WolfeSword: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I will have a stern talk with him,” he promised. “Are you certain that I cannot assist you?”

  She came to the bank. She had to step up about a foot, and the slope was slippery and wet. She tried once and failed, looking to Cassius reluctantly.

  “Mayhap you can help me onto the bank,” she said.

  He leapt up onto the bank with the agility of a cat, reaching out to carefully pull her up. She was soaking wet and heavy, but he managed to get her onto the shore. She still had the apron up around her face and he peered at her.

  “Are you sure he did not hurt you?” he asked.

  Her pale, bright gaze lingered on him for a moment. “I am sure,” she said. She looked at him perhaps a little longer than she should have before tearing her gaze away. “I am well enough. Thank you for your assistance.”

  She started to walk away, picking her way through the grass as she headed downriver. Cassius, mesmerized by those brilliant eyes, watched her go.

  “May I know the name of the woman my dog sinned against so grievously?” he asked.

  She paused, turning to him. “You should tell me your name so I know who to avoid in the future.”

  “Sir Cassius de Wolfe, my lady,” he said without hesitation. “I have the great honor of holding the position of Lord Protector to our king. I have come to Doncaster to relay a message to the duke from Edward.”

  Those great eyes flickered, surprised by what he’d told her. “Then you are an accomplished knight,” she said. “I suppose I should be honored that your dog assaulted me.”

  “It was not an honor, I assure you,” he said regretfully. Then, he paused. “Are you really going to avoid me now?”

  His explanation of who he was and why he was there gave her pause. Now that she knew, her gaze seemed to go from indignant to curious, although it was truly difficult to tell because her face was so covered up. But something in her eyes suggested that she was no longer angry.

  Perhaps interested, even.

  After a moment, she sighed.

  “Probably not,” she said.

  He grinned that smile that could melt even the hardest heart. “I would very much like to know your name.”

  His smile had the desired effect. He could tell just by looking at her. But she steeled herself against the charm offensive, at least as much as she was able, and lowered her gaze.

  “Dacia,” she said, turning away. “Good day to you, Sir Cassius.”

  He didn’t try to follow her. In fact, he didn’t say another word. He simply watched her walk away, down the riverbank, until she nearly faded from view. Then, he saw her take a turn and head up the slope towards Edenthorpe. As he watched, she headed straight to the castle.

  That told him what he wanted to know.

  He was going to be on the lookout for those bright, pale eyes.

  It was well into the evening at Edenthorpe Castle and the great hall was ablaze with light and conversation. It was a big hall with big beams supporting the roof and two enormous hearths, one at each end of the hall.

  The hall was built with the same white stone that the castle was built with, but the hearths were made of marble that had been imported all the way from a quarry north of Rome. Italian craftsmen had come along with the marble and had pieced it together expertly, creating an intricate and fascinating work of art. Those hearths weren’t the only things that suggested the overall wealth of Doncaster.

  The hall was full of such suggestions.

  Everywhere one looked, there was something lavish and expensive – tapestries, furs and rugs on the floor instead of rushes, and even the tables themselves were massive, well-built pieces of furniture. Doncaster had a shipbuilder in Liverpool build the tables and he liked to joke that they could withstand a gale-force tempest.

  Certainly, they could withstand a gang of drunken soldiers.

  And then there was the food. Mounds of it. More food than Cassius had ever seen in one place, and that was saying a lot. He came from a family of men, hungry men who liked to eat, and the king would have lavish feasts regularly that were nothing compared to what he was looking at now – savory baked egg dishes with prunes and wine and meat, subtleties that were in the shapes of castles and serpents, puddings, breads, giant boiled knuckles of beef, and so much more.

  Old Cuffy did, indeed, produce an epicurean delight.

  Cassius was given a seat next to the duke while Bose and Rhori were seated across from him. The table was so wide that they may as well have been across the hall, for they could barely hear the conversation between Cassius and the duke and wouldn’t have been able to hear it at all had it not been for the fact that the duke was hard of hearing and Cassius had to practically shout in a room that was not conducive to audible nuances. In truth, it was a giant echo chamber, and that made the buzz of conversation somewhat overwhelming.

  “The last time you were here, I dare say that you did not partake of the feast,” Doncaster was saying over the terrible acoustics. “As I recall, you prowled around the hall like a cat, watching for any threats against our illustrious king.”

  Cassius nodded. “That is my position, your grace,” he said. “Wherever the king goes, I am usually relegated to roaming whatever chamber he is in, ensuring his safety. Once it is secure, I will stand behind him. I am sure that did not escape your notice, either.”

  The old duke shook his head, his white hair thin but fluffy. It looked like a dandelion head. “Probably not,” he said, taking a drink of his wine. “I do not miss much, but these days, I find myself giving over to a lack of caring sometimes.”

  “Your grace?”

  He was asking for clarification and Doncaster shrugged. “What I mean to say is that I am old,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Nothing much frightens me any longer. I do not pay close attention to people like I used to. That kind of vigilance is for the young. Truth be told, I am resigned to what comes.”

  “What comes, your grace?”

  “Death.”

  “Are you ill, your grace? The king will wish to know.”

