WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  All was right in the world again.

  But the worst was yet to come.

  William managed to convince the de Wolfe brothers to stand down. He told Patrick and Scott that Paris had decided not to violently seek his revenge and instructed the pair to go into the keep and stay there. They did, but it was begrudgingly, as William took Troy out to the stables.

  The stable was mostly void of servants, as it was after the animals had been fed, so they were out in the yard while William and Kieran and Troy were quite alone. But the moment the three of them entered the stables, William and Kieran began to strip Troy of his weapons and armor.

  Troy protested at first, but gradually just stood there, exasperated, as his father and uncle stripped him down to a tunic and breeches. He was puzzled at what they were doing, but he suspected that he was in for a tongue lashing from Paris and they didn’t want him armed. He was willing to accept that in lieu of a physical fight.

  But he had no idea what was coming.

  He soon would.

  His first clue that something was out of the ordinary was when he was hit from behind. He’d been standing with his back to the stable door, but that had been intentional. Bodies with many arms and legs slammed into him and he went down, face-first, into the dirt of the stable. He tried to fight, but he’d fallen on his arms and because he’d instinctively put his hands out to brace himself for the fall, he was fairly certain he’d broken a wrist.

  There were a lot of men piled on top of him.

  Troy could hardly move, but he was giving it his best. He could move his head because he was only pinned from the shoulders down. He caught a glimpse of his father’s boots a few feet away.

  “Papa!” he demanded. “What is happening?”

  William crouched down next to his son’s head, dipping low so he could look the man in the eye.

  “Punishment,” he said simply. “Troy, Paris must have his satisfaction for what you have done. I know that you love Helene, and that she loves you, but she is now unwed and pregnant. If that happened to one of your sisters, I cannot say my attitude would not be the same as Paris’. The offender must be punished.”

  Troy had no idea what his father meant as far as punishment. Not that he exactly disagreed with the fact that he had punishment coming his way, because he understood that what he did was frowned upon. He understood that, in a sense, he had violated Paris’ trust and had essentially shamed both families. All of that, he understood. But what he didn’t understand was what was happening at this very moment.

  Something told him this wasn’t going to be good.

  “What is Uncle Paris planning?” he asked, grunting because he was still straining against those who held him down. “And who are these men, Papa? Will you not help your son?”

  William sighed heavily. “You took liberties,” he said. “Now you must pay the price. Paris’ price.”

  “What in the hell does that mean?”

  A shadow fell over him and, abruptly, there was a naked arse on his head. Troy knew immediately what was happening.

  “God!” he groaned, trying to turn his head so butt cheeks wouldn’t be on his face. “Not this! Papa, nay!”

  William stepped away as Kieran planted his big, taut arse right on Troy’s head. He could hear his son howl and it was an effort not to laugh. He felt so badly for him but, on the other hand, it was probably less than he deserved. Looking at the soldiers pinning Troy down, and there were eight of them, they were all grinning. They thought it was hilarious. And it was.

  For everyone but Troy.

  As Kieran began to wriggle his buttocks, grinding them into Troy’s head, William noticed that Paris had disappeared. As he was wondering where in the hell the man went, he suddenly reappeared, carrying something with him. He had an object in each hand. As William watched with curiosity, Paris went to the fresh water barrel and dunked the object in his left hand.

  “Kieran,” Paris said. “Get off. I have something I must do.”

  Kieran stood up, pulling up his breeches, as Paris knelt down beside Troy’s head. He bent over so he could look the young man in the eyes.

  He was much calmer than he had been when he’d first entered the bailey. He looked into the face of the man he’d known since the day he was born, a man who was named for him, in fact. Troy was the strong but sensitive child who had grown into a strong but sensitive man.

  Sensitive and reckless.

  He smacked Troy on the head.

  “That is for doing something to my daughter you should not have done,” he said as Troy winced. “And the rest… well, this is so you will never forget my wrath. Let your punishment be a testament to any more de Wolfe or even Hage lads who get it into their heads that they want to treat my daughters with any less respect. The next time your brother, Scott, eyes my Athena in an amorous way, you will remind him of what happened to you when you showed no restraint with her sister.”

