DarkWolfe: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 5)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Troy was straining to catch a glimpse of the merchant district up ahead. It was nearing noon and the streets were very busy as people went about their business. The road they were on had come up from the south, but it was a main road that went straight into the middle of the city. By traveling upon it, they had bypassed the castle, which was to the south and staffed by men from the Earl of Carlisle. It was an English-manned castle, given over to the English for the time being in one of the many times it had changed hands between the English and the Scots.

  Troy knew the garrison commander, a man by the name of Allerley, and he’d had limited contact with him because the de Wolfe lands ran to the south. He knew he didn’t like the man because he was a pompous ass who made the decisions and sat in his castle while his men did all of the work. Therefore, he had no intention of paying the man his respects for entering his city, although that would have been good manners. Troy simply wanted to get in, accomplish his business, and get out. As they headed into the middle of the village, Troy turned to the men behind him.

  “Hartrigge, Lanton,” he said to the two soldiers in front of the others. “Find a place for the men to settle somewhere around here where I can easily find them if necessary. Then, I want you two to head to the north where the cattle market is and see if there is anything to purchase right now. They may have some that have come in early for the next sale. If they do, find out how many and the price. Come find me after that. We will need cattle for the men at Monteviot, so we may as well look into it while we are here.”

  The soldiers nodded smartly and moved swiftly to do his bidding. Meanwhile, Troy began hunting for a livery and he found one at the edge of the village center, just off the main road. He could see the corral. Knowing that was their destination, he took his wife and Audric over to the livery and paid the livery keep handsomely to feed and water the animals.

  Dismounting his steed, he moved to help Rhoswyn off of her bulky horse but she dismounted quite ably, her skirts flipping up and showing her leather breeches underneath as she did. She didn’t even notice about the skirts, unused to them as she was, so Troy flipped them back down as he came close. Rhoswyn, realizing what had happened, looked at him with some chagrin.

  “Och,” she said, smoothing her skirts down. “I dinna think.”

  A smile played on his lips as he looked at her. “I know.”

  She sighed sharply. “Can ye even stand yerself, having tae mother me every second?” she said. “I’m a driggle-draggle!”

  He tried not to laugh. “Not for long,” he said. “You are well on your way to being a proper lady. I have every confidence that you will learn quickly.”

  She pursed her lips wryly. “If I can manage to keep me skirts down.”

  He did laugh, then, and took her by the elbow. “That is why you have me here, to remind you,” he said as he pulled her out of the livery. “Do you think I want men seeing what belongs only to me? Absolutely not. What is under that skirt is for my eyes only.”

  Rhoswyn’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink; she knew what he meant. That her body was reserved only for him and, so far, he’d taken advantage of that. But she had to admit that she’d quickly come to like it.

  Crave it, even.

  As they walked together out onto the road, even now, she could feel his body beside hers and her body was immediately drawn to him, tingling with the anticipation of his touch even though they were in a public place. Everything about him made her tingle.

  But it wouldn’t do to talk about things like that, especially with the priest around, so she shifted the focus away from what lay beneath her skirts.

  “Lady Sable said that we must find a merchant with all manner of goods such as fabric, soaps, and oils,” she said. “She says tae find a merchant who has Spanish soap.”

  Troy’s brow furrowed. “Spanish soap?”

  Rhoswyn nodded confidently. “I am sure the merchant will know what I mean,” she said. Then, she turned to Audric, who was trailing along behind them. “This is yer town, Audric. Do ye know where we can find a merchant who has Spanish soap?”

  Audric wandered up beside them as they walked, noting that Rhoswyn had looped her hand through Troy’s elbow, so naturally it was as if she’d always been doing it. They looked quite comfortable together.

  “Ye mean castile soap,” he said. “I’ve heard of such things. We have a rich parishioner who is fond tae confess her love of spendin’ money. She buys sweet almonds from the holy land and soap from Spain. The woman buys things she doesna even need!”

