WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I have not heard anything about Edenside,” he said. “It is a foundling home and I cannot imagine the Scots would touch it, but I am sure Uncle Tommy has it amply fortified. In any event, Kelso has been damaged and Jedburgh also took a beating.”

  “So did the Scots!” Corey boomed, getting the younger knights at the table riled up. “We beat their arses like an old fishwife beats her stupid children!”

  Some of the other men nearby heard Corey’s shout and, soon, the room of weary men was going at it again, congratulating themselves for their victory. Scott rolled his eyes at the arrogance of youth, looking to Troy for the man to control his sons, but Troy simply grinned. He loved that they were so exuberant so he was more than willing to let them have their victory yell. As Scott and Troy shook their heads at each other in amusement, in resignation, Corey jumped onto the table where everyone was drinking and trying to eat, grabbing a knuckle of beef and holding it aloft.

  “This is what I think of the Scots!” he shouted, taking a big bite of the meat and letting it hang out of his mouth. “I’ll chew them up and spit them out!”

  The room went mad. Food began to fly. Troy finally looked to Andreas and Gareth, who took the hint and pulled Corey off the table, settling him down between them. But the damage was done. The hall was worked up by exhausted fighting men who were pleased with their victory. Scott finally gave up trying to quiet them down and quit the hall through a door that led into the living and working quarters of the castle, followed by nearly everyone at the table with the exception of Corey and Reed, who were told to remain in the hall.

  Even as they left the hall, they could hear Corey shouting of their triumph and the hall going wild for it.

  The more sedate knights had followed Scott into his solar, a large and comfortable chamber, without the rabble-rousing that the hall was embroiled in at the moment. Scott sent servants running for more food and drink as the senior knights settled in to listen to what Scott had to say.

  Tor ended up on the floor again in front of the hearth, with Andreas and Will and Gareth standing by him. Markus, nursing the painful thigh wound, stretched out next to him, feeling the heat from the flame with great satisfaction. As the knights settled down throughout the chamber, Scott spoke up again.

  “As I was saying before Troy’s wild animals chimed in,” he said, eyeing his brother, “the Scots retreated back to Old Midlem, taking a piece of Jedburgh and Kelso as they did. I am also hearing reports that they are moving east, which means Kelso, Wark, Questing, and Northwood will be in their path. So will Pelinom Castle.”

  Andreas perked up at the mention of Pelinom. “They would be mad to attack the de Velt stronghold, Uncle Scott,” he said seriously. “Theodis and his father, Atlas, are holding the fortress along with his brothers Rhett and Hugo. They have Pelinom and their outpost at Foulburn reinforced. Unless the Scots want Atlas de Velt to go on a rampage like his grandfather, Jax, did those years ago, they’ll stay clear of Pelinom.”

  That wasn’t an unreasonable statement. Jax de Velt’s brutality one hundred years ago was legendary. The man would conquer entire armies and put every man on a stake, shoved up through his body, and leave him to die for all to see. That kind of barbaric behavior hadn’t been seen since then, but every de Velt had that edge. Atlas de Velt was very much like his grandfather, a man of little mercy and even less patience, so the threat of the man seeking vengeance for an attack on his property wasn’t unreasonable.

  In fact, Scott grunted in agreement.

  “That is why it is better to be allied with the son of the devil’s spawn than in his path,” he said frankly. “I like Atlas de Velt a great deal and the man is a loyal ally, but God help the Scots if they provoke Pelinom. I am not worried about de Velt, nor any other castle to the east because they are so heavily fortified. But after what happened to Makendon Castle and The Lyceum, I am concerned for the fortresses to the west. My spies already tell me that they have seen movement from the Scots heading westerly, passing through Johnstone lands as well as Murray. If those clans catch Maxwell moving through their territory, the situation is going to go from bad to worse.”

  Troy, standing next to his brother, scratched his head. “Then what do you want to do?”

  Scott fumbled around on the enormous oak table, rifling through a clutter of vellum, until he came to what he was looking for.

