WolfeLord: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “God, Lily,” he muttered. “You must understand what you are asking. Truly understand it.”

  Lily was surprisingly in control as Will was threatening to come apart. “I do,” she said. “Let me ask you this – if you are in battle with Tor or Jeremy or Nathaniel, or any of your younger brothers, and a situation arises where you can save them but you know it will cost you your life, what would you do?”

  “It is not the same.”

  “Of course it is the same,” she said. “I am willing to sacrifice my life to save my child. He deserves his chance to live, Will. I am going to die either way, according to Tarraby. Why let my son die, too?”

  Will simply closed his eyes and looked away. After a moment, he got up from the chair and moved across the vast chamber, pacing to the other side of the room and looking from the windows that faced northward. Outside, over the walls, he could see the green hills, the blue sky. He could smell the river. He could smell the life of the land all around him and it all seemed so unfair when he was faced with a life or death choice at this moment. But there really was no choice at all. Lily had already made the decision.

  The problem was that he understood it perfectly.

  But he didn’t want to.

  “I will leave you alone now,” he said, turning away from the window and moving sluggishly towards the door. “We do not have to make any decisions right now. Rest and think on it. I will speak to you again later.”

  He was almost to the door as she spoke. “I am not going to change my mind,” she said quietly. “If I am going to die anyway, I want to save the child. You cannot take that away from me, Will.”

  He didn’t say anything. He was afraid to. Just as he neared the door, it opened again and Adria appeared, dragging Atticus behind her. The child had breeches on this time but nothing more. She nearly plowed into Will, quickly moving aside when she saw him standing there.

  “He made it all the way to the outer bailey,” Adria said, towing the unhappy child behind her like a barge. “My lady, after I finish dressing him, I will see to your morning meal. Do you feel like eating this morning?”

  She was clearly oblivious to what had been happening in the chamber while she’d been gone, but that was for the best. Whatever was happening was purely between Will and Lily, and Lily’s focus was still on Will as she spoke to Adria.

  “I think I could eat something,” she said. “Finish dressing Atticus quickly and let him go with his father, please.”

  Will was almost out the door but he came to a halt when he heard Lily, a command to him disguised as a reply to Adria. He stood in the doorway, unable to look at her, as Adria quickly put a couple of tunics on Atticus against the cold morning and yanked on his shoes, tying them tightly. The boy bolted over to his father, who put his big hand on Atticus’ head and directed him out of the chamber.

  Will shut the door, shutting out Lily and the terrible situation behind him. He was glad to leave her with Adria. He was so rattled with the conversation that he could barely walk, but Atticus was tugging on him, demanding attention.

  “Papa!” he said. “I want mush!”

  Will struggled to focus on his youngest. “Mush?” he said. “Very well. Let us go to the kitchens and see if they have it.”

  “I want bread, too.”

  “We’ll find it.”

  Atticus had him by the hand, pulling on him as they came off the stairs. They made it out of the keep, but Atticus spied Bradford and a couple of other young pages over near the great hall and tried to run over to them, but Will held on to the lad and directed him away from his nemesis and towards the kitchen yard.

  Even in a world of upheaval, some things never changed – like Atticus hating on Bradford.

  Somehow, that was oddly comforting.

  The kitchens of Carlisle were mostly outdoors, so everything they had cooking was evident as soon as they entered the kitchen yard. They were just passing through the gate when Will caught sight of Marcellus coming off the wall and heading in his direction. He didn’t feel much like speaking to anyone, so he tried to ignore Marcellus, thinking the man would simply go away, but he had no such luck.

  Marcellus caught up to him in the kitchen yard.

  “Good morn, my lord,” he said, grinning as Atticus ran straight to the cook and began demanding food. “He never stops eating, does he?”

  Will watched his son make demands of the round woman, who immediately started handing over food. “He knows what he wants and how to get it,” Will said. “Though I fear he is sounding like Hermes more and more every day. It’s that wild, arrogant de Norville blood in him.”

  Marcellus chuckled as he looked at him. “You have that blood.”

  Will nodded in resignation. “Actually, he behaves like my mother,” he said. “He even looks like her a little, I think. She had pale red hair.”

  “She was wild and arrogant?”

  In spite of himself, Will smiled weakly. “She was a woman who knew what she wanted,” he said. “She feared nothing. Hermes has that trait. That is very much my grandfather, Paris’, trait. Wild, arrogant, and fearless.”

  Marcellus nodded, now looking to see Atticus stuffing his face with bread and butter. “Speaking of fearless, how is Lady de Wolfe today?” he said. “I’ve not seen her out and about in several days. I hope nothing is amiss.”

  Will looked at Marcellus. He’d known the man for years. He’d come from Lioncross Abbey, so he was entrenched with all things de Lohr. He’d known Lily even longer than Will had, so in a sense, Marcellus was like one of the family, at least as much as a knight could be. He was also Will’s second in command, meaning he should be aware of everything that went on at the castle.

  The good and the bad.

  Will thought he might as well tell the man what was going on because, at some point, it would no longer be a secret. He may need Marcellus’ help at some point if he was emotionally unable to command.

