“Why not?”
He was thoughtful as he stood up, heading for the earthenware pitcher and wooden cups that were down towards the middle of the table. He spoke as he collected them.
“Because my father was a good deal older than my mother,” he said, setting the cups down in front of them and beginning to pour the dark red wine. “My father was married before, you see, many years before he met my mother, but his wife bore him only a daughter before she died. My father was friends with my mother’s father, my grandfather, and with the promise of the Coventry earldom, he was able to marry my mother, who was very young. I was born a short time later. Then my younger sister came along when I was almost twenty years of age, killing my mother in childbirth. My father passed away of sheer old age shortly thereafter, so there was no opportunity for more siblings.”
Penelope listened with some interest, taking the cup he put before her. “Then who raised your sister? It sounds as if she was an infant when both of your parents passed away.”
He nodded as he reclaimed his seat and collected his cup. “She was,” he said. “I was fostering at the time and, of course, in no position to raise my sister, so she was raised by my mother’s father. When she grew older, she went to Coventry to foster and returned to Rhydilian last year to marry.”
Penelope pondered the younger sister’s situation as she sipped at the tart red wine. “If she was born when you were nearly twenty, then she must be very young indeed.”
“She turned thirteen years of age in January,” he said. “Her husband was an illegitimate son of Dafydd ap Gruffydd, cousins to the ap Gaerwens and the last Welsh prince, but the lad was killed last November at the battle of Moel-y-don when Edward tried to storm Anglesey. My sister is almost eight months pregnant with their child.”
Penelope tried not to show her dismay over a very young pregnant widow; it wasn’t a new story in this world of battle and conquest, but thirteen years of age was still very young to have suffered such trauma. She wasn’t very good at expressing sympathy, afraid she would say the wrong thing, so she stumbled to find something more to say to all of that.
“Does she live here with you, then?” she asked.
Bhrodi nodded. “She does,” he replied. “The child she carries is full blooded Welsh royalty, so she will remain here in my charge. I am sure Edward would love to get his hands on the child so I must keep it under my protection. Mayhap it will be the last child ever born of pure Welsh royalty, because I, too, have attempted to carry on my royal blood but my attempt has failed so far.”
Penelope was drawn in by the curious statement. “What do you mean?”
Bhrodi found his thoughts turning to Sian, his dead love, and the child that had died with her. It was the forbidden subject, now raised fairly early in the conversation. He would not speak her name, or clean her chamber, but somehow as he gazed at Penelope, he found the carefully-held control leaving him. Something about the woman softened him and before he could stop himself, the forbidden subject was upon his lips.
“Because I was married but my wife died in childbirth,” he said quietly. “I lost my wife and child two years ago.”
Penelope was in the uncomfortable waters of death and pity. She didn’t know this man but he had thus far disclosed some very personal details to her and she was unsure how to react. Was he trying to gain her sympathy? Was he trying to soften her towards him? She didn’t know him at all and, not knowing, she couldn’t be at all sure that this wasn’t a ploy of some kind. Therefore, her guard was up.
“Then I am sorry for you,” she said without too much emotion. “But I can see how it would be important for such bloodlines to continue. Surely there are many fine Welsh noblewomen who would gladly help you.”
He nodded, unwilling to further linger on thoughts of Sian and disappointed that Penelope hadn’t shown more pity about it. In fact, he was starting to feel embarrassed that he had confided in her. Either she didn’t care or she thought he was lying. If the situation was reversed, he would have believed the latter. It had been too soon for him to discuss his loss with her and he knew it. Somehow, he had cheapened it. The anger he felt was purely directed at himself.
“There are,” he said, his tone no longer soft and more business-like. “I have had my pick of them, of course, but your king had other ideas. He seems to think that I need an English bride to dilute the Welsh blood. Mayhap he thinks it will make me less resistant to his rule over Wales.”
