WOLFEBLADE
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
De Wolfe Pack Generations
© Copyright 2021 by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
Kindle Edition
Text by Kathryn Le Veque
Cover by Kim Killion
Edited by Scott Moreland
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Author’s Note
Welcome to Andreas’ story!
And… oh, boy!… what a story!
Now, something you may not have realized – Andreas is the second oldest de Wolfe/de Norville grandchild as Troy’s son. William “Will” de Wolfe, Scott’s eldest, is less than one year older. The boys were born close together and we’re going to find out why – at least in Andreas’ case. They were also born, in some cases, twenty years before their cousins. They were the EARLY grandchildren.
I was so excited to realize that Andreas’ story was going to be set back when William and Paris were still alive because he’s much older than the other de Wolfe Cubs who have had their stories told – Markus, Tor, and Cassius. Even though Andreas’ story is the fourth one of the series that I wrote, chronologically, he’s really the first because he’s so much older than the others.
I’ll take any chance I can get to write about William and Paris and Kieran again, so the prologue to this novel is going to be back in the midst of the original de Wolfe Pack. Such bliss! But I digress… the prologue is only the kick-off to a novel that’s really going to take you for a wild and unusual ride, so be prepared to be sucked into this one. The Helm of Shame makes an appearance. Or, as my husband calls it, the Ass Hat. Appropriate!
Now, back to Andreas. He’s essentially the strong, silent type. He’s got de Wolfe on one side and de Norville on the other, but he’s managed to inherit his grandmother Caladora’s quiet personality. He was named Andreas because de Norville males (and his maternal grandfather is Paris de Norville, William de Wolfe’s best friend) always have a Greek name – i.e. – Paris, Hector, Adonis, etc.), and his father, Troy, was named for Paris, so Troy and Helene simply carried on that tradition.
Andreas is actually a fairly common name in antiquity and even up through Georgian times. He has a nickname, as most de Wolfe Cubs seem to have – Dray. We’ve met Tor (Thomas) and Cass (Cassius) in the de Wolfe Cub series, so now we have Dray. When you realize how his name is pronounced, shortening it to “Dray” makes sense – an affectionate term within the family. Drè is actually the Flemish nickname for Andreas – I’m just spelling it phonetically.
I just want to make a mention here of Troy, Andreas’ father, and his mother, Helene. You, as the reader, are going to get some insight into how the two of them met, and they were “together” at a very young age, which kind of makes Troy’s story (DarkWolfe) all the more tragic. I specifically didn’t introduce Helene into this story because I didn’t want to create a greater sense of tragedy. If you got to “know” her, and bonded with her, then that would make her eventual ending more difficult to bear.
Something to note in the “Holdings and Titles of the House of de Wolfe” at the back of this book – you’ll note that this book takes place anywhere from ten to thirteen years before the first three books in the series, so the “holdings” list reflects the holdings as they were at that time. For example, WolfeSword hasn’t “happened” yet, so Cassius de Wolfe isn’t the Duke of Doncaster – yet.
This is a book with a LOT happening in it – lots of little details you’ll want to eat up. Frankly, the Scots borders are getting really crowded now because of so many de Wolfe Pack novels and, of course, everyone has to have his/her own castle. One of the castles that plays a prominent role in this story is a castle called The Hermitage, which is quite a famous place. There were legends (for real) that the family who owned the place was involved in witchcraft, among other things. I’ve (conveniently) used those legends for this story, and the family name and castle. The name, The Hermitage, derives from the old French l’armitage, which means guardhouse. In this book, the castle is referred to as Hell’s Guardhouse.
Good stuff!
What else can I say about this story? Huge highs and lows. There are some very low moments and some very laughable ones. This one is grittier and more brutal than any book I’ve written in the past couple of years, so it’s great to get back to my “battle roots”.
Now, the usual pronunciation guide:
Andreas – On-DRAY-us
Gavriella – Gah-vree-ELLE-uh. Basically, Gavriella with a “v” instead of a “b”
Theodis – THAY-uh-dis
I could go on and on, but I’ll stop here. You’ve got a big book to read – enjoy it!
Hugs,
De Wolfe Pack Generations
The grandsons of William de Wolfe are referred to as “The de Wolfe Cubs”. There are more than forty of them, both biological and adopted, and each young man is sworn to his powerful and rich legacy. When each grandson comes of age and is knighted, he tattoos the de Wolfe standard onto some part of his body. It is a rite of passage and it is that mark that links these young men together more than blood.