  But Doncaster waved him off. “Not ill,” he said. “Simply… old. Everyone I love has moved on to the next adventure. I have always believed death is the next adventure, you know. I had a priest tell me once that he believes death is merely a transition to another type of existence. That is not what the church tells us, mind you, but this priest was a radical. He believed there was a great life after this one and everyone we ever loved was waiting for us there.”

  Cassius found himself in an unexpectedly philosophical conversation. “Of course they are, your grace,” he said. “It is my belief that heaven is that next adventure.”

  “Who do you look forward to seeing in your next adventure, Sir Cassius?”

  That wasn’t a difficult question. “My grandfather, William de Wolfe,” he said. “We lost him a few years ago and I miss him every day.”

  “Ah, yes,” Doncaster said. “The great Wolfe of the Border. I was a very young man when he was rising to power in the north. We would hear great stories of feats.”

  “They were all true.”

  Doncaster grinned. “I have no doubt,” he said. Then, he sighed. “As for me, I look forward to seeing my father and grandfather, too. And my wife and son. But I cannot go just yet.”

  “You have unfinished business, your grace?”

  The old man nodded. “My granddaughter,” he said. “She must marry before I go and that will be a difficult task.”

  Now, they were on to the subject of the mysterious granddaughter and Cassius collected his wine up, drinking of the fine and sweet wine from Bordeaux. “Forgive me, your grace, but I did not even know you had a granddaughter,” he said. “I have attended the king in many feasts and festivals and never once have I seen Doncaster’s heir. It is a great legacy she bears.”

  Doncaster sat back in his chair, putting a leg up on the feasting table and kicking aside one of the many dishes on the tabletop. But he didn’t seem to care as the dish fell o
ff and the dogs under the table scrambled to eat up the mess.

  “She does,” he said, sounding weary and resigned. “It all rests upon her. In truth, I pity her. She has over two hundred years of a legacy weighing down on her. No brothers or siblings to help share the burden. ’Tis only her.”

  Cassius sensed great regret in his tone. Not remorse for what he’d burdened his granddaughter with, but perhaps it was more of the simple fact that she had been born female. A male heir would have brought pride from the old man. But a female heir… it wasn’t pride Cassius heard.

  It was disappointment.

  “I am sure she is a strong and educated woman, your grace,” Cassius said. Frankly, he was unsure what to say at all given the old man’s obvious mood. “Why is it we have not seen her at the many festivals and gatherings of the nobility?”

  The duke looked at him. He’d had a goodly amount of wine and very little food, so he was feeling his drink. He sat forward in his chair, looking Cassius in the eyes.

  “Because she refuses to attend,” he said flatly. “She is not a social woman, and given the position Doncaster holds in England, that is an unfortunate stance, so I must find her a husband who can take the reins of power. A man who is cunning, political, powerful, and of the finest noble bloodlines. But given her propensity to keep herself away from the world, that opportunity has not presented itself yet.”

  “But she is still young, is she not?” Cassius said. “There is time.”

  The old man shook his head, sighing heavily. “You do not understand,” he muttered. “She is… well, there is no use in speaking of it. It has occurred to me that God must want my family legacy to die away.”

  “I do not understand, your grace.”

  Perhaps he didn’t, but the duke wasn’t willing to clarify. He changed the subject.

  “How many brothers do you have, Cassius?” he asked.

  “I have three, your grace,” he said. “Markus, who is married, and then Magnus and Titus, who are younger than I.”

  “And your father? How many brothers did he have?”

  “Five, your grace.”

  “I see,” the duke said, looking disgruntled. “That is ten male offspring of de Wolfe, your father and you included. And that is not including the male offspring of your uncles.”

  “There are many more, your grace.”

  The duke sighed heavily. “And I only have her,” he said. “It is a sad thing to see a great legacy narrowed down to one woman.”

  Cassius wasn’t entirely sure what more to say on the subject. He could see that the duke was disappointed with his one and only heir, and a female to boot. It was puzzling, but the truth was that it really wasn’t any of his affair. Trying to remain in a positive mood, he glanced around the hall.

  “Where is your granddaughter, your grace?” he asked. “Will she not attend her guests?”

  The old duke shook his head. “She does not attend feasts when there are guests present, usually,” he said. “She prefers to ensure the meal is perfect from her post in the kitchens.”

  That sounded strange to Cassius. No hostess at a feast for guests? “She must be very dedicated,” he said. “I should at least like to thank her for her kind attention to detail before we depart. May I know her name, your grace?”

  The duke took a long drink of wine before answering. “Dacia,” he said. “Dacia Mathilde Violette de Ferrar de Ryes, but she is known to all simply as Dacia of Doncaster.”

  Dacia!

  The realization hit him. It was the woman from the river, the one that Argos so thoughtfully shoved into the water. The woman that Cassius was positive the dog had injured because she kept her face covered up. He was certain the dog had hurt the woman’s face somehow. Perhaps damaging her mouth or nose.

  But then, Amata’s words came flooding back to him. She had said Dacia’s name and…

  Witch’s marks!