There was something decidedly haughty in his statement and Penelope stiffened. “If you do not want an English bride, that can most definitely be arranged,” she said. “Do not believe for one moment that I am eager or happy to be here.”
Bhrodi put his hands up to soothe her. “I did not mean to offend you, my lady, truly,” he said. “I was simply relaying my opinion on why your king wants this marriage.”
Penelope would not be eased. “If you have your pick of Welsh brides, then I suggest you take one and leave me out of it,” she told him. “I was quite happy living with my parents and fighting within my father’s ranks. I did not ask for a husband nor do I want one, but my father seems to think this will somehow benefit me.”
Bhrodi was quickly coming to understand that she was not a willing bride in the least, which he truly should have suspected all along. It was another blow to that enormous ego; didn’t all women want to marry the powerful and handsome Bhrodi de Shera? Apparently, one did not. But he also saw something else in Penelope, something beyond the beauty; the woman was inordinately strong and unafraid to speak her mind. She wasn’t a cowering female to do a man’s whim. He imagined that a marriage to such a woman would be very adventurous.
He began to imagine a life with her, listening to her opinions, perhaps laughing with her, and most definitely loving her. He could only dream of the prospects that await him in the bedchamber where she was concerned and the thought made him smile. But as he thought on that subject, something else occurred to him; sometimes women who behaved as men did it because they did not, in fact, like men as mates. They preferred a woman in their bed instead. He sincerely hoped that was not the case but knew he had to ask.
“May I ask a question, my lady?” he ventured.
Penelope nodded reluctantly. “If you must.”
He hesitated. “You do like men, don’t you? That is to say, you are not opposed to this marriage because you prefer women over men?”
Penelope knew exactly what he meant. Strangely, she wasn’t overly offended by the question. She’d been asked the same thing before, given the fact that she had chosen to follow a man’s vocation. It was a natural question. She met his gaze steadily for a moment before shaking her head.
“I do not prefer women in my bed,” she said. “If I were to choose a mate, it would be a man, even though men believe they know better than I do. Men like to dominate while women do not. At least, most women do not. Still, I am not particularly fond of my sex in general. Women are weak and foolish. I do indeed like men.”
It was a relief to hear it, and Bhrodi was furthermore relieved to realize she wasn’t grossly insulted by his question.
“I am very happy to hear that,” he said. “As for men trying to dominate you, I do not imagine anyone can get the better of you, my lady. You are too strong for that.”
It was a genuine compliment. Penelope eyed him with some doubt, trying to gauge what he meant by his comment. Was he trying to manipulate her emotions again? To play on her vanities? Her reply was careful.
“I will stand up for myself if that is what you mean,” she said.
He cocked his head as he gazed steadily at her. “Partly,” he said. “I can see such strength in you, my lady. You are a worthy de Wolfe daughter, for certain. It is my thought that such a woman should breed because for her to be childless would be an extreme waste of those fine qualities.”
Penelope wasn’t sure what to say. Their gazes locked over the table top and, after several long moments, she found she had to look away. Th
ose invisible fingers that seemed to sprout from his eyes were grabbing at her again and she was trying to avoid their pull, but it was very difficult. If Bhrodi had been attempting to manipulate her emotions, to endear himself to her, he had done a very good job. The man had an aura about him that was positively magnetic; the more she tried to resist, the more he pulled at her.
“I… I have never thought of it that way,” she admitted, looking at her half-empty cup. “It has always been my opinion that there are other women better suited to marriage and childbearing than me.”
He scowled, gently done. “You are the one woman on this earth that should breed children,” he said. “Your children will be the finest anywhere and your sons… well, they will be the finest knights this land has yet to see. I would like for them to be my sons, too. I am the only one worthy of such a fine bride.”
Her head came up, the hazel eyes staring at him and he waited for the explosion. But there was none; she remained seated, staring at him with an element of thoughtfulness in her expression. At least she isn’t glaring, he thought. Perhaps there is hope.
