“I know you won’t,” Tor said. “But we see a good deal of action from the Scots. If you wanted a post that will see action, you got one.” He paused, looking up at the brilliant sky again. “You know, the last time I was riding in a group with my de Wolfe brethren, it was to hunt down Steffan de Featherstone. We were there to right an injustice and tonight… I feel like we’ve done the same thing, only differently. We righted another kind of injustice.”
“True, lad,” Blayth said. “We did, indeed. Did you give Armathwaite the donation you brought?”
Tor nodded. “It is more money than they’ll see in ten years of donations,” he said. “And it is something I do not ever wish to speak of again. I only wish to speak of the future, which includes a wedding next week for Fraser and Isabella. I will get blindingly drunk on Uncle Blayth’s fine wine, dance with the bride, and also with my wife, and enjoy myself immensely.”
Ronan grinned at Fraser, who simply lifted his eyebrows at his future brother-in-law whom he was coming to like a great deal. Riding next to Ronan, Blayth cocked his head thoughtfully.
“Did I ever tell you about Alys and Gerard de Wolfe’s wedding so many years ago?” he said. “Oddly enough, it is one of the few things I remember from the past, although I have no idea why. They were married at The Lyceum, the de Royans castle south of Wolfe’s Lair, and everything was proceeding wonderfully until I was attacked.”
They all turned to look at him. “Attacked by whom?” Tor asked.
“My own mother,” Blayth said, his eyes twinkling at the hazy memory. “All because of a song I sang for the guests.”
Tor started to laugh. “I do not believe it,” he said. “Matha attacked you for singing?”
Blayth nodded. “She was not at your wedding, so I did not sing the special song for her, but she will be at Isabella’s,” he said. “I will teach you the song so we can all sing it to her.”
“A song that makes her attack?” Tor said, dubiously. “I do not think I want to learn that song.”
“Learn it!” Blayth bellowed, watching his nephew laugh. He began to sing it in his beautiful baritone.
“There once was a lady fair,
With silver bells in her hair.
I knew her to have,
A luscious kiss… it drove me mad!
But she denied me… and I was so terribly sad.
Lily, my girl,
Your flower, I will unfurl
With my cock and a bit of good luck!
Your kiss divine,
I’ll make you mine,
And keep you a-bed for a fuck!”
Tor and Fraser refused to learn it, but Ronan and Christian did. When Fraser married Isabella in the great hall of Castle Questing a week later, they happily sang it with Blayth’s urging.
True to form, elderly Jordan de Wolfe was fairly spry for her age and took after them with a switch. When her grandsons moved too fast, she went after Blayth because she knew who had taught them the song. Blayth ran, too, spending the rest of the evening dodging his angry mother.
And he loved every moment of it.
EPILOGUE
Trimontium Amphitheater
Kelso, Scotland
They were literally on the edge of their seats.
The entire audience at the Trimontium Amphitheater was on the edge of their seats, having just watched two hours of a drama that had them riveted. It was called The Harpies of Blackpool, and the stars of the show were two evil women who destroyed everything they touched and would have succeeded in destroying the city of Edinburgh had the hero, an English knight, not stopped them by virtue of his magic sword.
It was the climax of the drama, performed to an audience full of men where over half were Scots from the borders. Only men were allowed to attend dramas, and act in them, so it was a female-free environment. The Scots were furious that the harpies tried to destroy Edinburgh and not too thrilled when an English knight came to their rescue, but in the very last moment when the harpies were drowning in the Firth of Forth, the knight ripped off his tunic to reveal that he had been a Scotsman all along.
The crowd went wild.
All but the English, of course, although they had greatly enjoyed the drama of the wicked harpies. Sitting on the grass of the ancient amphitheater, the men from the House of de Wolfe refrained from booing when the English knight revealed himself to be Scottish because the play changed nightly. Two nights ago, it had been a Scotsman who had ripped off his leine to reveal that he was an English knight.
