Bhrodi’s mind was muddled from the slight fever he’d had most of the morning as well as the injury in general. Even now as he listened to Penelope breathless assessment of the raid upon Edward’s camp, he was struggling to process what she was telling him. It was a good deal of information and it took him a few moments to digest it.
“Your father saved me after the morning star struck,” he muttered. “Now he has saved you also. We can only pray that he is successful with Hage. It would seem that your father is really a guardian angel masquerading as a knight.”
Penelope nodded, her tears gone for the moment. “If anyone can save him, my father can,” she said. “I did not even have the opportunity to thank him for what he did for you. I did, at least, thank him for returning you to me.”
Bhrodi stroked her hair, pondering The Wolfe and all the man had done for them. So much had happened that it was almost beyond his comprehension at the moment. Lost to his thoughts, he heard Penelope’s soft voice fill his ear.
“Papa said he would be here soon,” she said. “I did not have the chance to ask him what he meant. Do you know?”
Bhrodi broke away from his thoughts and looked at her. “Nay,” he said. “I cannot imagine why he would return here.”
Penelope contemplated her own question. “Mayhap he is coming to see how you are faring,” she said. “I am sure he is very concerned.”
Bhrodi lifted his dark eyebrows in thought. “I never knew I could inspire such loyalty from the English,” he said. “Your father, your brothers, and Hage… all of them rushing to assist me however they can. It is quite puzzling, actually. I was always under the impression that the English were selfish bastards.”
Penelope smiled faintly. “No more so than the Welsh, I suppose,” she said. “Mayhap someday you can return the favor.”
He reached up and gently pinched her nose. “Gladly,” he said, smiling. But the smile soon faded. “But I cannot do anything until the surgeon releases me from this damnable bed.”
Penelope’s smile grew; if he was complaining then he must be feeling better. At least, she hoped so. “What has he told you?” she asked. “How bad are your injuries?”
He made a face as the surgeon chose that moment to enter the room. He was carrying cups with him and one of them was steaming. Bhrodi watched the man warily.
“He says that the morning star dug holes into my body down by my hip and grazed the bone, taking a chunk out of it,” he replied. “It miraculously missed anything terribly vital but it did nick my intestines, which someone had the foresight to seal up with honey until my own surgeon was able to get his hands on me somewhere near the ferry crossing. Gwyllim told me that Ianto found the surgeon back in Aber tending some of my men and brought him to me. So far, he’s cleansed the wounds three times with wine and honey, and he’s forced me to drink some horrible concoction that smells like rotted food but one that he swears will keep the poison away. He says he learnt it from his Irish cousin but I am not entire sure I want to drink anything the Irish have discovered. It might very well kill me.”
Penelope laughed softly; he was speaking almost as if he felt well again but his voice was somewhat weak, reminding her of how sick he truly was. “But you must take it,” she said firmly. “You must let him heal you. I must have you well again, husband.”
He smiled faintly at her, reaching out to touch her dirty cheek. “And I must become well again if I am to keep you from running off and fighting the English,” he murmured. “Promise me something, caria.”
“What is that?”
His expression grew serious. “Promise me that you will not ride off to battle again, at least not without discussing it with me first,” he said. “Will you swear?”
Penelope nodded contritely. “I swear.”
“It would have destroyed me had something happened to you.”
“It would?”
“Of course it would.”
She smiled timidly. “Then… then the things you said to me yesterday,” she said softly, “you really meant them? You did not say them simply because you thought you were dying?”
He frowned. “I never say anything I do not mean,” he said, eyeing her. “Did you say them because you thought I was dying?”
She shook her head firmly. “I meant what I said.”
He pushed. “Are you sure?” he asked. “After all, a dead man would not hold you to your word.”
She scowled although it was lightly done. “That is a terrible thing to say!”
He laughed softly. “Then tell me again what you told me yesterday and I shall believe you.”
She flushed a dull red, embarrassed because she was unused to expressing her feelings for him. Still, nothing had ever felt so right. She would be quite happy to gush out her feelings for him daily for the rest of her life because she meant every word of it. She had risked her life for him. Her heart was full of the man and his beauty.
“I love you, husband,” she murmured. “I love you very much.”
His smile turned soft and sweet. “And I love you, my little knight,” he whispered. “But no more riding into battle without my permission. Simply to think on it makes me feel faint.”
She nodded patiently. “I swore that I would not. I will not go back on my word.”
He stroked her dirty cheek again, smiling at her, not entirely sure she was being truthful with him. In discussions he’d had with her brothers earlier in the day when they had returned from the raid on Edward’s camp, he was coming to realize his wife was no ordinary woman.
True, he’d known she had been raised as a knight and he knew she was having difficulty letting that part of her life go in order to become a wife and not a warrior, but he was coming to see that asking her to become something other than what she was had been a mistake. She was strong, fierce, and loyal. Aye, she was a fine wife. And she was a fine warrior, too.
As Bhrodi pondered that thought, Tacey entered the room. They didn’t see her at first because she stood respectfully in the doorway in the shadows. When they didn’t notice her right away, she thumped on the door jamb. When Bhrodi and Penelope finally looked over at her, she smiled timidly.