  A map.

  He spread it out over the table as men crowded around.

  “We are located here,” he said, thumping the area of the map that was just to the north of the Scottish border, about midway from one end of the border to the other. “Here are Makendon and The Lyceum. They are about a day and a half south of us and we sent them three thousand men from Castle Questing. They’re reinforced for now. But this is the area I am worried about.”

  He was gesturing to the west of The Lair, a fairly remote and wild area between The Lair and Gretna Green. Carlisle was just to the south. He took a quill and marked two spots, closer to Gretna Green.

  “Here are two castles that could be in the path of the Scots should they decide to move towards Carlisle,” he said. “The one deeper in Scots’ territory is Hell’s Guardhouse.”

  Andreas, who had been studying the map intently, glanced at him. “That’s de Soulis.”

  Scott cocked an eyebrow. “Frankly, I hope the Scots overrun it and burn out de Soulis, so I’ll not lift a finger to help them, but this fortress – south of Hell’s Guardhouse – is one I am concerned with.”

  Everyone shifted around for a better look. “What’s that one?” Cassius, who was from Berwick, asked.

  Scott thumped on the map again. “That is Falstone Castle,” he said. “They are de Wolfe allies, but they are a smaller castle with a good deal of land on both sides of the border. Lord Merek de Leia is in command, a decent fellow who has always been cooperative, so it is my intention to move troops to Falstone in case the Scots decide to make a mess of it like they did Makendon and The Lyceum. It’s a preventative measure, really.”

  Next to him, Troy grunted. “Hell’s Guardhouse should be their allies, but they are allies to no one,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “That entire family is wicked to the bone.”

  Scott nodded. “Which is why I am only sending troops to Falstone,” he said. “Christ, the atrocities of John and Nicholas de Soulis are legendary. I hope the Scots burn those bastards out.”

  “Worse than Ajax de Velt?” Cassius asked. “What that man did one hundred years ago is the worst thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “But the family has redeemed itself,” Andreas said, protective of Theodis. “Ajax settled down with a good woman and amended his ways. But the de Soulis’… their actions aren’t borne of conquest or money. Their actions are based on the love of bloodshed and hatred. They’ve looted and burned, raped and pillaged.”

  “So did Ajax.”

  “But he had an end result in mind.” Andreas was becoming more heated. “I’m not saying that what he did wasn’t horrible. It was. But he did it with a goal in mind. There are rumors of de Soulis boiling men alive who do not pay his rents, simply for the pleasure it gives him to inflict pain. I’ve heard more than one person tell me that the man and his son are involved in the dark arts. They worship the fallen angel. De Velt, as far as I know, never did that kind of thing. He was simply bent on conquest.”

  Cassius didn’t argue with him. He supposed there was a fine line between the two, atrocities that were more acceptable than others. As Andreas wandered over to a chair to plant his weary body, Cassius was more interested in the map. Behind him, Blayth moved forward and fixed on his brothers.

  “De Soulis worships the devil and boils men alive,” he said in his slow and deliberate speech. “But the man mostly keeps to himself.”

  Scott and Troy looked at their brother. “That is true,” Scott said. “He does not cause any trouble with his neighbors. Not much, anyway. But he rains hellfire on his own vassals.”

  Blayth looked over the ma
p. A big man with cropped blond hair, the entire left side of his head was scarred from the wound he’d received years ago and he was missing the vast majority of his left ear. His brain had been damaged to a certain extent, hence his slow speech, but he’d never lost his brilliance.

  There was something sharp still there.

  “If you do not support him and the Scots manage to raze Hell’s Guardhouse, then you will have a massive fortress, full of Scots, right at your backdoor,” he said. “That’s less than a day’s ride from The Lair, Scott, not to mention all of the smaller fortresses and allies in the area that will be under threat. Is that what you really want?”