  It occurred to Cassius that the woman must have been covering up what some were calling her witch’s marks, something she hadn’t wanted a stranger to see. All Cassius knew was that she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen and he couldn’t imagine her face was any less glorious.

  Marks or no marks.

  “Then I hope I am able to make her acquaintance before we depart on the morrow,” he said, not letting on that he’d already met the woman at the river. Given that the duke didn’t seem to have a high opinion of his granddaughter, perhaps he wouldn’t like to know she was wandering outside of the walls. “She has provided us with a goodly feast and should be commended.”

  The duke simply nodded, downing more of his wine. “You said you came bearing a message from the king,” he said, changing the subject completely. “What does Edward have to say to me?”

  With talk of Dacia of Doncaster finished, Cassius went with the new focus. It was why he had come, after all. “He sends you his compliments, of course,” he said. “He has instructed me to reiterate his fondness of you and hopes that he can see you personally very soon, but business has kept him in London.”

  Doncaster looked at him. “What does he want?”

  “Your grace?”

  The old man waved him off. “I have known Edward long enough to know that he wants something from me,” he said. “He strokes me like a kitten, hoping I’ll purr loudly enough to cough up money and men for his wars in Scotland and Wales. Well? What is it? How much does he want this time?”

  Cassius stared at him a moment before breaking down into a grin. “You have not even let me say all of it.”

  “There’s more?”

  “More stroking, flattery, and sickening sweetness.”

  The duke started to laugh. “Must I sit for all of it, de Wolfe?”

  “I must do my job, your grace. I will be ashamed to tell the king that I was unable to spew every last bit of his adulation to you.”

  Grinning, the duke sat forward to pour himself more wine. “I will tell him that you did,” he said. “Just tell me what he wants.”

  Cassius paused a moment before leaning towards the duke and lowering his voice. “What I am to tell you is in the strictest confidence, your grace,” he said quietly. “May I rely upon your discretion?”

  The duke may have been tipsy, but he was still sharp. He nodded. “Of course, de Wolfe,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Edward is taking a delegation to France,” Cassius said. “He intends to create a treaty with the French, thereby breaking the alliance they have with the Scots. Then, he intends to move into Scotland and finally bring the country into submission. If they lose the support of the French, that will seriously cripple them.”

  Doncaster raised his eyebrows. “The French, is it?” he said, surprised. “They may lose the support, but that will not break them. The Scots are stronger than that.”

  “Robert Bruce has pledged to side with Edward.”

  That brought a strong reaction from Doncaster. “The Bruce himself?”

  “Indeed, your grace.”

  Doncaster stared at him a moment before shaking his head. “It seems impossible that the wars with Scotland will finally be over and England will be the victor,” he said. “But if Robert Bruce has pledged to side with England, that means something.”

  “It does, your grace.”

  “It means that Edward will put The Bruce on the throne and his enemies will be forced to contend with a Scottish ruler backed by England.”

  Cassius simply nodded. The old duke was sharp and understood the implications of the situation. He’d spent seven decades being entrenched in England and her politics, so he was well aware of the magnitude of what Cassius was suggesting.

  It was considerable.

  “I see,” he said after a moment, looking far more sober than he had only seconds earlier. “And he feels his overture to the French will succeed?”

  “He has every confidence, your grace.”

  “With enough money and gifts.”

  “Exactly, your grace.”

  Doncas
ter was satisfied that he had the truth of it. He was willing to go along with Edward’s request with the hope that it would end his expensive wars once and for all, wars that rich barons like Doncaster were paying for.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then of course I shall pledge money and men for Edward to accomplish this. What does he need?”

  “Money, your grace. He is taking an army with him to France.”

  “Then I shall pledge one hundred pounds in gold and five hundred men.”

  Cassius smiled. “He will be quite pleased, your grace,” he said. “That is very generous.”

  Doncaster returned to his drink. “It is,” he said. “But he had better end these wars once and for all this time. I do not intend to give him another cent for his foolish wars against people who we should let alone. As long as the Scots stay in Scotland, let them be, I say.”

  Cassius snorted. “The problem is that they do not stay there, your grace,” he said. “My mother and grandmother are Scottish. I have aunts who are Scottish. Being that my grandfather’s properties protect most of the Scots borders and my father is the Earl of Berwick, we have seen our share of Scots. We know how they think. Too many feudal clans make it difficult to unite Scotland, but Edward believes it is possible. Still… the Scots can be an unruly and unhappy bunch. I speak from experience.”

  Doncaster nodded reluctantly. “True enough,” he said. “I suppose it is just one of those things we must accept. In any case, I will send the men and the money with you when you leave. When do you intend to go?”

  But Cassius shook his head. “I depart tomorrow, but I am not returning to London,” he said. “I have not been home in three years and the king has graciously granted me the time to return home for a short while. I would suggest you send your men and money to London directly.”

  The duke pondered that. “I shall,” he said. “I will send them before the week is out. And with that, I shall conclude my business with the king. I do not stay up late these days, you know. No offense, de Wolfe, but my bed is a greater companion than you could ever be. But I insist that you and your men enjoy the food and drink. Do not let me stop you from that. Have you been given your rooms yet?”