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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  William scowled at her; he wasn’t the scowling type but his wife had pushed his hand. He snapped his big fingers at the eleven knights in the room. “Edward, Thomas,” he hissed at the younger, thinner, and more agile sons. “Climb out through the window and get around to the corridor where she is. Do not let her get away from you, do you understand?”

  The young knights were nodding even as they swiftly moved for the long lancet windows that overlooked the bailey. The other knights followed them and began helping them strip off the heavy armor so they could move more freely.

  “’Tis a two-story drop to the bailey, Father,” Scott reminded his father.

  William waived him off tersely. “Then use the tapestry near the hearth as a rope,” he said. “If the rest of you can fit through the windows, then go with them.”

  The knights were on the move as William returned his attention to the door. “Penelope?” he called sweetly, hoping she hadn’t heard the commands being issued inside the room. “Penelope, my love? Please open the door. I promise we shall speak with reason and wisdom on the matter. Penelope, do you hear me?”

  “Father!” Edward called; his body was halfway out of the window but he refused to go any further. He was pointing down into the darkened bailey. “Father, Penelope is down there with a broadsword!”

  William and Jordan rushed to the windows, as did the other knights. They could see the young woman down in the darkness of the bailey, dressed in mail and pieces of armor that had been custom-fitted to her body. In her hand was a very sharp broadsword. When she saw all of the faces looking down at her, she assumed a defensive stance.

  “Come down here, all of you,” she challenged. “You shall be very sorry.”

  William sighed heavily and looked at his wife. “Now what?” he asked. He threw a hand in the direction of the solar door. “She has us trapped in here.”

  “That is because ye made it easy for her,” Jordan scolded softly. “Did ye not think she would take advantage of it?”

  “She would with her mother advising her.”

  “Then that would make me a better military commander than ye.”

  William couldn’t decide whether to laugh or spank her. “You’re so smart,” he said sarcastically. “Now what do we do?”

  Jordan couldn’t help but grin; a small but scrappy woman had twelve very big men trapped in a little room and was holding them hostage. It was a fairly comical situation and very damaging to the male pride. Jordan was very proud of her little girl.

  “Mayhap ye should tell her that she doesna have tae marry the warlord ye’ve pledged her tae,” she said casually. “Mayhap then she shall let ye out. She doesna want tae marry the man and unless ye wish tae remain her hostage the rest of yer life, then I would suggest yet negotiate with her.”

  William’s frustration was mounting at his taunting wife. With an angry sigh, he pushed Troy out of the way so he could get closer to the lancet window.

  “Penelope?” he called down to her. “Penelope, my sweet, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Will you do this, please?”

  Penelope had not moved from her defensive stance. “I have already heard you, Father. You know my thoughts on the matter. I will not let you out of that room until you promise me I do not have to go to Wales.”

  By now, most of Castle Questing was alerted to what was going on; there was too much shouting on the east side of the keep to maintain the secrecy of the situation. The Lady Penelope had her father and most of his senior knights trapped in her father’s solar and a shouting match was going on; Penelope in the bailey and her father with his head out of the window two stories above. Men were starting to come around to see what all of the yelling was about, including William’s second in command, Sir Kieran Hage.

  Kieran, as old as he was, still drew the night watch every night. The massive knight with the piercing brown eyes still guarded the dark. He was on the wall, watching the happening and coming to see what had occurred; in fact, his own three sons were in that solar; Alec, Kevin, and Christian. He knew this was a particularly painful moment for Kevin, in fact, being in love with Penelope as he was. He knew the man was in the solar, cheering her on. Resist, Penelope! Resist with all your might!

  But that didn’t erase the fact that there was a stand-off going on. As Kieran swiftly made his way off the wall, William proceeded to reason with a very angry young lady.