More than brotherhood.
It is the de Wolfe birthright.
The de Wolfe Pack standard is meant to be worn with honor, with pride, and with resilience, for there is no more recognizable standard in Medieval England. To shame the Pack is to have the tattoo removed, never to be regained.
This is their world.
Welcome to the Cub Generation.
De Wolfe Motto: Fortis in arduis
Strength in times of trouble
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
De Wolfe Pack Generations
Prologue
Chapter One
PART ONE: LONDON
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
PART TWO: THE SCOTTISH MARCHES
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter S
eventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
The parents, children, and grandchildren of de Wolfe
Holdings and Titles of the House of de Wolfe and close allies as of 1292 A.D.
Kathryn Le Veque Novels
About Kathryn Le Veque
PROLOGUE
Castle Questing
1255 A.D.
He saw him coming.
William de Wolfe, the greatest English knight on the Scottish border, was all-seeing and all-knowing when it came to matters of northern England. He had the pulse of the politics and the players but, unfortunately, he had missed something occurring within his very own family. He was still kicking himself because of it.
The truth was that his sons were becoming young men.
Young men with the natural needs of young men.
His twins, Scott and Troy, had just turned twenty-one years of age and their brother, Patrick, was fourteen months younger and a full-fledged knight. All of them were back with their father at his seat of Castle Questing after having spent years training at Kenilworth Castle, Norham Castle, and then Bamburgh Castle when the lord of Bamburgh lost several men to an illness. It was only temporary, but it had been good experience. Now, they were some of the most highly trained knights in all of England, a tribute to their magnificent father.
The rest of his sons – James, Edward, and Thomas were in various stages of training. All of them growing up, all of them turning an eye to young women.
And one son in particular, he had just found out, had done more than simply turn an eye.
Now, there was trouble.
“Papa!” Patrick de Wolfe was in the doorway of his solar. The tallest man in the family at several inches over six feet, he’d reached that height at an early age and was still growing. “Uncle Paris is here!”
William was calm, watching his oldest and dearest friend, Paris de Norville, ride in through the massive Castle Questing interior gatehouse astride a fat, gray war horse. A few of Paris’ soldiers followed, but they remained back by the gatehouse in an uncertain bunch. They didn’t follow their liege towards the keep.
There was a reason for that.
“I know,” William said steadily.
Scott, the first-born twin, was suddenly in the doorway next to Patrick. “Papa?” he said, sounding anxious. “Did Atty tell you?”
Atty was what the family called Patrick, a childhood nickname for the little boy who couldn’t pronounce his name correctly.
William nodded.
“He did,” he said. “I can see him from here.”
Patrick and Scott looked at each other, trying not to appear too panic-stricken.
“Papa,” Scott hissed. “He’s here. You know why!”
William turned to his sons. “You will keep your apprehension under control,” he commanded quietly. “Seasoned men do not let their emotions show. You know this.”
Scott was trying not to, but he was an emotional man to begin with. “I do not think you understand the seriousness of the situation,” he said. “We have tried to explain it to you. Troy has explained it to you. You know why Uncle Paris is here and yet, you stand there calmly? I do not understand.”
“What would you have me do?” William asked, looking between them. “Run out there and beg for mercy? Better still, draw my sword against him? He has every right to come here and you both know it. I understand the seriousness of the situation fully. But we will discuss this calmly, like men. There will be no bloodshed this day and most especially not between Paris and Troy.”
He meant what he said even if Scott and Patrick didn’t look convinced. He returned his attention to the bailey, completely calm until he caught movement. His son, Troy, was making his way out into the bailey, dressed for battle. The man was armed to the teeth, everything dark and deadly reflecting the light as he walked.
So much for composure.
William bolted.
He pushed in between Patrick and Scott, charging towards the entry of Castle Questing’s massive keep. He’d nearly reached the door when his second in command, and another old and dear friend, came off the stairwell.
“Paris is here,” Kieran Hage said grimly. “He just came through the gatehouse.”
William threw open the door. “I know,” he said. “Worse still, Troy knows. Come, Kieran. I will need your help.”
Kieran didn’t hesitate. A massive man with dark blond hair and dark brown eyes, he was William’s right hand at Castle Questing. Kieran and William and Paris had known each other since they had been squires and they’d bonded over adventures, misadventures, and everything in between. There were no bonds stronger in England, so much so that William, Kieran, and Paris had married three women who were cousins. Now, they were family and those family bonds were unbreakable.