  With that, he pulled out the object he had dunked in the water. It turned out to be a lumpy bar of soap and he rubbed it into Troy’s hair on the right side of his head. Troy turned away, trying to avoid it, so Paris ended up lathering one side and the back of the man’s head.

  Then, he pulled out the object that had been in his right hand. It was a razor. As Troy yowled angrily, Paris proceeded to shave the back of the man’s curly, rather long hair. Because Troy was moving around so much, he ended up shaving about half of the right side of his head, too, and then part of the left. Troy ended up with a big patch of uneven, unshaved scalp on the top of his head. When Paris was finished, it was all William could do not to burst out laughing at his son’s humiliation.

  It was absolutely hysterical.

  “May I?” Kieran asked Paris, indicating their victim.

  Paris nodded. “By my guest.”

  As Troy begged for mercy, Kieran resumed the Helm of Shame, now on Troy’s freshly shaved scalp. He went so far as to fart on the back of Troy’s head and William lost his composure completely. He laughed until he wept, turning away from Troy so the man wouldn’t see him. Paris, too, could no longer hold back the laughter, especially when Kieran farted a second time and Troy started gagging. It was horrible and humiliating and hilarious. The soldiers on Troy’s back weren’t as discreet as the knights were; their laughter was long and loud.

  After about an hour of sitting on Troy’s head and eking out a series of farts, Kieran finally stood up and pulled up his breeches. Paris called off the soldiers, who left the stable as Troy, humiliated to the bone, was finally allowed to sit up. As the man ran his hand over his newly shaved scalp to see just how much damage there was, Paris went to stand in front of him.

  “Do you have something to say to me?” he asked.

  Troy was furious and ashamed. “Like what?”

  “An apology, mayhap?”

  Troy lurched to his feet, standing in front of Paris in an angry stance. William and Kieran were watching closely, hoping Troy didn’t ruin all of this by trying to punch Paris in the face. But admirably, he kept his fists at his sides.

  “An apology for what?” he finally said. “For loving Helene? I have loved her for as long as I can recall and I will never apologize for that. She is the embodiment of all that is pure and beautiful in this world, and with every breath she takes, I am reminded anew of what a fortunate man I am that she loves me in return. I am not nearly good enough for her and I know that, but I will swear to you that I will love her until the end of my life and beyond. And you want me to apologize for that? I won’t. You can take out your sword and cut me if you wish, and punish me for demonstrating that Helene is my all for living, but I will not apologize for loving her. Not ever.”

  By the time he was finished, Paris was looking at him with a great deal of emotion. His speech had been beautiful and succinct, if not a bit angry.

  “Oh… lad,” he said softly. “That was magnificently put. You make me sorry that I… well, not entirely sorry. You deserved it. But I hope you weren’t injur
ed in all of this.”

  Troy was still furious, but Paris’ show of concern had him unsteady. “Nay,” he said, rubbing his wrist, which was sore but not broken. “I am uninjured. But my hair is in ruins and I do not know if I shall ever recover from Uncle Kieran farting on my head.”

  Paris couldn’t help but laugh. “Your hair will grow back,” he said. “And you have endured the Helm of Shame with honor. You took your punishment like a man.”

  “Like a de Wolfe.”

  “Indeed. And the sooner you marry my daughter, the better.”

  Troy lost his anger at that moment. “Do you mean it?”

  “I do,” he said. “She is at Northwood. If you wish to retrieve her and bring her back here, we can have the wedding here at Castle Questing.”

  “Now?”

  Paris nodded, looking at William. “Are you agreeable?”

  William was smiling. “I am,” he said. “Troy, ride to Northwood. Retrieve your bride, but bring all of Northwood with you. Leave no one behind. I will go tell your mother that we are to have a wedding when you return.”