On the borders, one must cater to both crowds.
Tonight, however, the drama favored the Scots, who cheered and yelled and even threw coins onto the stage below, which was just a vast dirt area. The amphitheater had been built by the Romans a thousand years before and although a good portion of it still stood, it wasn’t nearly what it had been when dramas had once entertained Roman troops.
But for tonight, it served its purpose.
The Harpies of Blackpool Castle was another rousing success.
There was no one more proud of the drama than Tor, who sat with his brother, Will, his cousins, and his uncles, Scott, Troy, and Blayth. They had all come to Kelso to see Isalyn de Wolfe’s drama, although only the family knew that she was the one who had written it. For all anyone else knew, London playwright Wellesley Fairhurst had penned the piece.
It had been four years in the making.
The birth of two children during that time had slowed Isalyn’s determination to continue her beloved hobby, but it didn’t stop it completely. Between the births of Tristan de Wolfe and Merrett de Wolfe, Isalyn had written the drama that had the villains as bad as they could possibly be and the hero akin to Jesus Christ. It had been dramatic and sappy at times, and Tor had been greatly amused by it, but the crowd loved it and that was all that mattered.
And his wife was in her glory.
Because Isalyn couldn’t travel to London with the babies, she had convinced some of her friends to come north and perform it for the masses in the wilds. They had happily come, and now two harpies were dying terrible deaths as the audience screamed for more.
But there wouldn’t be any more until tomorrow night.
With the drama ended and the crowds thinning out, Tor left his family still seated on the grass to hunt down his wife, who was backstage where the actors were. She was dressed in clothes a usually well-bred noblewoman wouldn’t wear, like breeches and tunics and cloaks, and her glorious hair was pinned back under the hood of the cloak because she didn’t want to appear like a woman to the casual observer. Women weren’t allowed at these dramas, so she was trying to stay hidden.
But it didn’t work very well. The birth of two children had left her even more gloriously round and supple, and Tor snuck up behind his wife as she was speaking to one of the actors made up to look like a harpy. He grabbed her from behind, pulling that lush body against him.
“Another remarkable night, Lady de Wolfe,” he murmured in her ear. “You have two hundred clansmen out there cheering happily because Edinburgh is saved.”
Isalyn turned in his arms, her face alight with joy. “They did like it, didn’t they?” she said. “I think some of those men have been here every single night.”
Tor snorted. “Of course they have,” he said. “Some of them are Scotts, from Matha’s clan. They know this is a de Wolfe production, so they have come to support their English branch of the family.”
“And that is why I let them have a Scots hero part of the time.”
Tor leaned forward to kiss her but, suddenly, they were surrounded by other de Wolfes, all of them congratulating Isalyn on a job well done. Scott was the first one to hug her tightly. He adored his daughter-in-law, who had been the perfect match for his strong, silent, and brilliant son.
“Another success, Isalyn,” Scott said. “Tonight was positively magnificent. I thought we were going to have a battle, however, when you brought out the knight to save Edinburgh. There were a few men from Clan Kerr out there a
nd they took particular exception to that.”
Isalyn started laughing. “I know,” she said. “I was watching from the shadows. They started throwing things. Did you see them?”
Scott laughed. “I did,” he said. “They were throwing pieces of jerky. Did you not see the knight pluck one that had hit him on the chest and eat it?”
They all started laughing. It had been an eventful night, a moment for the House of de Wolfe to bond over something other than a battle. Times such as this, with laughter and joy and pleasure, were rare. Troy de Wolfe, Scott’s twin, who had also married into Clan Kerr, pushed his way to the front so he could kiss Isalyn on the cheek.
“You are lucky that is all they threw,” he said. “If the Kerrs become enraged, they’ll start throwing knives.”
“There is always tomorrow night,” Isalyn said, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll put my knight in real armor so he can protect himself should the dirks start to fly.”