  “Penelope,” he began, “you understand a knight’s heart. You understand what it is to fight and die for what you believe in. You understand what makes England what it is and how important loyalty and allegiance are to the king. You also understand that peace is made in many ways and the least violent method is through negotiations and treaties and contracts. That being said, I know you understand how much of an honor it is that King Edward has asked that you become his emissary for peace.”

  Even in the darkness, they could see Penelope’s scowl, which was an unfortunate expression on her exquisite face.

  “I am not to be an emissary for peace,” she countered firmly. “The king has had a time of it in Wales and he seeks to make me a sacrifice to the biggest Welsh warlord of all by marrying me to the man.”

  “He is trying to make an alliance.”

  “He is trying to make me the sacrificial lamb!”

  William was struggling to remain calm. “I know you are not that dense,” he said. “You know who Bhrodi de Shera is; the man still holds the hereditary title of King of Anglesey, for Christ’s sake. He descends from Welsh royalty on his mother’s side and on his father’s side, he holds the title of Earl of Coventry. He is both Welsh and English, my love, but Edward wishes to appeal to his English blood by marrying the daughter of a great English warlord to him. It will ally our two families, Penelope, and it will guarantee Edward control of Northern Wales. After that disastrous defeat at Llandeilo last year when we lost your brother and then the terrible defeat at Moel-y-don a few months ago, the king is tired of losing so many men. He is hoping you can save lives by marrying the man who holds most of Northern Wales in his grasp. Can you not understand this?”

  By now, Penelope had calmed somewhat but she was still clearly unhappy. “You put too much of a burden upon me, Father,” she said. “You make it seem as if I do not marry the man, then I will be responsible for all of the English deaths that will result in continued warfare. I am not to blame; it is the king. His greed kills men.”

  “Silence,” William hissed at her. “You cannot judge the fortunes of the king. It is his right to expand his holdings and you are, by law, sworn to do his bidding. What is the difference if he sends you to Wales to fight or to marry a warlord to secure peace? Either way, you are doing his bidding. If you are a knight, as you have so often sworn you are, then you have no choice. You must do as you are told.”

  Penelope was losing ground. “I would rather fight than marry a man I would be bound to for life.”

  William went for the kill. “Fine,” he said as if agreeing to her terms. “Then the next time there are battles in Wales, your brothers will go and fight. We’ve already lost James, but mayhap that will just be the beginning. It would be a true tragedy to see more of your brothers die in a battle you could have just as easily prevented. They will do their duty and fight for the king; will you do your duty and marry for peace so they will not have to die?”

  Penelope held his gaze a moment longer before hanging her head. But as she did so, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. As quick as a cat, she jumped back and lifted her broadsword but she wasn’t fast enough; Kieran had come up behind her and now held her in a great bear hug from behind. Her arms were pinned by his iron grip and she could hardly move.

  “Uncle Kieran!” she grunted, struggling against him. “Let me go!”

  Kieran had her tightly; he was concerned what would happen to him should he lose his grip. Penelope could fight as well as any man.

  “In time,” he said calmly. “Drop the sword.”

  “Nay!” />
  “Drop it or you will be very sorry.”

  Penelope began to kick and twist, but Kieran was so big that she truly didn’t have a chance against him. Suddenly, she began to twitch and spasm. Her howls filled the air.

  “Nay!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare do that!”

  Kieran was laughing low in his throat; the fingers of his right hand just happened to be along the left side of her torso, in a seam where the mail gapped, and he tickled her mercilessly as she screamed. The broadsword hit the ground and she began to beg for mercy as up in the keep, the servants had managed to straighten out the damaged door latch that was keeping William and his knights barricaded inside the solar.

  When the door opened, the knights all spilled out except for William. He remained by the window with his wife, watching Kieran tickle Penelope until she was gasping for air. She was captured, that was certain, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last of her rebellion. She was too stubborn for that. He knew the best course of action would be to get her to Wales as soon as possible. There, she would marry the Welsh warlord that was the most powerful man in all of Wales, if not all of England. The man had lands and wealth beyond the wildest dreams. He also had the reputation of the Devil.