  It was only fair.

  “I must speak with you about that,” he said, looking at Marcellus and fighting off the emotion that the subject provoked. The pain from his conversation with Lily was still very fresh. “Please do not repeat this, not to anyone. When the time comes to speak of it publicly, I will do so.”

  Marcellus grew serious very quickly. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “What is it?”

  Will sighed heavily, sorrow evident on his face. “There is something amiss with Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “Because I may be busy with her in the near future, I will need for you to assume full command. I cannot worry about commanding Carlisle and my wife’s health at the same time, so please be prepared to assist me in any way you can.”

  Marcellus was clearly concerned. “You know I will be, always,” he said. “May… may I ask what is wrong? I hope it is not serious.”

  Will couldn’t look at him. He could hardly bring himself to speak of it. “It is very serious,” he said. “It is more than likely fatal. That is all I will say, so please do not ask me more. Just know that these next few months will be… difficult ones.”

  It was all he could say on the matter. He abruptly headed off to tend to Atticus, leaving Marcellus standing there, stunned with what he’d been told. He stood there watching Will and Atticus as the boy complained that he wanted “sweets” before finally turning around and heading out of the kitchen yard.

  Dazed, Marcellus made it to the ladder leading up to the wall walk before taking a detour and ending up in one of the many shallow alcoves that lined the interior of Carlisle’s wall. For a moment, he simply stood there in the shadows, rolling one word over and over in his mind. That one horrible word from his conversation with Will that he was hanging on to.

  Fatal.

  Putting his hand over his mouth, he closed his eyes tightly and wept.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Castle Questing

  “I have a message from Will, Papa. We must speak.”

  The statement came from a big knight, blond and handsome, aged in his fi
fth decade. He stood in the solar of Castle Questing, an enormous chamber that reflected the wealth and status of the de Wolfe family. It belonged to his father, the Earl of Warenton and Will’s namesake, William de Wolfe, who was now looking up from the pile of vellum on the table in front of him.

  William was the patriarch of a massive empire he had built himself, from the ground up, with eight children, dozens of grandchildren, and a tight network of close friends and allies. His properties, either owned or managed on behalf of the king, covered two-thirds of the Scottish border. There was no one more powerful, skilled, fair, just, or respected than William de Wolfe.

  The Wolfe of the Border was legend.

  “What is it?” William asked, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his forehead wearily. “He’s coming to the celebration, isn’t he?”

  Scott closed the solar door. “Nay,” he said quietly as he made his way over to his father. “It seems that there is a… problem.”

  William stopped rubbing and looked at him seriously. “Problem?” he repeated. “With Will?”

  Scott sighed heavily as he pulled up a chair opposite his father. He had the missive in his hand and he simply held it over the table, extending it to his father, who took it curiously. Unfolding the vellum, he proceeded to read the missive. He read it twice. When he was finished the second time, he lifted his eye to Scott over the tabletop.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered. “This cannot be right. It cannot possibly be right.”

  Scott could feel his father’s horror. In truth, he had quite enough of his own and was struggling to remain on an even keel.

  “I do not know,” he said. “He is asking me to go to Carlisle and see to Lily personally. Papa, I’m a soldier’s healer. I’m excellent with wounds or sickness, but a pregnant woman is not within my scope of expertise.”

  William sat back in his chair, heavily. “Sweet Christ,” he mumbled. “Lily is dying? Her condition is fatal?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Then you had better find someone who does,” William snapped softly. “What in the hell is happening over in Carlisle?”

  Scott could only shake his head. “I do not know, but I intend to find out,” he said. “Needless to say, neither Will nor I will be at the celebration of your birth.”

  William was nodding before the words were even out of his mouth. “Completely understandable,” he said. “I will miss you both, but I understand. I am sure your mother will, too. Will you take Avrielle with you?”

  He was referring to Scott’s wife, a woman who was not Will’s mother but with whom Will had always shared a good relationship.

  But Scott shook his head.

  “Nay,” he said. “She cannot do anything to help the situation. In fact, I do not even know if I am going to tell her the contents of the missive. She will worry too much and I do not want to worry her until I know more.”

  “She will want to know why you have gone to Carlisle in the midst of a celebration.”

  Scott sighed faintly. “She will,” he said. “Papa… I’m wondering if I should take Mama with me. She’s given birth to eight children herself. She understands the mysterious process of childbirth and, if for no other reason, she might be a strong and comforting presence.”

  “And you think she would be more help than Avrielle, who has also given birth to several children?”

  Scott shrugged. “With Will’s own mother gone, and her mother gone, Mama is the closest thing he has to a blood female relative,” he said. “It might give him reassurance to have her there.”

  William’s gaze lingered on the man in the candlelight, seeing the lines of stress across his forehead. With the initial shock of the missive fading, his concern turned towards his son’s wellbeing.

  A man who had also lost a wife, long ago.

  “It might give you comfort, too,” he said quietly. “I am sure she will not mind going, but you must tell her the truth. Your mother would not like to be kept oblivious to what is happening.”