  Both Troy and Rhoswyn looked at him in surprise. “You are not supposed to speak of confessionals,” Troy said, amused. “God would frown upon such things.”

  Audric cocked an eyebrow. “I dinna tell ye the name of the woman, so God has no cause tae be cross with me,” he said, watching Troy grin. “I know who ye need tae visit – a merchant at the end of the square who has goods from all over. Ye can smell his shop as ye come close because he has many mysterious potions and perfumes.”

  Rhoswyn was very interested. “Truly?” she asked, looking out to the square as they started to head north, through the bustle of people. “Where is he?”

  Audric pointed in a general northerly direction. “Over there,” he said. “Look for the busiest shop and ye’ll find him.”

  Troy couldn’t help but notice that Rhoswyn was pulling on him as she walked. He had to walk faster to keep up with her. She was singularly focused on finding the merchant shop that Audric had described and, to be certain, they could soon smell exotic and mysterious scents upon the wind. Like the lure of sirens, pulling shoppers to their financial doom, the scents grew stronger as they approached what seemed to be a very popular stall. People were moving in and out of it with their shopping baskets in-hand.

  Surprisingly, Rhoswyn wasn’t intimidated by the sight of shopping women even though she’d never visited such a stall in her life. This was a first. But her morning spent with Sable had made her more comfortable – and curious – about the things that made ladies’ skin so soft or smell good, and she was eager to look at all of the wondrous items.

  Troy took her up to the threshold of the shop but he would go no further, as he explained, because it wasn’t a fitting place for men. It was strictly for women. Rhoswyn was preparing to go it alone but Troy emitted a sharp whistle between his teeth and called over the merchant who owned the shop, standing just inside the door and speaking with another customer. As the man approached, irritated that he’d been whistled at by the big knight, Troy spoke with authority.

  “I am Troy de Wolfe,” he said. “My father is William de Wolfe and unless you are an imbecile, you have heard of my family. This lovely creature is my wife and she is in need of anything and everything a well-dressed lady needs. You will personally escort her through your stall and make sure she has all that is required. You will be handsomely paid for your efforts.”

  The name de Wolfe meant something on the borders. The merchant’s eyes widened at the mention of the name and, suddenly, he wasn’t so irritated. In fact, he nodded eagerly and turned to Rhoswyn.

  “Of course, Lady de Wolfe,” he said; he spoke with a decidedly northern English accent. “Come inside. What do you wish to see first?”

  Rhoswyn had no idea what she should shop for first, but rather than appear uncertain by his question, she thought back to what Sable had told her. Fabric. Soaps. Oils.

  “I would see fabrics, soaps, and oils,” she said firmly. “I want Spanish soap.”

  The merchant seemed perplexed by her answer, but quickly, he figured out what she meant. “Ah!” he said. “Soap from Castile! Aye, I have it!”

  With that, he took her by the elbow to guide her into the stall, but Rhoswyn didn’t take kindly to the man putting a polite hand on her so she pulled her elbow free. That didn’t seem to deter the man, who was chatting up a storm as he told her of all of the wonderful products he had in his stall, and he grasped her again by the elbow.

  As Troy watche
d, Rhoswyn pulled her elbow free of the man no less than three times as they headed into the shop. He grinned at her reluctance to be treated like a proper woman and helped by a man, in any fashion. She was too independent for that. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Audric looking at him.

  “She has much to learn,” he explained quietly, turning to survey the village center now that Rhoswyn had passed out of his line of sight. “She has no idea how to behave as a lady.”

  Audric could see Rhoswyn deep in the shop now, moving through the piles of merchandise with the chatty merchant. “I believe Red Keith did the lass a great disservice raisin’ her as he did,” he muttered. “Mayhap he simply dinna think on how it would affect her as a grown woman. The man wanted a son and he made her intae one, but now the lass must struggle with the consequences.”

