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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Accordingly, they all leapt to their feet when the big wardrobe in the shadows rattled and the door suddenly popped open. Kevin went so far as to unsheathe his broadsword when a tiny little man with stringy white hair burst out of the wardrobe, but William held out a calming hand to prevent his knights from doing anything drastic. He kept his eye trained on the small figure who shuffled around back in the shadows. Like his men, he would not be caught off guard.

  Bhrodi could see what had the attention of his English visitors and he realized they were startled by something that was an everyday occurrence to him. He put up his hands as if to force them to relax.

  “Have no fear,” he said. “’Tis only my elderly uncle, and he is quite mad. He lives in the wardrobe and only emerges to fight unseen enemies or steal food. He is harmless, I assure you. When I was a child, however, I use to think he was a ghost. Most frightening.”

  William cast him a long glance. “A ghost?”

  Bhrodi nodded, turning to look at the tiny man as he battled against unseen forces. “He is my mother’s uncle and he has been mad as long as I can recall,” he said. “He has lived in that wardrobe for at least thirty years, mayhap more. When I was small, I was terrified of the man who lived in the wardrobe and only came out at night.”

  “But a ghost?”

  Bhrodi shrugged. “If you were five years of age and you saw such madness in the dead of night, what would you think?”

  William conceded the point. “That he was a ghost, I suppose,” he replied. Then, he eyed the man. “Are there any other ghosts or creatures we should know about so that my men are not startled by such things? Startled knights tend to react with deadly consequences, as they are trained.”

  Bhrodi shook his head. “Nay, no more oddities that I am aware of,” he said. “But be mindful that my uncle may come into the hall in his quest to vanquish his invisible enemy. He will not harm anyone but do not try to stop him; he must run his course. Just stay out of his way.”

  “What happens if someone interferes?”

  Bhrodi lifted his eyebrows. “Then my uncle might do some genuine harm,” he said. “He becomes even more insane if another human being touches him. Therefore, it is best to simply stay out of his way.”

  An interesting statement in an evening that had been full of them. This is a very odd place, William thought as he glanced over at Paris and Kieran. He knew they were thinking the same thing. Without further delay or questions, but keeping an eye on the strange old man as he battled ghosts, William took a seat at the big feasting table just as Ianto emerged from the shadows with kitchen servants in tow. The servants were weighed down with food and drink, and soon the big and worn table began to fill with warm edibles and cold alcohol.

  Bhrodi took a seat across from William where he could better see the man. Ivor and Gwyllim sat on either side of him, and he was eventually joined by Ianto and Yestin as more food was set upon the table. William and his knights didn’t touch the food until his host did, an example of good English manners, but once Bhrodi reached for a knuckle of beef, it was as if the dam had burst and many English hands were reaching for the presented fare.

  In the wake of the feeding frenzy, mutton was torn apart and all that remained of the beef was a few scraps. There was quite a bit of fish on the table, or at least they thought so, until the English discovered it was eel and they passed on it. No one particularly liked it. There were also bowls of beans and fat green peas, and great loaves of cream-colored bread.

  It was a surprisingly lavish feast, but not completely unexpected considering Bhrodi’s station. The man had access to much and a fortune behind the de Shera name. As the English and Welsh ate silently, eyeing each other across the big table, Bhrodi finally broke the silence.

  “I would assume by your presence, my lord, that you have brought me my bride,” he said, mouth full of beef. “Tell me who you have selected for this auspicious position.”

  More arrogance. William heard Paris grunt unhappily beside him and he elbowed the man to keep him silent.

  “I have only three daughters, two of which are already married to fine knights,” he said. “Therefore, I have pledged my youngest daughter as your bride.”

  Bhrodi didn’t seemed pleased by the statement; in fact, he appeared suspicious. “Youngest?” he repeated. “How young?”

  “Penelope has seen twenty years of age.”