She was joking. Sort of. The Scots and the English in the same amphitheater had been dicey from the start, but Isalyn had been determined to use a theater that the Romans had once used and unite the border through entertainment. It somehow gave validation to her dramas, performed in the same space that had once been a backdrop for Greek and Roman tragedies.
All she knew was that she was happier than she had ever been.
Thanks to a certain provincial knight.
But the hour was growing late and they needed to head back to Castle Questing, which was about ten miles to the southeast. It would take them little more than an hour to get there, traveling beneath the light of the half-moon during a summer’s night that had been mild and calm.
The de Wolfe men helped Isalyn shut down the amphitheater for the night, collecting costumes and props that were being stored in a livery across the road, one that bordered the River Tweed. Fraser was hauling things particularly quickly because he wanted to get back to Castle Questing where his wife was waiting for him.
At nine months pregnant, Isabella was round and rosy, hungry and grumpy, and ready for the child to be born. She had demanded to come to Castle Questing when Isalyn’s drama opened and they had been at Castle Questing for two weeks. But they were also there for another reason – Isabella had been born at Castle Questing and she wanted her baby to be born there as well, so everyone, including Blayth, was playing a waiting game for his first grandchild to be born.
“Come on, now!” Fraser was clapping his hands to get men moving. “Hurry up. We must head back to Castle Questing.”
That made Will drag his feet. Big, dark, and handsome, Will was the image of his grandfather, William de Wolfe, but he had a touch of the de Norville sense of humor thanks to his mother, the eldest daughter of Paris de Norville. He had a pillar made of plaster in his hands as he crossed the avenue to the livery, pausing next to Fraser.
“Do you think you’re the only man who has a wife he wants to return to?” he asked, incredulous. “She has probably already had the child.”
Fraser frowned. “She promised not to have it while I was away.”
Scott and Troy heard him and started laughing. Even Will grinned. “She may not have a choice,” he said. “Women have babies when they have them. It is not something they can plan.”
Fraser cocked an eyebrow. “Then we had better hurry.”
They did. A little more than an hour later, the party from Kelso entered the massive bailey of Castle Questing, turning their horses over to the stable servants as they headed into the equally enormous keep.
Isalyn was half-asleep as she walked in, staggering to the point where Tor picked her up, cradling her so she wouldn’t fall. There was a steady hum of chatter going on as men went about removing helms and gear. Tor was about to take Isalyn up to their chamber to check on their two young sons when he was blocked by his grandmother descending the stairs.
Jordan Scott de Wolfe was wrapped up in the tattered shawl she always wore, the one her husband swore she would be buried with. She was in her eighth decade but she moved, and looked, like a much younger woman. The shining star of the entire de Wolfe family, she looked at Isalyn with concern when she saw that Tor was carrying her.
“Ish?” she said, using her family nickname. “What’s the matter with ye, lass? Are ye ill?”
Isalyn smiled weakly, pushing herself out of Tor’s arms. “Nay,” she said. “I’m simply weary. Tor was being kind by carrying me. How are my lads?”
Jordan smiled. “Finally in bed,” she said. “They remind me of Scott and Troy at that age. I couldna get them tae sleep no matter how hard I tried. I had tae sing for yer lads for an hour tae put them tae sleep and ye know I dunna sing very well.”
Isalyn leaned in and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Thank you, Matha,” she said. “You know they love to hear you sing the fairy song.”
Jordan grunted. “My throat is raw,” she said, watching Isalyn giggle as she moved past her, heading up the stairs to check on her sons. But Jordan stopped her. “Wait, Ish. Where’s Fraser?”
He was towards the rear of the group, removing his gloves, but when he heard his name, his head shot up.
“I am here, Lady de Wolfe,” he said.
Jordan beckoned him forward before pointing up the stairs. “Go tae my granddaughter,” she said. “She has a little surprise for ye.”
Fraser went pale. “She… she does?”
Jordan’s old eyes twinkled. “Get,” she said. “Dunna keep her waiting.”