  Scott pondered that a moment. Nothing Blayth said was untrue. The de Soulis’ might have been a horrible family, but they kept to themselves and left de Wolfe properties alone. They’d never had any trouble with them. If he had to choose between de Soulis and the Scots, he knew which choice he had to make.

  He finally shook his head.

  “Nay,” he said. “I suppose not. But they would not take our help even if I offered it. You’ve seen Hell’s Guardhouse. It’s as impenetrable as The Lair. As long as de Soulis keeps himself sealed up inside, the Scots cannot take it.”

  “Then mayhap you should send him a missive to do just that,” Blayth said. “He may not know about the movements of the Scots towards the west.”

  Scott’s focus lingered on his map for a moment before finally shrugging. “Very well,” he said. “I’m not beyond at least warning the man. But let us return our attention to Falstone. Andreas?”

  Andreas’ head came up from where he’d been sitting near the hearth, looking at his hands. “Aye, Uncle Scott?”

  Scott met his gaze. “You will take a thousand men with you and head for Falstone,” he said. “I’ll send word to Castle Questing to have two thousand more sent along. You will hold that fortress and if anything happens to Hell’s Guardhouse… well, I’m afraid you may have to protect it, too. Blayth is right –as much as I don’t care what happens to John and Nicholas de Soulis, we cannot let the Scots overrun it.”

  Andreas nodded smartly. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Take Gareth, Will, and Brodie with you,” he said, looking to Troy. “Is it agreeable to send de Reyne along?”

  Brodie de Reyne was one of the older knights in the de Wolfe arsenal. A tall and muscular man, he was from the prestigious de Reyne family, a very large family that had roots in Northumbria and York. He had a vivacious personality, something that ladies took to quite easily, and he had no shortage of female admirers.

  With his blond good looks and bright smile, Brodie had quite a reputation as a lady’s man, something that had ended when he’d met Scott’s eldest daughter, Sophia du Rennic. Twice her age, it brought a good deal of consternation from Scott, who was particularly overprotective of Sophia since her biological father had perished years before. It had taken some doing on Brodie’s part to woo her, and it had been quite an adventure, but he was part of the family now.

  But the de Wolfe brothers still liked to pick on him from time to time.

  Therefore, Troy nodded.

  “Get that dolt as far away from me as you can,” he said, but fought off a grin when Brodie smiled broadly at him. “Besides, I have Cassius de Shera in command of Kale Water Castle and I have a de Bocage son at Monteviot Tower, so for now, I can spare that fool. But beat him if he misbehaves.”

  As Brodie chuckled, Andreas stood up wearily. “Is there anything else I need to know before going to Falstone?”

  Scott ran a weary hand over his face. “Possibly,” he said. “We had a group of minstrels who passed through here right when the wars with the Scots was heating up,” he said. “I was told that Lord de Leia may be suffering from some kind of madness. Some days, he seems well and other days, he does not. Be cautious going in, Dray. And once you’re there, send a contingent of men down to Blackgate Castle to the south. As I recall, it’s a small but important outpost. Warn them of the Scot’s activity and ask them if they require reinforcements.”

  Andreas nodded. “I will,” he said. “What about Carlisle?”

  Scott sighed heavily. “They could possibly be a target,” he said. “Carlisle Castle is a royal garrison right now and could have quite possibly already heard about the Scots, but it would be wise to send them word. We may need them if things grow worse.”

  Andreas was silent a moment, thinking on the assignment he’d been given. Something seemed to be troubling him.

  “Uncle Scott,” he finally said. “Falstone will be the last fortified castle in a line that stretches all the way from Berwick. There is still Gretna Green and then Carlisle. We’re not covering the entire border and if the Scots move past Falstone, what then? It’s quite possible that will happen because they’ve not been able to breach the border where we hold the line. But if they keep moving further west, eventually, they’ll be able to break through.”

  Scott looked at his nephew. The brilliant knight who hadn’t been the same since returning from London those months ago. Scott’s sons, Will and Tor, spoke of a mysterious woman that Andreas had fallen for, one that had simply disappeared without a word.