  Bhrodi’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Twenty years of age?” he repeated, nearly outraged. “She is not young in the least; she is an old maid at that age. Why is she so old? Could you not find her a suitable husband before now? I will take no cast-offs, de Wolfe.”

  William gazed at the man a moment before setting his cup of nearly-finished wine down and rising to his feet. When he stood up, his entire stable of knights stood up with him and when he spoke, it was with the greatest restraint. The man had finally reached his limit; words were about to be exchanged, and not pleasant ones.

  “I came to Wales with the greatest of intentions of securing a peace between your loyalists and mine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I came to Rhydilian with the respect for your station that your bloodlines warranted, but what I found when I got here was a man of such conceit that he vomits it out of every pore of his body, forcing the rest of us to choke on it. Tell your men to remove their hands from the hilts of their weapons or I will tell my men to charge and we will have a bloodbath. Are we clear? Thank you. As I was saying, I came here with purely noble intentions but I draw the line at you insulting my daughter. Let me make this very clear so there is no mistake; it is you who are unworthy of her and unless something drastic changes my mind, I will return to England on the morrow and take her with me. I would rather see her a spinster or a nun than marry a lord so arrogant that he truly believes all of Wales and England is at his beck and call. You have much to learn about graciousness and tact, de Shera, but it would be beneath me to teach it to you. And with that, I will thank you for the meal, and for your assistance earlier, and bid you a good eve.”

  William swept from the table with his knights in tow, each one of them eyeing Bhrodi and his men as they followed their liege from the hall. They were hostile glares and perhaps gloating ones. De Wolfe had said everything they wanted to say but were in no position to say it. The victory, for the evening, had gone to the English, and everyone knew it.

  Bhrodi’s men were not so accepting of it, however; Bhrodi practically had to sit on Ivor to keep him quiet and Ianto had Gwyllim by the neck to keep him from charging. They were clearly outnumbered against the English so to provoke a fight would have more than likely ended badly for them.

  Only when the English had cleared the hall did Ianto let go of Gwyllim and return to his food as if nothing unusual had happened. Truth was, he was very curious to see how Bhrodi would react considering no one had ever said such things to him. Not that it hadn’t been a long time in coming, but no one had ever had the nerve.

  Therefore, Ianto sat and waited, watching as Gwyllim began drinking heavily because he was so frustrated. Ivor had lost his appetite and Yestin seemed to be the only one actively eating and drinking, waiting and watching, as Ianto was, for Bhrodi’s response. It was a tense wait.

  Bhrodi, however, had no immediate reaction. He simply gazed at the doorway where the English had disappeared, a cup of wine in his hand. If he was embarrassed, he gave no indication. If he was furious, no one would have known. His features were utterly devoid of emotion.

  Without another word, he set his cup down and quit the hall.

  *

  “Was it that bad, English?”

  Jordan’s question was soft but William, animated when in the presence of his family, looked at her as if she had just grievously insulted him.

  “Of course it was that bad,” he said. “I would not lie to you.”

  Jordan looked at Paris, who was standing just inside the doorway of the tent they had pitched against the walls of Rhydilian’s bailey. In fact, there were sever
al tents pitched in the enormous bailey because Rhydilian didn’t have accommodations for visitors. They had a great hall, a massive D-shaped keep, and outbuildings. The complex was rather spartan and obviously not meant to house guests.

  In fact, the de Wolfe party was stuffing the entire east side of the bailey with their men and tents and wagons. The covered traveling wagon that carried the de Wolfe women on long journeys was positioned next to the big family tent. It was long, a fortified box on wheels, and had several shuttered windows that could be propped open to allow for ventilation. It also had two long and cushioned couches in it, one on each side of the wagon, that were also used as beds. On this trip, Penelope had slept in the wagon while her mother had slept with her father in the big tent. Even now, Penelope was in the wagon, busying herself with repairing some damaged mail as her mother and father discussed the first meeting with Bhrodi de Shera in the big tent.