  As the priest spoke, Troy suddenly spotted a host of English soldiers entering from the south side of the village. He recognized the colors right away – the brown and yellow of Deauxville Mount. The barons of “The Mount”, as it was called, was the family of de Troiu, a family that used to be allies with the de Wolfes many years ago but an incident between William de Wolfe and a leading member of the de Troiu family had ended that alliance.

  William would never discuss the exact circumstances of the separation. But one night when Paris had too much to drink, he told Troy that Daniel de Troiu, then the head of the family those years ago, had tried to steal Troy’s mother away. It had evidently culminated in a nasty battle and since then, the name de Troiu was not permitted to be spoken anywhere in the halls of Castle Questing, Northwood Castle, or any other de Wolfe ally or property. That left Deauxville Mount as an outcast in the north, allying with questionable local barons. The once-proud family had dwindled in both wealth and prestige, and now was considered the dregs of the border.

  In truth, de Wolfe and de Troiu had become hated and bitter enemies over the years, so not only was Troy surprised to see de Troiu soldiers, he was uncomfortable seeing them as well. There weren’t very many of them – perhaps ten that he could see – but he knew his twenty-man contingent was nearby and he didn’t want them getting into a scuffle with the de Troiu men. He hoped his soldiers had better sense than to engage them. Audric, seeing that Troy appeared rather on edge as he gazed out over the village center, turned to see what had the man so uneasy.

  “What is it, m’laird?” he asked.

  Troy’s gaze was still on the de Troiu men as they filtered into the town, but rather than upset the priest with his concerns, he simply shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “There are a great many people in town today, including soldiers. I was simply noticing the soldiers.”

  Audric was too short to see what Troy, with his height, could see. He simply returned his attention to the stall, where the merchant had brought forth a big basket that now had a pile of goods in it for Rhoswyn. And the pile was growing. As he watched the lady examine a piece of cloth the merchant had given her, his thoughts turned to his very reason for being here and the day Troy and Rhoswyn had met. Strangely, it seemed like years ago.

  “I told ye that yer father asked me tae stay tae help ye and the lady in the beginnings of yer marriage,” he said. “But I must say that I’ve seen nothin’ that needs me help. She has calmed down admirably and ye’ve been very patient with her.”

  Troy didn’t take his eyes off the distant de Troiu soldiers who were starting to head in his direction. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said. “She did not want this marriage, nor did I, but blaming her for it would not solve anything. Moreover… when handled properly, she can be quite pleasant. She is a hard worker and unafraid to do something she is not familiar with, like trying to become a lady or cook a meal. At least she is willing to try. That shows strength of character.”

  Audric looked at him as he spoke, thinking that the man sounded very much like he was infatuated with the woman or, at the very least, appreciative of her. He had suspected it since yesterday, but today saw that opinion grow.

  “No de Wolfe wife would be any less,” Audric said. “Surely this is the lass ye’ve been waitin’ for all yer life – strong, intelligent, and devoted.”

  Troy shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I’ve not been waiting for her all my life. You see, I was married once before but she died two years ago. She was a woman I had known all my life. I never expected that I would live to an old age without her.”

  Audric hadn’t known that Troy had been married before, a marriage that evidently ended on tragedy. Frankly, he was shocked, now scrambling to find the right words to convey his sympathies.

  “I dinna know,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for yer loss.”

  Troy thought on Helene but as he did, thoughts of Rhoswyn swept over him. Thoughts of her were stronger than thoughts of a wife who had died, someone he’d loved very much. But now, all he could think of was Rhoswyn and her fine body, an instant lust and desire that made his heart race. Helene had never had that effect on him, not ever, but the more he tried to remember his love for Helene, the more thoughts of Rhoswyn overwhelmed him.

  God, what was happening to him?

  “It was a difficult time,” he said to Audric, trying to distract himself from the fact that, in his mind, Rhoswyn was overwhelming Helene. “She drowned, and my two youngest children with her. I have an older son but he was fostering at the time. In fact, I have not seen him in a year. He favors his mother, you see, so seeing him reminds me of her. Sometimes it is difficult to look at him and not feel the loss. He inherited none of my Saracen darkness and all of his mother’s pale English beauty.”