  They all knew what had happened.

  Even if they hadn’t, it was obvious that something had been amiss with Andreas. He was usually such a kind, gentle man with members of the family. But the past six months had seen a man who was particularly withdrawn. He didn’t want to socialize or engage in the gatherings, and he didn’t spend an inordinate time with his brothers or friends anymore.

  He’d become a bit of a loner.

  Troy was concerned, of course, but he knew his son. He knew Andreas would work through it somehow, although he didn’t like the blow that he’d taken from the woman no one knew. But that blow had other side effects.

  Whatever angst, sorrow, or disappointment Andreas was feeling had come out on the battlefield. Andreas had always been a formidable fighter, but the last five months against the Scots had seen him turn into a beast of a knight. He had more kills than any of them, brutal kills that took off heads or cut torsos nearly in two. Troy had seen him take off half of a man’s head – just the top half – in a spectacularly gory death. He’d become so powerful and courageous that the armies had given him a nickname –

  Loup tueur.

  Killer wolf.

  Still, others were calling him WolfeBlade because of the way he swung his sword. Left-handed and as fast as lightning, he could sneak up on a man that way and they never knew what hit them until it was too late. It was something that the right-handed fighters had trouble defending against.

  In battle, Andreas had indeed become the killer wolf with a deadly blade.

  Troy was proud of him for becoming such a legendary knight, of course, but he was also troubled by what drove Andreas to kill like that. He and the others could only assume, make best guesses at a puzzling situation because Andreas wouldn’t speak on the woman from London, just as he never really spoke on his mother’s death. Andreas wasn’t a man to let others know his inner thoughts and feelings. That was simply his way.

  Therefore, they were all trying to be sympathetic to that.

  Especially Scott. There was a special place in his heart for the man who had lost his mother the same way his older sons had lost theirs, only Will and Tor had each other for comfort.

  Andreas didn’t even have that.

  “I share your concerns, Dray,” Scott said after a moment. “Rowanburn Castle is near Gretna Green but the last I’d heard, that place had fallen to the Scots. We cannot worry about it right now. My spies will keep an eye on the Scots’ movements and if it looks like they’re heading towards Gretna Green and Carlisle, then we’ll do what we must at that time. Me, your father, and Uncle Blayth are on the west side of the border and Uncles Atty, Eddie, and Tommy are on the east side along with Poppy and Uncle Paris. The bulk of the border is well covered and because this is a clan war, I don’t believe we really have to worry about them passing down into C
arlisle.”

  Andreas lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction they had come from. “Why not?” he asked. “We just spent six days chasing them back over the border. Why do you think they’d not try to get through to Carlisle?”

  “Simple,” Troy said, answering for his brother. “Rhoswyn’s clan says that Clan Maxwell is interested in regaining Scottish lands they believe belong to them. All of these other clans that have come down to fight on the borders don’t seem to have a stake in the lands. Their stake seems to be in each other with political dealings. This isn’t an invasion of England, though they make it look otherwise.”

  Andreas wasn’t quite sure he agreed. “What does Poppy say?”

  Poppy was what all of the grandchildren called William, their grandfather. Troy looked at his brothers, Scott and Blayth, who both nodded faintly.

  “He has seen more action on the border than any of us,” Troy said after a moment. “Poppy does not believe this is an invasion, but simply clan unrest that is spilling into England. But objectives change sometimes. We’ll simply have to be vigilant.”

  There wasn’t anything more Andreas could say, so he simply nodded his head. He was tired, they all were, and the conversation seemed to lag quite a bit after that. Tor and Markus were snoring on the floor in front of the hearth and Andreas had to step over them. As he approached his father, Troy reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come,” he said. “Walk with me and let us discuss your approach to Falstone.”

  Andreas paused, looking at his father. “Why?” he said. “I think the situation is clear enough.”

  Scott was standing next to Troy, turning to his nephew. “I hope it is clear,” he said. “But you understand I am sending you there for a reason.”

  “What reason?”