  It was a meeting that had evidently not gone well. Jordan’s gaze lingered on Paris for the man to either confirm or deny William’s version of the meeting.

  “Was that how it happened?” she asked Paris. “’Tis hard tae know considering de Shera is tae be Penny’s groom. I doubt Christ himself would be good enough.”

  But Paris nodded his head in full support of William. “Pompous oaf,” he muttered. “From the moment we entered the hall, ’twas as if we were no more than insects beneath his feet. The great and mighty Bhrodi de Shera was very clear in that respect and your husband was handling himself quite well until de Shera insulted Penelope.”

  The doubtful expression vanished from Jordan’s face and she bolted to her feet. “He insulted my daughter?” she demanded. “An madra ideal! Beidh mé buille air soundly más rud é go bhfuil an fhírinne!” The foolish dog! I will beat him soundly if that is the truth!

  Jordan lapsing into Gaelic was never a good thing. William could see that there would be more trouble if he didn’t calm his wife; his anger was one thing, but Jordan’s was entirely another. If she was mad enough, she’d go after the man with a dirk. He’d seen it before.

  “He seemed to think that twenty years of age was quite old,” he replied steadily, hoping to calm her. “He thought that mayhap there was a reason why she was so old and still unmarried. It was not a horrific reaction, but one that had my initial ire.”

  That didn’t soothe Jordan in the least. “So he thinks we would provide him with a hag of a wife?” she said, outraged. “Penelope can have her pick of any man in England!”

  William went to her, putting his big hands on her shoulders to calm her. “I know, love,” he said soothingly. “Do not upset yourself so.”

  “She is far too good for the likes of him!”

  “I know, love.”

  Jordan wouldn’t be eased. “What are ye going tae tell him?” she wanted to know. “I dunna want me daughter marrying such an arrogant lout as that. He isna worthy of her!”

  “I know.”

  “Then ye tell him or I will!”

  As William grunted softly, with regret that his wife was so angry, the flap to the tent was pulled back and Jemma entered bearing a tray of cups. Something was steaming from them as she approached William and Jordan.

  “Warmed wine,” she told them. “Drink it while it’s hot. There’s some food for ye, too, if ye are hungry.”

  Jordan turned to her cousin, furiously. “Do ye know what Bhrodi de Shera said about Penelope?” she said. “He said she was too old for a bride! He thinks we would give him a relic of a wife!”

  Jemma, who possessed the legendary fire of a Scots more than anyone alive, scowled at her cousin. “That is ridiculous,” she said, glaring at William. “Did ye tell him so?”

  William knew he had his hands full with two very angry Scotswomen. One did not insult a member of their family and get away with it; he’d seen their retribution towards someone who did and had no desire to beat them off of de Shera. With a grunt of impatience, he held up his hands.

  “Do you think I would let the man insult my youngest, my baby girl?” he said, more forcefully to gain the upper hand with them. “Of course I put him in his place and I do not need anger from either one of you at this moment. I have a bigger problem on my hands.”

  “Bigger than an insult tae yer daughter?” Jordan asked, incredulous. “What could that be?”

  William looked at her with exasperation. “I have already pledged Penelope to him and if I withdraw that pledge, then that will be very serious, indeed,” he replied. “At this moment, I am not at all certain I want to leave her here with him. With his arrogance and her temper, they’d be at each other’s throats in a matter of minutes.”

  Jemma made a face. “Well and good,” she said. “Mayhap Penny will kill him and our problems will be solved.”

  William just rolled his eye, shaking his head and turning away from the pair. Jemma, still riled, turned to see Paris standing back in the shadows. The man had historically been her nemesis, since the very day they had met, but there was also a very strong loyalty and camaraderie between them. Paris was Jemma’s biggest antagonist but he was also, behind her husband, her biggest supporter. It was a true love-hate relationship in every sense of the word.

  “Were ye there when the arrogant Welshman insulted Penny?” Jemma asked him. “Well?”