  Audric thought on the boy as his father described him. “Saracen?” he repeated. “But yer father is English.”

  Troy smiled weakly. “His grandmother was Saracen,” he said. “She was a dark and sultry beauty, so I am told, and I favor her and her heathen roots. I am sure you have noticed that I am darker than most Englishmen.”

  Audric had. He remembered thinking how dark Troy appeared when he’d first met the man. “That explains a good deal,” he said. “But those in the Holy Land, where yer great-grandmother was from, are cunnin’ fighters and bold warriors, so I’ve heard. Surely that spirit is within ye, also.”

  Troy nodded, thinking on his Saracen blood, but only briefly. He was still stuck on thoughts of Helene and Rhoswyn, still wrestling with the fact that he couldn’t seem to remember his strong feelings for Helene at this moment. He loved her, didn’t he? He’d told Paris that he would only and always love her, but after a few days of being married to a woman he never wanted to marry in the first place, it was as if he didn’t know his mind any longer. Something had changed.

  He didn’t want it to change.

  “Mayhap,” he said belatedly, distracted with his other thoughts. “I would like to think I have something of my father in me and not mostly heathen tribes.”

  “Ye have the blood of de Wolfe and the Saracens in ye – ye have the blood of legends.”

  Troy looked at the priest, who had made the statement softly and matter-of-factly. Ye have the blood of legends. Perhaps it was true; he did have the blood of legends in him. In any case, he was becoming uncomfortable and edgy with thoughts of Helene and Rhoswyn on one hand and the approach of de Troiu’s men on the other.

  Since he was without his soldiers at the ready, he didn’t particularly want to be seen by enemy soldiers, especially with his wife around. He didn’t want her caught up in anything, should something get started. With that in mind, he turned for the stall.

  “I will see how Rhoswyn is coming along,” he said. “You will remain here. I shan’t be long.”

  Audric watched him duck his head down in order to enter the low-ceilinged stall. “I thought ye said it wasna a fit place for a man?”

  Troy snorted. “It is not,” he said. “But I have a feeling she might let the merchant talk her into buying everything in the stall and I am not sure I have that much money with me.”

&nb
sp; Leaving the priest grinning, Troy headed into the dark, smelly stall that was stuffed to the ceiling with merchandise. As big as he was, he was trying very hard not to knock anything aside. He passed a table that had dozens of glass phials on them, or fragile alabaster and he made sure not to brush against it.

  In the rear of the stall, he caught sight of Rhoswyn’s auburn head with the merchant next to her as they inspected piles of fabrics. Troy could already see that there were neatly folded stacks of fabric in the big basket that the merchant had brought out to carry her goods, but she was closely inspecting an orange silk that glistened in the weak light. In fact, the orange reflected some of the highlights of her hair color. When she saw Troy approaching, she quickly set the silk down.

  “I… I was lookin’ at it because it was so lovely,” she said, sounding as if he’d caught her at something she shouldn’t be doing. She pointed to the basket. “Everythin’ I’ve selected is very durable. The merchant says so.”

  Troy craned his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the orange silk. “What about the orange fabric?” he asked. “Do you not want that, too?”

  Rhoswyn turned to look at it again, hesitantly, as the merchant spoke up. “It is very fine silk, my lord,” he said. “But it comes at a dear price.”

  “How much is it?”

  The merchant picked up the fabric in question and held it up. “It is wild silk all the way from Rome,” he said. “This is enough to make a lovely garment for the lady.”

  “How much?”

  “I would accept an offer of six pieces of silver for it.”

  “Sold. Put it in the basket.”

  Rhoswyn’s mouth popped open in surprise as the merchant gleefully rolled up the silk so it wouldn’t crease. “But…”

  Troy waved her off. “You will need a beautiful dress to wear for the times when we have privileged guests,” he said. Then, he looked at the merchant. “Show her any other fine fabric you have.”