  A smile flickered across Troy’s lips as he bolted towards his war horse, in a stall at the end of the stable. Paris came to stand next to William and Kieran as Troy quickly prepared his mount.

  “That was a most appropriate punishment,” William said, looking to Paris and Kieran. “I thought shaving his head was a clever touch.”

  Paris was trying hard not to smile. “He’s going to get married like that now,” he said. “I had an uncle who looked like that. He was bald in spots, so he grew his hair long to try and cover up the bald and it ended up looking like a jester’s cap.”

  William chuckled, looking to Kieran. “And Troy will never look at you the same way again.”

  “That is good,” Kieran said. “If he thinks we’re going to catch him again so I can sit on his head, he should behave himself from now on.”

  William continued chuckling, finally shaking his head. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “What friends I have.”

  “The best,” Paris muttered.

  As Kieran nodded fervently, Troy suddenly charged past them, riding his horse over to the next stable where the tack was kept. As he blew by, William pointed a finger at Paris.

  “The best, indeed,” he said. “But the Helm of Shame is only the latest tool in an arsenal of tools we have collected over the years. Back when we were forcing Kieran to wrestle other squires and place bets on the winner, we had a tool for collecting bets from those who would not pay. Do you remember what it was?”

  Paris burst out laughing. Given how this day had started, it was so good to laugh with William and Kieran again. Being at odds with them simply wasn’t natural.

  “Of course I do,” Kieran said because Paris was still chortling. “We would find them, tie them up, strip off their clothing, and twist their nipples until they screamed.”

  William started laughing. Just the sound of Kieran saying that as if they’d had every right to do it made him laugh. Self-righteous torture was always hilarious.

  “God,” he muttered. “We bruised many a young squire that way. I seem to remember putting hay in between their toes and lighting it on fire, too.”

  “We were cruel,” Paris said. “Cruel, vicious, and conniving. No wonder they separated us. How old were we when they did that? About fourteen years of age?”

  “Something like that,” William said. “It was great fun coming of age with you two. I do not know what I would have done without you.”

  The feeling was mutual. They spent several minutes reflecting on their time at Kenilworth, when William ran a large gambling ring that had made them all very rich until the master knights found out. After that, it was big trouble for the brilliant squires, young men who couldn’t seem to keep out of trouble.

  William had managed to tame his naughty streak over the years and, nowadays, he kept it well buried, but he wasn’t beyond indulging in a game of chance now and then. No one would play with him, however, because he always won. As evidenced by the events of the evening, Kieran really hadn’t tamed his naughty streak, either, nor had Paris, although they only gave in to the urge under appropriate circumstances.

  As the three of them reminisced about a particular gambling circumstance when Kenilworth had competed in a tournament in Gloucester, their revelry was cut off when two small, beautiful women entered the stables.

  Jordan, William’s wife and Troy’s mother, charged into the stable, her expression nothing short of murder. Right behind her came Jemma, Kieran’s wife. Instantly, all smiles were gone as Lady de Wolfe and Lady Hage glared at the men.

  “Who did that tae Troy?” Jordan demanded. “In the name of Christ and his saints, if ye dunna tell me, I’ll take a stick tae every last one of ye. Who did that tae my lad?”

  Her Scottish burr got heavier when she became angry, making her sound quite intimidating, but William was trying desperately not to laugh. His wife was enraged and all he could picture was Troy with his head half-shaved, looking like an idiot. He tried to push that image out of his mind so he wouldn’t start giggling.

  He didn’t think his wife would take too kindly to it.

  “Troy was punished for actions you are well aware of,” he said steadily. “You will not interfere, Jordan. If Troy wants to be a man, then he must take his punishment like a man.”

  Jordan’s gaze moved to Paris. “Ye did this,” she said, her voice low. “Ye came here tae punish my lad and ye made a fool out of him.”

  Paris lifted an eyebrow at a woman he genuinely liked. “He made a fool out of me when he betrayed my trust, bedded my daughter, and beget her with child,” he said. “I took my pound of flesh, Lady de Wolfe. I had every right. Be grateful I did not do more than that.”