  Scott nodded. “I will tell her,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily. “Poor Will. First his mother, now his wife.”

  “You know what it is like to lose a wife.”

  Scott could only shake his head in sorrow. “Unfortunately, I do,” he said. “I suppose I am the best person to comfort him at this time, but I must tell you that seeing his missive… it brought back memories, things I’d forgotten.”

  William suspected as much. Scott had lost Will’s mother many years ago in a freak accident. Athena had been traveling in a carriage along with her younger sister, Helene, and four small children. Two belonged to Helene, who was married to Scott’s twin, Troy, and two belonged to Athena. They were Scott’s youngest children, Andrew and Beatrice. The carriage had gone over a bridge spanning a rain-swollen creek and the pylons had failed, dumping the carriage into the water.

  No one had survived.

  It had taken Scott years to come to terms with his grief. He’d alienated his family for the first few years after Athena’s death, struggling with his guilt and anguish, before finally accepting what had happened. When William had first read Will’s missive, he had to admit that his initial thoughts had been of Scott and how he’d reacted to his first wife’s death.

  He wondered if Will would do the same.

  In any case, he knew it was important for Scott to go to his son at this terrible time. It was certainly more important than any birthday celebration.

  “It was a long time ago,” William finally said. “Athena would have been very pleased with how you continued to live your life. I’m convinced that she would have loved Avrielle. I’ve always thought that, wherever she is, she might have had a hand in bringing the two of you together. She would have wanted you to be happy, you know. She would have moved heaven and earth to ensure such a thing”

  Scott nodded. “I know,” he said. “Those feelings of grief were so strong for so many years but, nowadays, it is simply a gentle sorrow. She was such a strong woman, Papa. So very strong. Do you remember when she challenged Uncle Paris when I first asked for her hand?”

  William’s lips twitched with a smile. “Very well,” he said. “I was there, if you recall.”

  Scott could hear the mirth in his father’s voice. “It was a sight to see,” he said. “She was prepared to fight for the man she loved – literally.”

  Humor was introduced into what could have been a sorrowful conversation. “She was fearless as she went after her father, who was a man of considerable skill and power,” he said. “Paris would have never raised a hand against her, of course, but it was interesting to watch.”

  “True enough,” Scott said. “If she went after her father like that, I often wondered if, as the years went on, we might have come to blows at some point.”

  William chuckled. “That is a very real possibility,” he said. “Will and Tor do not have that bold, aggressive streak in them, but I remember that little Beatrice was very much her mother’s daughter. You may have very well come to blows with her, too.”

  Scott grinned at the memory of his bold, sassy, but sweet daughter, his only daughter at that time. “That is more than likely,” he said. “Between Bea and her mother, I would have lived in fear of my life on a daily basis.”

  They shared a laugh, fond memories and thoughts that created a warm sense of longing, of joy. In past years, that would have been difficult, but time and healing had a way of making painful memories a treasured and peaceful thing.

  “I would not have been surprised,” William said, glad they were speaking on the touchy subject without any angst. “For women with de Norville blood, they were quite strong. Not like their foolish father.”

  That had Scott chuckling for an entirely new reason. Paris de Norville, Athena’s father, was William’s best friend in the world. He had been for decades. William would kill anyone who openly insulted Paris, but that same rule did not apply to him. He insulted him happily and frequently, but then again, Paris did the same thing to Will
iam, so it was even dealings on both sides.

  Old men who loved each other and took sport in harassing one another.

  “The strongest,” Scott said. “Helene didn’t quite fit that, however. She was too much like Aunt Caladora.”

  William nodded. “She was, indeed,” he said. “She was quite gentle.”

  “I miss them. All of them.”

  “We all do.”

  Scott sat there a moment longer, thinking of his long-dead wife and daughter, before drawing in a deep breath and shifting back to the subject at hand.

  “I will leave on the morrow,” he said. “Others will have to organize the celebration if I’m taking Mama with me and I’m sure people will wonder where she is. What will you tell them?”

  “The truth,” William said. “That Lily is pregnant and Jordan’s presence has been requested.”

  Scott eyed him. “And if Uncle Paris asks? You know he will. And Will is his grandson, too.”

  “I know that. Let me handle Paris. I’ve been doing it for over forty years.”

  “No strong-arming the man.”

  “You’ll not tell me how to deal with him.”

  “No fighting, either.”

  William rolled his eye. He only had one, as his left eye had been lost in battle many years before. “No promises,” he said. “Now, find your mother and tell her the situation. Once she finds out, you’ll be lucky if she waits to leave tomorrow, so you’d better be prepared to keep her at bay until you are ready to depart.”

  Scott stood up, folding the missive back up. The smile faded from his lips as he worked over the vellum, folding and refolding. William noticed.

  “What is wrong?” he asked softly.

  Scott paused in his folding. “I was thinking,” he said. “I hope it is not our lot in life that the heirs to the House of de Wolfe should lose their first wives. First me, now Will. What of Andrew? He is Will’s heir, named for his dead uncle. Truth be told, he’s not had a great start in life with a dead grandmother and uncle, and now a dying mother. I worry for him.”