head came up as she was addressed in the language of the Normans. She looked over to see a lovely young woman with hazel eyes approach, her focus fixed on the horse. A little startled at the attention, she was hesitant in her reply.
“He has seen three summers,” she replied. “He… he is still quite young.”
Penelope recognized her Welsh accent and she switched to the Welsh language, something she had learned from her years of marriage to a hereditary Welsh king.
“You are Welsh?” she asked.
The woman nodded to the question, perfectly spoken in her language. “Aye.”
Penelope smiled. “So is my husband,” she said. “My name is Penelope. Who are you?”
“Asmara ferch Cader.”
Penelope continued to smile as she reached out to pet the horse. “He is so very beautiful,” she said. “Did you raise him from birth?”
Having been a warrior for most of her life, Asmara wasn’t very good with social skills when it came to other women, but she wanted to respond to this friendly young woman.
“I was there when he foaled,” she said. “I watched him take his first steps and since that time, he has always been with me.”
“What is his name?”
“Storm.”
Penelope continued to pet the horse, noticing that Asmara was still holding the animal’s hoof. She pointed.
“Is he injured?”
Asmara looked back to the hoof with the abscess that wouldn’t heal properly. “He has been bothered by poison in it,” she said, pointing to the area when Penelope looked closer. “I must tend to it as soon as possible.”
Penelope looked at her. “Then why are you here?” she asked, indicating the training area she had just come from. “The stables are through there. The grooms will help you tend to your horse. Would you like me to show you were to go?”
Asmara shook her head. “Nay, but I thank you,” she said. “The soldier told us to wait here, so we are. I should not like to leave or it might anger him.”
Penelope frowned. “What soldier?”
“The commander at the gatehouse.”
She understood, somewhat. “I see,” she said. “Are you here to visit someone, then?”
Over on the bench, the man was listening to the conversation but Penelope couldn’t quite see him. When he heard the question, he stood up, his head popping up over the back of Asmara’s stallion.
“We are here to see a knight,” he said in his slow, deliberate speech. “We must wait here until the soldier returns for us.”
Penelope looked at the man, heard the voice, and time seemed to stop. A buzzing filled her head because she honestly couldn’t hear anything else around her, nor could she see. The entire world could come crashing down around her and she would still be standing there, still looking into the face of the man who had just spoken to her. He was older, scarred, the sides of his head were shaved, he was missing his left ear, and a beard covered the lower part of his face. He had the look of a barbarian.
But… by God, she knew him.
She’d seen him a million times, in her dreams and in her heart, as a child, as a girl, and as a young woman. The face had changed slightly from what she remembered, and the left side of his head was badly damaged, but it didn’t change the facts. It didn’t change what she knew in her heart.
The ground seemed t
o rock as she stared at him and her breath caught in her throat. She thought she might faint until she realized that she wasn’t breathing, so she forced herself to take a gasping breath.
A hand flew to her mouth.
“It… it…” She breathed, hardly able to speak. “I… you are…”
She couldn’t finish because it occurred to her that he wasn’t running at her with joy. He was simply looking at her with some confusion, as if she were a stranger. There was no light of recognition in his eyes, no warmth of realization. He wasn’t seeing what she was seeing.
But she was seeing it all.
My God… it was James.
“You’re here,” she finally gasped.
It was all she could think to say. Asmara, seeing that the friendly woman looked as if she’d seen a ghost, suddenly began looking between the pair. Blayth was looking at the young woman with some concern, as if he’d said something wrong, but the young woman was ashen white and breathing unsteadily. She was looking at Blayth the same way Payton-Forrester had, and it occurred to her that this young woman might recognize him just as the English knight had.
Her heart began to pound, just a little faster.
“Lady?” she said to Penelope. When the woman didn’t respond, she said it again, louder. “Lady Penelope? Do you know him?”
Penelope snapped out of whatever trance she was in, looking to Asmara as tears filled her eyes. All of those things that Corbett and Chris had said, about James being an agent for Edward, filled her mind and the world began to spin. Before she said something that would ruin whatever James had been trying to build, because Bhrodi had warned her about wreaking such havoc, she simply looked back at James, her beloved brother, and could only think to say one thing to him.
“Do… do you know me?” she whispered.
Blayth found himself staring at her, hard. As she said that, he realized there was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place her. It was mostly in her eyes – he knew those eyes, now filled with an ocean of tears. Clearly, seeing him had her shaken and he had no idea why. But when she asked that question, he, too, realized that she had the same expression that Payton-Forrester had when he’d first looked at him.
It was the light of recognition.
He sighed sharply.
“I… I don’t know,” he said. “But I know I should. Do you know me?”
Penelope blinked and the tears splattered. She suddenly didn’t care what Chris or Corbett or even Bhrodi had said. This was her James, the brother she thought she’d lost, and she could hardly believe it. Every fiber in her body screamed with disbelief, while her heart began to leap with joy.
It was him!
“Aye,” she finally said, breaking down into tears. “I do. I know you.”
Asmara rushed to her side, seeing how overwrought she was. “You do?” she asked in disbelief. “Who is he to you? Please tell me. Do not be afraid.”
Penelope was beginning to sob. Her hands were over her mouth as she took a few halting steps in Blayth’s direction, her eyes drinking in a sight she never thought she’d see again in this life. She couldn’t even answer Asmara’s question as her teary gaze held her brother.
“You were dead,” she sobbed. “We were told you were dead. But you are not! You are alive!”
Asmara was following her, genuinely trying to find answers from the woman. “Who is he to you?” she begged. “Please tell me.”