Hope or contempt; it could have been either emotion but Penelope wasn’t sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she felt. She continued to stare at Bhrodi, feeling the pull stronger than before. She found herself studying the shape of his jaw, square and solid, and the size of his neck. It was very big, just like the rest of him. She’d never seen a man with such an aura of strength about him.
Bhrodi de Shera radiated an abundance of it and being that she had been raised as a knight and with men all about her, she appreciated physical strength. She respected it. The man’s ego aside, she respected him for his reputation alone. De Shera was pure power. At that moment, the resistance she’d been harboring since the introduction of the marriage proposal began to falter. What was it that he had said? I am the only one worthy of such a fine bride. Perhaps he was the only one worthy of her, too.
“Are you telling me that you are agreeable to this contract that Edward has forced upon you?” she finally asked. “Will you agree to the king’s terms?”
Bhrodi’s warm expression faded. “If you are the contract, I will agree to it. If it were any other woman, I would not.”
He meant it as a compliment and, this time, she took it as one. “He means to subdue you,” she said quietly. “Surely you know that. Llewelyn is dead. The only thing that stands between him and complete domination of Wales is Llewelyn’s brother, Dafydd, and you.”
Bhrodi wasn’t stupid; he knew what Edward wanted. In fact, he knew it better than Penelope did. Llewelyn and Dafydd, the great Welsh princes who had been waging war against Edward for over ten years, were weakening. Llewelyn had been killed and Dafydd was on the run, but Bhrodi, secure in Anglesey with a population that deeply supported their hereditary king, was Edward’s last obstacle.
Edward had tried to capture the island nearly six months before when one of his commanders actually built a bridge across the Menai Strait that separated Anglesey from the rest of Wales. It had been the Battle of Moel-y-don, a very significant Welsh victory when the English commander had brought a regiment of men over that bridge and had been soundly defeated by Bhrodi and his allies. Now, Anglesey remained firmly in the hands of the Welsh and Bhrodi knew that Edward had great plans for him; the marriage contract was an option Edward hadn’t tried before. Bhrodi knew, eventually, Edward would not be satisfied with an alliance. The man would want complete dominion.
But Bhrodi wouldn’t let on all he knew about it, and certainly not at this early juncture in his acquaintance with his future wife. Being English, he knew where her loyalties were and she could very well go back and tell her powerful father whatever Bhrodi told her. He didn’t know her enough to trust her yet. Therefore, he was ambiguous in his reply.
“He means to secure peace,” he said quietly.
Penelope’s gaze was intense. “He means to secure Wales.”
“Mayhap,” he replied softly. “Time will tell.”
Penelope watched the man, now interested in his thoughts on the matter of an alliance between him and King Edward. She was very, very curious.
“Surely you will not lay down your arms simply because you marry me,” she said. “Edward wants Wales under his control. If you marry me, he will expect your loyalty. That is the only reason he has offered a marital contract. The king doesn’t simply want peace; he wants you.”
Bhrodi regarded her carefully. “You speak as if you are attempting to talk me out of the contract.”
“I simply want you to understand what is being offered to you. Why do you think he sent the greatest knight in England to secure the deal? He is offering you a bribe for your fealty.”
“I like the bribe.”
“Then you intend to take it?”
Something in Bhrodi’s face changed; his eyes hardened and his expression tightened. Leaning forward on the table, his voice was low and gritty.
“I will do what is best for me, in all things,” he said quietly. “If I agree to this marital contract, it is because I want something, too. Do not think your king can outsmart me because he cannot. I have proven that time and time again. If Edward and I strike a bargain, you can be assured that it will be to my advantage.”
Penelope could hear the cold steel of his voice, the power she had reflected on just moments before. In that statement, she could see all of the kings of Anglesey speaking out to her. Bhrodi had that kind of strength in him and more. Her respect for the man grew. She backed down in her questioning; at the moment, she felt as if she didn’t have the right to question his motives. He was many steps ahead of her, evidently. He had seen far more battle action than she could ever hope to and he knew his enemy well. Bhrodi de Shera already knew his future.