But those bonds were about to be tested.
William knew that. God help him, he did. Kieran knew it, too. Unfortunately, they’d been so focused on Paris and Troy that they didn’t notice they’d lost Scott and Patrick. The brothers had run off to collect their own armor and weapons, determined to protect Troy against what would surely be a battle to the death.
For certain, Paris was mad enough to kill.
No one really blamed him.
Troy was standing at the base of the steps leading from Castle Questing’s keep. It was a temperate day in late May, still moderate and lovely, before the warmer days of summer would come. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky overhead, the deep blue expanse alluding to the fact that it could have been a glorious day.
Could have been.
But at the moment, it was a very uncertain one.
William barked at his son.
“Troy,” he snapped quietly. “Back away. Go and stand by the entry door.”
Troy turned to his father. Dark and handsome, he wasn’t as tall as William was, but he was powerfully built. Even at his young age, he showed skill well beyond his years. He’d also inherited an innate Scots rage from his mother’s side of the family, a woman born and bred in Scotland, because he was faster to temper than almost anyone William knew. He wasn’t afraid to act on that rage.
And that was William’s fear.
“I will not,” Troy said. “This is my battle, Papa. Kindly stay out of it.”
William shook his head. “I cannot and you know it,” he said quietly. “Let me speak with your Uncle Paris first before this gets out of hand.”
“It is already out of hand.”
“Please, Troy,” William begged softly. “Stay here with Kieran. Just… humor me. Please.”
Troy wasn’t pleased. “Papa, you are not involved in this,” he said. “I did what I did and I shall face it. Alone.”
William cocked an eyebrow at his stubborn son. “You involved me when you came home and confessed everything to me,” he said. “You pulled me into this, so do not tell me I am not involved. You are my son. I will always be involved in anything that affects your well-being.”
Troy stiffened, preparing for a fight with his father now, but Kieran put himself between William and Troy in an attempt to defuse the situation. Big, gentle Kieran was dearly loved by all of the de Wolfe and Hage and de Norville children, a man who was supremely patient and supremely wise. William could hear Kieran’s soft, deep voice speaking steadily to Troy as he headed off in Paris’ direction.
Paris, too, had come dressed for battle. He was wearing all of his mail and plate protection, with weapons strapped all over his body. Paris was a big man, muscular and agile, and he had been at William’s side in many a battle. William trusted him with his life and he had, too many times to count. William knew very well what the man was capable of. As Paris dismounted his war horse, William went to meet him.
“Paris,” he greeted. “I will not pretend to be ignorant as to why you are here, but I want to hear it from you.”
Paris met William’s g
aze a moment before looking around him, seeing Troy with Kieran.
“Get out of my way, William,” he said. “This is between me and your son.”
William wouldn’t budge. “Tell me why you have come or I will not move.”
“You said you already know why.”
“I also said I want to hear it from you,” William said. “Do you think so little of me that you would not give me that courtesy?”
Paris looked at him. “This is not about you,” he said. “This is about your son. He thinks he is a man, so let him handle this like a man.”
“I am waiting.”
Paris took a step back, his jaw working angrily. “Very well,” he said. “If that is what you wish, then I shall tell you why I am here. You have raised a scoundrel for a son, William.”
“Why?”
Paris snorted, his cheeks beneath his three-point helm turning pink. “Did he tell you that Helene is pregnant?”
“He did.”
William said it so emotionlessly that Paris ripped off his helm, throwing it down in a rage. “My daughter is fifteen years old, William,” he snarled. “Fifteen years old and seduced by… by that feral cat you call a son. He seduced her!”
“He loves her.”
Paris’ jaw was ticking so furiously that he was close to snapping teeth. “I told him that he could court her,” he said. “I did not tell him that he could fuck her. That’s what he did, like a dog after a bitch in heat.”
William was struggling to keep his cool. He didn’t like to hear Paris calling his son names. “It is my understanding that she was a willing participant,” he said, trying to slow down Paris’ building fury. “She loves him, too, Paris. You know this.”
“I also told him that she was too young to marry!”
“My mother married at thirteen.”
Paris began to stomp around, kicking at anything that came near his foot. “I told you that this is not about you,” he said. “Your son has defiled my daughter and I shall have my satisfaction!”
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