“May I come in?” she asked.
Penelope waved her over. “Come in, sweetheart,” she said. “How are you feeling today?”
Tacey waddled into the room, her hand on her back. “Tight,” she said, patting her stomach. “My belly feels very tight.”
Penelope gave her a lop-sided grin. “I am sure that is because he is growing large and is nearly ready to come.”
Tacey made her way to the bed, getting a look at Penelope close-up. “You are very dirty,” she commented. “The serving women told me you left last night with my brother’s men. Where did you go?”
Tacey had been confined to her room during the entire episode of gathering the men, planning for, and then riding to Edward’s encampment. Therefore, she knew very little and it was probably best that way. In her condition, she didn’t need to know about frightening situations that didn’t concern her. Bhrodi cleared his throat softly.
“You should be worried about me and not where Penelope went during the night,” he scolded lightly. “Moreover, if she had wanted you to know, she would have told you.”
Tacey lowered her gaze remorsefully and Penelope took pity on her. “You were right,” she said, changing the subject. “I am very dirty. Will you help me bathe?”
Tacey lifted her head and nodded eagerly. “I will tell the serving women to bring the tub,” she said. “Where will you bathe?”
Penelope cast Bhrodi a glance. “Would it disturb you too much?”
He crooked a finger at her and when she leaned in, he grasped her gently by the neck to pull her close. “It will make me mad with desire,” he whispered against her ear, “and I can do nothing about it.”
Penelope was starting to flush red again. Unused to the sexual flirtations between men and women, she was unnerved, embarrassed, and excited all at the same time,
but she was mostly embarrassed at the moment because Tacey was looking at her and was undoubtedly noting her reaction. Penelope didn’t want to have to answer any curious questions.
“Let me bathe in your chamber,” she told Tacey. “We must leave Bhrodi to rest.”
Tacey nodded and fled the room as Penelope wearily rose to her feet. The surgeon, who had been busying himself at a table near the bed since entering the chamber, was now heading for Bhrodi with bowls in his hands. Bhrodi eyed the bowls.
“What black magic do you have in there?” he asked in English. “Do you think to cast a spell on me, you wicked sorcerer?”
The surgeon had no idea what he was saying but Penelope giggled. As the old man bent over him and began fussing with the bandages, Penelope blew him a kiss.
“Be brave, husband,” she said. “I shall be upstairs should you need me.”
Bhrodi lifted a hand to her. “Hurry back,” he said. “I am not sure I can stand an over-amount of time away from you. Already I miss you.”
It was a sweet thing to say. Penelope did indeed hurry with her bath but when she returned, warm and washed and clean, she found her husband sound asleep.
She fell asleep next to him.
*
As the sun rose steadily and approached the nooning hour, the encampment of Edward, King of England, was nearly a smoldering ruin. Hours after the Welsh rebels, led by Bhrodi de Shera, had tried to burn him out, there was still a great deal of confusion and reorganization going on because they had lost a great deal of material and stores in the fire. Now, they were pulling weapons, protection, gear, and other warfare items out of the rubble and hoping to salvage them. The hit by Bhrodi and his men had been sound, and Edward was currently picking up the pieces.
He was also in the process of deciding what to do about the fact that de Shera had escaped from de Wolfe’s custody. He was absolutely furious but trying to keep his temper in check. It would do no good to scream at these men; they were old men, seasoned veterans, and they knew exactly how much trouble they were in. It would be of no use to shout it at them. What mattered now was what to do about it and as he stood in his tent, one of the only ones that had not been set completely ablaze, that was what Edward was trying to focus on – a solution. But it was a struggle.
“I trusted you, de Wolfe,” he said, displeasure evident in his tone. “You and your minions are much better knights than what you are suggesting. How is it possible that de Shera bested all three of you and escaped? Well?”
William was standing a few feet away from Edward, legs braced apart and his big arms crossed. He was sporting a lovely black eye, courtesy of Kieran. When he had returned from his unfruitful search for Thomas and Edward, he had found Paris and Kieran battered and beaten. When they had explained why, he had understood completely and that was when Kieran had punched him in the face. There had to be evidence of a fight and William was the only man not showing nicks or bruises. In order to convince Edward, he needed at least one injury, and indeed he received one; a good one. The bruise spread across his entire right eye and onto his temple. But it wasn’t enough to make the king sympathetic to the one-eyed knight who now had a damaged good eye.
“He caught me off guard,” William replied, which was the truth; Kieran had caught him off guard. “It nearly knocked me out. I have no idea what he did to de Norville and Hage, but when I came around, the prisoner was gone.”
Edward turned his furious gaze to Paris and Kieran. “And you two?” he growled. “Are you no better than weak squires letting that man beat you?”
Paris was sporting a black eye, a swollen nose, and a host of other injuries. “We fought,” he said, which was also the truth; he and Kieran had fought. “It was a struggle but it was a struggle we lost. I cannot explain better than that, Your Grace. Hage and I fought but the prisoner escaped us.”