“My father does not want to lose any more sons in Wales,” she said after a moment. “That is why he has offered me. I had six older brothers; now I have five. Papa does not want to lose any more children.”
Bhrodi held the steely expression a moment longer before relaxing somewhat. He reclaimed his cup.
“Sound reasoning,” he said as he poured himself more wine. “But he will lose his daughter to me.”
Penelope’s eyes glimmered with unexpected humor. “Mayhap he does not see it that way,” she said. “Mayhap he sees it as gaining the son he lost.”
Bhrodi saw her humor and couldn’t help but respond. It was the first time since he met her that he could recall seeing warmth in her face. He grinned, revealing his big white teeth.
“There could be worse things in this world than being the son of The Wolfe,” he said. “He and I will make very strong bloodlines. Our children will be more powerful and noble and royal than anyone on earth.”
Penelope cocked her head. “They will be my children, not my father’s,” she said, “and that is the second time you have mentioned sons and children. Just how many do you expect to have?”
He could see trepidation in her expression and it amused him. She was fun to taunt; humor, at the moment, was the one thing they had in common between them. It was something they both understood.
“At least a dozen,” he said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I would say the first eight or ten should be boys. We can have a few daughters as well if it pleases you.”
Penelope knew he was jesting with her; he had that type of personality. Already she could tell that he liked to provoke a reaction from her.
“I am not entirely sure we can pick the sex of our children,” she said. “We may have all girl children. Have you not considered that?”
He scowled fiercely. “You wouldn’t dare!”
She bit off a grin. “I might. Just to teach you a lesson in humility.”
His scowl turned into an expression of outrage. “Humility?” he repeated, aghast. “I need no such lesson. I am Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera and I will not have a house full of unruly girl children.”
“Why not?”
He was back to scowling, realizing she was b
aiting him. She was quite strong in her resolve not to let him bully her and he liked it more than he thought he would. She wasn’t intimidated by him in the least. After a moment, his scowl eased and he shrugged his big shoulders carelessly.
“Because they are expensive,” he said flatly. “Every one of those girls will need a dowry.”
“You are wealthy. You can afford it.”
He looked at her, a wry expression on his face, but was prevented from replying when Ivor came rushing into the hall. Both Penelope and Bhrodi looked at the man, noting his rather wild-eyed expression. Bhrodi was immediately on his feet.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Ivor went to Bhrodi but he was eyeing Penelope. “De Wolfe is tearing up the compound,” he said. “They are missing a daughter.”
Penelope was running from the keep before Bhrodi could even turn to her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Upon discovering Penelope missing from the armored wagon, William had not been overly concerned and neither had Jordan. Penelope was known to wander and she was further known to prefer the company of her brothers, so they proceeded to the tent that housed the sons of de Wolfe only to find it devoid of their youngest girl child.
This, of course, garnered the concern of Scott and Troy, and most of all Patrick, the most powerful de Wolfe son, and soon they were milling about the tents in the English encampment looking for Penelope. A thorough search turned up nothing and when Apollo mentioned that he had last seen her in her quest to find the privy, all hell broke loose. The Wolfe Pack went into battle mode.
William had unleashed the full brunt of The Wolfe’s fury on the unsuspecting occupants of Rhydilian in his quest to locate Penelope. His men tore through the gatehouse, upending beds and roughing up de Shera’s men. They rushed the entire wall walk, looking over the sides of the twenty foot walls and hoping they wouldn’t see Penelope’s crumpled body on the other side. They completely rousted the great hall, inspecting every nook and cranny, and disturbing the servants and soldiers who were sleeping there. All this in the quest for one small female who could possible mean the difference between complete peace and utter chaos.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 287