  Jordan was furious, but she was also sensible. She knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Her son had gotten himself into a predicament, impregnating Paris’ daughter, and she knew the man had every right to exact justice.

  Still, the sight of her son’s head shaved except for a rough patch on the top of his head was something she’d never forget. After a moment, she simply shook her head.

  “Did ye take yer lesson from one of the many fathers whose daughters ye undoubtedly compromised?” she wanted to know. “Did someone do that tae ye, Paris? Do ye remember the humiliation? That is what Troy is going through right now. Why would ye do tae him what was done tae ye?”

  “He’s a devil, that one,” Jemma growled. She and Paris had shared a contentious relationship since the day they’d met. “Wicked and stupid. He shamed yer lad and is laughing about it.”

  Kieran caught his wife’s eye, shaking his head faintly at her, but it did nothing to shut her up. She simply glared at him.

  “And ye?” she said. “Did ye cheer him on or did ye try tae stop him?”

  Big, calm, and wise, Kieran had married a spitfire of a woman. He’d had eight children with her and he loved her to his very bones, but she was a handful even in the best of times. He decided to take the bull by the horns because he wasn’t going to spend all night arguing with her.

  “I did not cheer him on,” he said, heading out of the stable. “I was too busy sitting on Troy’s head. He had earned the Helm of Shame and he’s fortunate that his punishment was so mild.”

  Both Jordan and Jemma looked at him in horror. “Ye did that disgusting thing tae him?” Jordan cried. “How could ye do it?”

  William and Paris were following Kieran’s lead. If they stayed in the stable, they’d be arguing with women all day long.

  “Troy took his punishment like a man,” William said as he walked past his wife. “And I will no longer discuss this with you. This is Paris’ business and you will kindly stay out of it.”

  Jordan and Jemma stood there, mouths open, as William, Kieran, and Paris headed out of the stable, out into the day that was deepening. Looking at each other in both surprise and outrage, the women followed them out of the stable but they were cut short when
Troy, astride his war horse, came rushing towards them.

  “Mother!” he said excitedly. “Did Papa tell you?”

  Jordan could hardly stand to look at her handsome son with only one patch of long hair on his head, hanging in his eyes.

  “Tell me what?” she said. “Troy… do ye want me tae shave the rest of yer skull? It’ll grow back, sweetheart.”

  Troy was beaming, unusual for a man who didn’t smile very often or very easily. “That?” he said, flipping back the hair in his face. “No time. Uncle Paris told me to ride for Northwood. I am to collect Helene, and everyone else, and bring them back for the wedding. I shall marry Helene tomorrow!”

  With that, he dashed back into the stable where his armor and weapons were, left there when William and Kieran stripped him. Jordan and Jemma stood there in the wake of his excitement before looking at each other in resignation.

  “Mayhap we are those in the wrong here,” Jordan said, lifting her shoulders. “My son has half his head shaved, and suffered the Helm of Shame no less, and he’s as happy as a lark.”

  Jemma shook her head in disapproval. “’Tis those men we married,” she said. “Sassenach beasts. ’Tis their twisted sense of justice, shaving a man’s head only part way and then sitting on it with bare buttocks. God’s Bones!”

  Jordan could see Troy in the stable, quickly gathering his things. The more she looked at that crazy patch of hair on his head, the more comical the situation became. Suddenly, she burst into laughter.

  “Saints preserve us,” she said, turning for the keep. “The man looks like an idiot. And he’s happy about it!”

  In spite of herself, Jemma fought off a grin. “My husband has a big arse,” she said. “I’m surprised he dinna suffocate Troy.”

  Realizing there was no use in them fretting over something that could have been much worse, they giggled as they headed back to the keep of Castle Questing. Of course, they wouldn’t know until years later just how close Paris and Troy had come to mortal combat. For all they knew, Troy had received his humiliating punishment, but he hardly cared because, in the end, he got what he wanted. He married the fair Helene. Six months later, a fat baby boy was born in Andreas de Wolfe.