  William had known many powerful warlords in his life. He was, in fact, one of the more powerful ones in the north of England; The Wolfe was legendary. But Sir Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera went beyond William’s status. The man had Welsh royalty on his mother’s side and English nobility on his father’s; he fought for the Welsh when it suited him and the English when he felt like it. His loyalty was to himself and no one else.

  It was King Edward’s hope that marrying him to the daughter of a legendary English warlord would secure de Shera’s loyalty to England permanently. Securing the loyalty of the man known throughout the realm as The Serpent, and for very good reason.

  His strike was deadly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rhydilian Castle, the Month of May

  Isle of Anglesey, Wales

  “They are on their way.” A big knight with shaggy black hair entered the great hall with his grand announcement. “In fact, they are already in Wales.”

  His statement didn’t seem to have much impact to the occupants. Four pairs of eyes looked up at him from various positions around the great open pit in the center of the hall. The smoke from the fire in the pit was creating a fog of sorts, mostly because of the storm outside. Winds were preventing the smoke from escaping through holes in the thatched roof. Rain trickled down through the roof, hitting the glowing embers with a sharp hiss.

  The mood of the room was dark and somber, as was usual. There hadn’t been any levity in the room in well over two years, ever since “she” had died. No one was allowed to speak her name so she was only referred to as “she”. That was as far as it went, memories of “she” having long since been forced into the shadows. That was how their liege wanted it.

  As the announced words faded into the smoky blackness of the hall, a man seated near the fire with a sword in his hand, carefully sharpening it with a pumice stone, finally responded.

  “How do you know this?” he asked, his voice deep and melodic as he continued to run the stone over the edge of the blade. “Have we received word?”

  The knight with the shaggy hair nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he replied. “Word has come. De Wolfe has accepted Edward’s proposal and is on his way with your bride.”

  The man sharpening the sword came to an unsteady halt. His eyes, the color of emeralds, seemed to flicker, to shift, before returning them to the blade. He resumed sharpening.

  “Why would he come?” he asked calmly. “I have not yet accepted Edward’s proposal. Do they think to force me to marry an English woman, then?”

  The shaggy knight eyed the lowered head of his liege; Sir Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera was a cool man in most situations, cooler still when the circumstances grew harried and violent. But the man had been known to have a temper, legendary outbursts that were far and few between yet had been known to have dire if not deadly results. It took a great deal to provoke the man known as The Serpent, but when The Serpent struck, he laid waste to all he touched. Even the men around the fire were watching de Shera, waiting. It was a tense moment as the realization of the words settled.

  “De Wolfe’s messenger is in the bailey,” Ivor ap Bando replied steadily. “I made him wait whilst I informed you of the information he bore. Would you hear him now, my lord?”

  Bhrodi continued to rub the stone on the edge of the blade, coolly, but his brilliant mind was working steadily. They are on their way. He was mildly annoyed, that was true, but there was also curiosity in the mix. A daughter of the legendary Wolfe would soon be upon his doorstep. If he was to ever consider an English bride, it would only be from a family of a great warrior. Edward had known him well; the man was well aware of his enemy’s requirements. He understood his adversary and had acted accordingly. No woman but one from legendary warrior blood would be acceptable. Now, The Wolfe had come to Wales.

  Straight into The Serpent’s lair.

  Bhrodi continued sharpening the blade. “It is a dangerous time to make the journey,” he said, eyeing the razor-sharp steel. “By the full of the moon is not the best time to come to these parts.”

  Ivor nodded. “I realize that, my lord,” he said. “The messenger says they should be here on the morrow. Mayhap you should….”