Penelope heard the question and she swallowed, wiping the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. “My brother,” she whispered. Then, she looked at Blayth, who was looking at her in astonishment. “Don’t you know me? I’m Penelope. I am your sister. James, we thought you were dead!”
She was off sobbing again, hands over her mouth to stifle the noise. Asmara looked to Blayth in shock.
“James,” she said to him. “She called you James.”
Blayth was nearly as stunned as Penelope was, only marginally better at keeping his emotions in check. But it was a hard-fought battle. Everything he’d come to Lioncross to discover had happened right here, right now, in the most unexpected of places. It had happened so swiftly that he could hardly believe it. Reaching out, he grasped Penelope by both arms, his expression beseeching.
“I am sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I do not remember you. I do not remember anything. I was badly injured at Llandeilo and lay unconscious for weeks. When I awoke, I had no memory of who I was, so I do not remember you. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Am I truly your brother?”
Penelope nodded. Then, she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off-balance as she sobbed her heart out.
“James,” she wept. “I have missed you so terribly. We have all missed you so terribly. I never thought to see you ever again!”
Blayth didn’t know what to say or what to do. He kept from putting his arms around her because she was essentially a stranger, and he was quite uncomfortable with her display of emotion. But when he looked at Asmara, he could see the tears in the woman’s eyes. Tears of joy, he thought. But he, too, was beginning to feel tears.
He felt as if a large piece of a larger puzzle had just come to light.
She knew him.
You are my brother!
“Please,” he begged her, trying to pull her away from him. “Please tell me; are you certain I am your brother?”
Penelope nodded, struggling with her hysterics, but she genuinely couldn’t help it. “Aye, of course,” she said, releasing her death grip on him. “I came here to find you and I did!”
Blayth was beside himself with the situation, trying to think of what to ask her. There was so much he wanted to ask. But he could only think of one thing at a time. He couldn’t speak as quickly as his mind worked, so it was a struggle to get the words out.
Asmara could see that. His face was turning read, overwhelmed with the situation. So she went to stand beside him, her hand on Penelope’s arm because the woman was still so upset.
“You called him James,” she said. “Can you please tell us your family name?”
Penelope wiped furiously at her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “De Wolfe,” she said. “My father is William de Wolfe, the Earl of Warenton. In his youth, he was called the Wolfe of the Border. There is no greater knight in all of England than my father. Our father.”
Asmara looked at Blayth to see how he was taking the news; his eyes were wide, staring at Penelope as if she alone contained all of the answers he’d ever wanted to know. The key to his past was standing right in front of him and he was so stunned that he couldn’t even speak. She could see his mouth moving, but nothing was coming forth.
Now, at this moment, his limited power of speech had failed him.
“My husband knows nothing of his past,” she told Penelope. “As you can see, he is having a difficult time speaking. He was badly wounded at Llandeilo, smashed in the head, and there have been some things that have been slow to recover. His ability to speak has been one of them, but the only memories he has are of those since Llandeilo. His only memory is as a man of Wales. That is all he has known these past five years.”
Penelope listened carefully to what she was being told and it was starting to occur to her what had happened. The explanation was perfectly clear. James’ memory had been erased from the terrible wound to his head, the evidence of which was right before her. The left side of his head was in ruins. Without the ability to tell anyone who he was or return home, he’d simply remained in Wales because it was all he knew.
It was all he could do.
Dear God… so many things became clear in that brief explanation and she looked to her brother, feeling more disbelief and sympathy than she ever thought possible. Reaching out, she took one of his big, callused hands.
“You are my brother, James de Wolfe,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “You are the fourth son of William de Wolfe and his wife, Jordan. You have three older brothers – Scott, Troy, and Patrick. You have a twin
sister, Katheryn. You also have another sister, Evelyn, and two younger brothers, Thomas and Edward. And then there is me, the baby of the family. You used to bring me sweets when I was a child and I would call you my favorite brother. Then, Patrick would bring me sweets and I would call him my favorite brother. You would challenge Patrick to a duel for the title of Supreme Favorite Brother, and I would demand a long and drawn-out death from the loser. You don’t remember any of this?”
Blayth was listening to her, his eyes filling with tears. He simply couldn’t help it. He had so many brothers and sisters, and he didn’t even remember them. It was tragic beyond words.
“I wish I did,” he whispered. “I wish I remembered it all.”
Penelope could see that, and it was a struggle for her not to burst into tears again. Reaching up, she put her hand on his damaged face, tears spilling down her cheeks when she saw the tears coming from his eyes. The man wanted so badly to remember what she was telling him.
“We had such wonderful times as a family,” she said haltingly. “We were very much loved by our parents, and we loved each other. Above all, know that you were happy and that you were loved. When Papa returned to tell us that you’d been killed at Llandeilo, it was a great loss for us all. Papa has never recovered from it, James, not ever. He never got over the guilt of having to leave you behind.”
Blayth’s lower lip was trembling. “I was told that the English left me behind,” he murmured. “I was told that I was unwanted.”
Penelope was shaking her head before he even finished. “That is not true,” she said. “I was told that Llandeilo was chaos. The English were outmanned and ambushed, and they had to leave their dead behind in the retreat. Believe me; if Papa could have taken you with him, he would have. He told me that Uncle Kieran tried to carry you out, but that he had to leave you, too, or risk being killed. They tried to bring you, James, but it simply wasn’t possible. Please don’t think you were left behind because you were unwanted. Papa even went back to find you, once, but no one could tell him what had become of you.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 275