Fraser bolted. They could hear him running up the stairs, including Isalyn, who looked at Tor’s grandmother with wide eyes.
“Did she have her babe?” she asked anxiously.
Jordan nodded. Then, she started to laugh. “I was trying tae get yer two tadpoles tae sleep when I heard Bella calling for me,” she said. “I practically had tae tie Tristan down. I promised him that he’d be able tae ride his pony tomorrow if he went tae sleep and that was the only way I could leave him. Remember that, Tor. Tristan rides his pony tomorrow.”
As Tor nodded, Isalyn put her hands on Jordan’s arm. “But Bella? Is she well? Is the babe well?”
Jordan patted her hands. “Very well,” she said. “By the time I went intae the chamber, she was already pushing the first baby out. Her mother and I barely had time tae help her. The lass did it almost all by herself.”
Isalyn’s eyebrows lifted. “First baby?”
Jordan nodded. “She had two,” she said, listening to the men mutter their approval. “Two little lads who scream like banshees.”
Isalyn squealed with delight. Kissing Jordan on the cheek again, she rushed up the stairs, listening to her husband call after her and telling her to wait a moment. But Isalyn didn’t want to wait; she wanted to see Isabella’s babies. For as close as they had become, Isalyn truly felt as if Isabella were her sister.
For all they had been through together, they were in spirit if not by blood.
It was a joyful night at Castle Questing as two new souls were brought into the world. Isalyn stood in the doorway of Isabella and Fraser’s chamber, becoming misty-eyed as ever-stoic Fraser had tears streaming down his face at the sight of two healthy boys.
As Tor came to stand behind his wife, he put his arm around her as he admired Fraser and Isabella’s boys from afar. Isalyn gazed up at her handsome husband, feeling the love from him more than she ever had. Love was in the air tonight, for them all, with the births of William and Kieran le Kerque, named after both of Isabella’s grandfathers.
Four years ago when Isalyn had taken a chance on a horse that had run away with her, she could have never imagined how her life would be changed by the man who had saved her from certain injury or death. A brave knight bearing a de Wolfe tunic who had risked his life for her, in what would be the first of many times. Strong, courageous, and noble, sometimes she wondered if she was worthy of him.
Isalyn had gone from a lonely woman living with her aunt in London to a massive family that spanned most of Northumberland. She
had a husband she loved more with each successive breath, two beautiful sons, a father she had finally become closer to, and a life that most women dreamed of. Provincial or not, the wilds of Northumberland had become her home and she loved it there.
She loved her life.
For the lass with a taste for big cities and the widowed knight who had lost his way in life, they found a strong love that was worth fighting for, because there is no love stronger than that of a de Wolfe and his mate.
Isalyn and Tor had finally found their little bit of heaven.
* THE END *
Children of Tor and Isalyn
Tristan
Merrett
Jasper
Jane
Emma
Madeline
Gilbert “Gil”
Thomas Scott
Kathryn Le Veque Novels
Medieval Romance:
De Wolfe Pack Series:
Warwolfe
The Wolfe
Nighthawk
ShadowWolfe
DarkWolfe
A Joyous de Wolfe Christmas
BlackWolfe
Serpent
A Wolfe Among Dragons
Scorpion
StormWolfe
Dark Destroyer
The Lion of the North
Walls of Babylon
The Best Is Yet To Be
De Wolfe Pack Generations:
WolfeHeart
WolfeStrike
WolfeSword
The de Russe Legacy:
The Falls of Erith
Lord of War: Black Angel
The Iron Knight
Beast
The Dark One: Dark Knight
The White Lord of Wellesbourne
Dark Moon
Dark Steel
A de Russe Christmas Miracle
Dark Warrior
The de Lohr Dynasty:
While Angels Slept
Rise of the Defender
Steelheart
Shadowmoor
Silversword
WolfeStrike (de Wolfe Pack Generations Book 2) Page 30