  He was cut off by the slam of a door. It was a loud crack, a brutal sound in the depths of the darkened hall, but no one seemed particularly startled by it. It was merely a familiar interruption, one that occurred several times a night. But they all paused, glancing towards a large wardrobe that had been a permanent part of the great hall for longer than any of them could remember. It had been part of a cache of booty from raids along the coast of Eire decades ago and had once contained great and expensive things. But that had been years ago. Now, it contained something different altogether. By the time Bhrodi glanced over his shoulder to look at the wardrobe, something thin and wrath-like burst forth from the cabinet.

  A figure danced about in the shadows, shuffling and leaping. There was a good deal of grunting going on as the figure moved about, flickering through the streams of light that reached out from the hearth like fingers into the dim recesses of the room, recesses obscured by the darkness that cloaked the chamber like the dank depths of a polluted soul. They could all hear the hunting and grunting before the figure finally came closer, into the edge of the light, where they could see a little man dressed in filthy rags, with stringy white hair, waving his hand about in front of him as if extending an imaginary sword.

  It was evident the man was doing battle with unseen forces, and it was a fierce battle indeed. He thrust, he parried, and he charged forward when he thought he had the advantage. He even shrieked when the invisible weapons aiming for him came too close. It was a macabre dance of a clear madman, though one who was determined to protect himself and the occupants of the room from unseen demons.

  As Bhrodi and the others watched, the tiny man with the wild hair moved with leaps and bounds back towards his cabinet. Then, as quickly as the show began, it was summarily finished as he sheathed his imaginary sword and bowed swiftly to his ghostly opponent. And with that, he jumped back into his cabinet and closed the door.

  It was over as quickly as it had begun, but no one commented on it. They’d seen it before, many times, and they returned to what they had been doing as if nothing was amiss. Ivor, who had been speaking when the little man had emerged, continued on as if nothing strange had just occurred. It was all quite normal in their world.

  “Would you speak with the messenger, my lord?” he asked. “I have kept him in the gatehouse. If he is de Wolfe’s messenger, we do not want to show him any disrespect and have The Wolfe down around our ears. It would be wise for you to see him.”

  Bhrodi inhaled slowly, thoughtfully, and stopped sharpening his sword. “Show him in,” he said, his voice a l
ow rumble. “I would like to know what the man has to say about a marriage contract I’ve not yet agreed to.”

  Ivor didn’t want to debate it with him; any talk of marriage, or women in general, were not healthy subjects to broach with his liege and he was eager for it to be someone else’s problem. Swiftly, he turned on his heal and headed back the way he had come.

  Ivor’s bootfalls faded as Bhrodi continued to sit, inactive, a pumice stone in one hand and his sword in the other, pondering the arrival of the Wolfe Pack. That was what everyone in military circles referred to them as; William de Wolfe and his stable of powerful and legendary fighting men were known as the Wolfe Pack. Bhrodi had been raised on stories of de Wolfe’s valor and wasn’t hard pressed to admit he admired the man greatly. Tales of de Wolfe’s exploits along the Scots border were almost mythical in proportion. Bhrodi wondered if de Wolfe himself would be accompanying his daughter; suspicion told him the man, no matter his advanced age, would come. This was too important a meeting to leave to lesser knights.

  So he continued to sharpen his blade, contemplating, as the men around him whispered among themselves. Usually, he ignored it but tonight he wasn’t apt to. He spit on his pumice stone to wet it as he sharpened.

  “Ianto,” he said to the man sitting off to his right. “You will make sure we have accommodations for de Wolfe and his men. The bulk of the men can sleep in the hall but de Wolfe will have his own chamber. See to it.”

  Sir Ianto ap Huw, a big man from a fine and noble family, looked up from the cup of ale in his hand. “We can put him in the top of the keep,” he said. “There are two rooms there. It is big enough.”

  “See to it.”

  “Aye, fy arglwydd,” he said quietly. Aye, my lord. “But what of the woman he brings? This is no place for a woman.”

  Bhrodi stopped sharpening and turned to look at the group. “So that is what all of you are hissing about?” he asked. “The fact that Rhydilian is no place for women? You forget there was a woman here, once, and there is a woman here now.”