Edward grunted in frustration and turned away. Angry as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to punish these men, men he had grown up idolizing, but he certainly wanted to. De Wolfe in particular; there was something not right about this entire situation but he couldn’t put his finger on it. De Wolfe seemed almost stoic about the entire thing when he had been insane with anger the moment he’d pulled de Shera from the tent. He’d cooled down inordinately fast. It was odd behavior from the man and something to watch, Edward thought. After a moment of chewing over the circumstances, he turned to William.
“You did not kill him and hide the body, did you?” he asked. “Are you afraid to tell me?”
William’s brow furrowed. “I would not be afraid to tell you in any event, but I did not kill him.”
“Swear it?”
“I do.”
“Then you should have gone after him right away. Why didn’t you?”
William gave him a rather droll expression. “Because someone had to tell you what had happened,” he said. “If I had gone after him without telling you, you might have thought I had deserted you or, worse, aided him somehow. I cannot go after him in any case because you have kept me here since it happened. He is well away by now.”
Edward was in no mood for de Wolfe’s arrogance. His jaw began to tick. “It matters not,” he said, “for you and I have an understanding, do we not? You are going to ride to Rhydilian this day and demand that de Shera and your daughter turn the castle over to me.”
William was slow to concur. “That is what we agreed to.”
Edward was increasingly interested in William’s odd behavior, now adding reluctance to that list. He studied the man for a moment, pondering the march on Rhydilian. After a moment, he turned away. “I have changed my mind about it.”
William was on his guard. “What do you mean?”
Edward’s gaze was cold when he turned to look at him. “Since you are evidently no longer effective as a warrior, as evidenced by the fact that you let de Shera escape from your custody, I will be riding with you to Rhydilian and together we will lay siege. I cannot say my faith in you is strong, de Wolfe. Now I must go with you to ensure that you carry out my orders.”
It was a great insult to William but he didn’t flinch. He had expected worse and if this was as bad as it was going to get, he considered himself lucky. Even if Edward rode with him to Rhydilian, there were still a hundred ways in which he could either sabotage or deter the king’s forces. Edward was correct not to trust him; he was, after all, The Wolfe and he was known for his cunning. He would put that cunning to good use, now against the man who was attempting to destroy his daughter and her husband. Blood was stronger than a kingdom. After a moment, he simply nodded his head.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” he said evenly.
Edward didn’t like the fact that William wasn’t showing visible signs of distress. He hadn’t been all afternoon and it made him more suspicious than ever. This wasn’t the William he had known most of his life, the man who was full of fire and intelligence. This man seemed nearly apathetic. Eyes narrowed, he took a step towards the big knight.
“And know this,” he hissed. “If you in any way fail or betray me, then I shall send an army to Castle Questing and burn it to the ground. I will destroy everything you have worked so hard for and I will cause your entire family to be destitute. You will be lucky if I do not throw them all in prison. Is this in any way unclear?”
All William could see was a grown man throwing a tantrum, although he knew that he meant what he said. It made his task just a bit more difficult. He found that he was increasingly anxious to get away from the man because he had to think clearly about what was about to happen. He knew he would not aid the king in laying siege; that was a given fact. It therefore stood to reason that he had to either prevent him or deter him somehow, but he was at a loss as to what, exactly, to do. But it would come to him; he was resolute in what he needed to do.
“It is clear, Your Grace,” he said. He very nearly sounded bored, unwilling to let himself be bullied. “When will we leave?”
Edward’s gaze lingered on him for a mo
ment as if to emphasize his threat before finally averting his gaze.
“At dawn on the morrow,” he said. “You and your entire contingent will be ready.”
“We will indeed, Your Grace.”
“Good. Now, get out.”
William quit the tent in silence with Paris and Kieran behind him. No one said a word until they were well out of ear shot and even then, the trio remained quiet. They were marching across the mashed grass, heading for William’s encampment and his contingent of two hundred and fifty men. More were due in from Castle Questing and their ally, Northwood Castle, but they wouldn’t arrive for at least ten days at best. William wished he had over a thousand men at the moment but it couldn’t be helped. He had to utilize what he had.
Once they entered the perimeter of William’s camp, they were finally able to speak freely but William pulled them into his tent before he said a word. Once inside the dark but comfortable quarters, he turned to his faithful friends.
“And so it comes,” he muttered. “Edward intends to march on Rhydilian tomorrow and I must accompany him.”
Paris was already reaching for the wine; he found he needed it. “What will you do?”
William sighed heavily. “I cannot let him destroy de Shera and Penny,” he said. “I must do what I can in order to make it so that Edward is unsuccessful.”
Kieran sat on the nearest folding chair, listening to it creak under his weight. “How are you going to do that?” he wanted to know. “Do you plan to turn against him in the heat of battle?”
William fell silent. Paris handed him a cup of wine and he drank the entire thing in two swallows. Slowly, he claimed his chair, the one that always came with him whenever he traveled. It was a big chair, made from sturdy oak, with a collapsible frame. Like a man with much on his mind, he plopped into the chair as if he had been thrown into it. He was weary and he was distressed, and it showed.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 311