  Paris nodded patiently. “Ease yourself, banshee,” he said, using his familiar nickname for her. He was the only one who could call her that and get away with it because between the two of them, it was a term of affection. “It was not as bad as what you might think. Twenty years of age is rather old to be married. The man’s reaction was understandable, although the words of insult dealt after that were not.”

  Jemma flared. “So ye admit he did insult Penny!”

  Paris actually took a step back as Jemma and Jordan both approached him; though they were elderly women, there was nothing elderly in their expressions. It was all fire.

  “You’ll not harm me, do you hear?” he said, moving away from them as they followed. “I do not like women following me about in rabid packs. I shall tell my wife and then you’ll both have trouble!”

  Jemma and Jordan slowed but they didn’t stop completely. Paris’ wife was also their cousin, a tall and sweet woman whose health had been terrible over the past few months. It was why she had not come to Wales; the physics said it was a cancer, something that sickened and saddened all of them deeply. Paris, in fact, couldn’t deal with it at all; the man was an excellent healer and understood well how the body functioned, but when it came to his wife, he couldn’t face the reality of it. It was something they didn’t speak of in front of him for that reason. The end of Paris’ world was approaching and the man couldn’t accept the fact.

  “Caladora is too fine a lady,” Jemma said after a moment, her expression softening somewhat. “Nay, Callie wouldna give us trouble. She’d applaud us for telling ye to stand up for Penny!”

  William watched the pair go after Paris, daring him to tell them something they did not want to hear. He had to step in.

  “Leave him alone,” he said. “In fact, I would have both of you put this out of your mind. My dealings with de Shera are my own and I do not need or want your interference. Is that clear?”

  Jemma was still going after Paris but Jordan stopped. “She’s me daughter, too, English,” she said. “I am very concerned by what ye have told me. De Shera needs tae be put in his place.”

  “And I shall.”

  “When?”

  “Let me sleep on it, at least. I will deal with him tomorrow.”

  “May I come?”

  “You may not.”

  That started the riot all over again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two hours of mail repair and Penelope was bored out of her mind. The squires usually did this kind of thing but her father’s squire was occupied with a charger that had a swollen fetlock, so she had been relegated to repairing her own armor.

  She could hear her parents arguing in the great tent but
she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Every once in a while there would be a raised voice, or she would hear her father’s scolding tone, but she couldn’t hear what was being said. She gathered that the first meeting with de Shera hadn’t gone well. Truth be told, she wasn’t particularly surprised. Her father had a way of not getting along with men when the subject was her.

  It was a cold and damp night, and the mist from the marsh was settling heavily over the castle. What had once been a bright moonscape was now covered up by the advancing fog from the nearby bay, giving the grounds a spooky and edgy feel. Torches were upon the battlements, giving off spots of light in the gray mist, and all was very quiet for the most part.

  After the battle with the beast of the lake, it seemed that everyone had settled down, but there was a feeling that perhaps they were waiting for something more to happen. Perhaps the violence of the night was not over yet.

  Penelope could feel the uneasiness, too, even though she was safe and sound in the protected wagon. The wagon actually had armored sides so she was perhaps the best protected out of anyone in the entire party. It was a very cozy wagon, like her own private chamber, and she felt very safe. But she was also very bored and very curious as to what her parents were arguing about.

  Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she put the mail down. It was mostly repaired, anyway. She had changed clothes after the battle at the marsh because she had been covered in mud, and had washed down as well. Lavender water provided by her mother had washed the mud off her neck and hands and face, and she had dressed in a heavy linen shift, snug leather hose, and a heavy leather and fur robe that went all the way to the ground. The sleeves were snug, and the wrists and neck lined with fur so that it was very warm. The long, dark hair that fell past her buttocks was re-braided and pinned with great iron pins into a bun at the nape of her neck. Penelope didn’t like to wear her hair free as a maiden would have; she found it got in the way of what she was doing, so it was always neatly braided and pinned. It also fit better under her helm that way.