World of De Wolfe Pack_The Big Bad De Wolfe

by Barbara Devlin

  In the blink of an eye, Arsenius rolled her onto her back and engaged in another round of lovemaking that exceeded the first in intensity and tenderness. As he drove into her, relentless in his hunger, he gave her no quarter, as he claimed her lips in a searing affirmation of his desire, robbing her of rational thought.

  Again and again, he pushed her to the heights of passion, only to retreat just shy of the sweet pinnacle of their coupling. When Senara feared she could take no more, she dug her heels into his arse, and he rode her, hard and fast, to their special place, whither sight and sound surrendered to touch and feel, until she shattered in ecstasy.

  Spent and sated, she closed her eyes and savored the constant beat of his heart.

  “So what prompted you to disclose Petroc’s letter?” Arsenius shifted to study her face, and she cupped his chin.

  “I received a second note, this morning, after you departed for town.” Bracing for ire and a possible spanking, she vowed to withhold naught from her husband and accept any punishment. “Petroc bade me meet him, and I abided his request, thinking it naught more than a harmless re-acquaintance between childhood companions.”

  On guard for the slightest hint of temper, she detailed Petroc’s anger and plot to undermine Arsenius, yet her spouse remained calm and composed. So she explained that she promised to make their case to additional Cornish rebels, anticipating an outburst at any moment. Yet the big, bad De Wolfe scarcely fluttered an eyelash.

  “And you want me to permit you to grant an audience?” Mayhap she had misjudged his disposition.

  “Well, that is what I wish to discuss.” She shrugged. “When I agreed to Petroc’s demand, it was merely to delay, that I might strategize with you, as I supposed you would know how best to proceed.”

  “You are wise, as well as beauteous.” He pinched her bottom, and she yelped. Then he shuffled to the edge of the mattress, stood, walked to the table in the solar, and filled a goblet with wine. “Thus I am willing to support you, but you will not venture forth, alone. And if he puts his hands on you, again, he will answer to me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Seizing on his haphazard admission, Senara sat upright, holding the sheet to her bare breasts. “What do you mean, ‘if he puts his hands on me again,’ my lord?” When her stronger half turned to face her, his expression belabored a harsh truth she did not want to acknowledge. “Arsenius?”

  “I am sorry, angel.” With a mighty frown, he sat on the bed and rested a hand to her thigh. “As I arrived at Bellesea, I spied you riding north and pursued you. When Petroc joined you, I feared the worst. Hiding behind the bushes, I relocated to an advantageous position and overheard your conversation.”

  “So you know everything I said, in defense of your rank.” A tear streamed her cheek, and she bowed her head. “You do not trust me.”

  “Nay, Senara, that is not true.” Arsenius pulled her from the covers to sit in his lap, and she slumped against his chest. “I trust you with my life, sweetheart.”

  “Then wherefore did you not tell me you knew of my encounter with Petroc?” Ashamed, she buried her face in her hands. “How could you let me suffer, given I fretted over your response, as I cherish the attachment we enjoy? Do you think so little of me?”

  “But you are blameless, my lady.” Then he forced her to look at him. “You and I are quite the pair, as I waited for you to tell me what happened. When you said naught in the courtyard, I mourned the candor that has marked our union, as I supposed you intended to conceal the developments.”

  “Would you have my confession in the enclosure, whither everyone can participate and offer criticism?” She sniffed, and he kissed her. “That is wherefore I arranged our dinner, hither, that we might strategize without interruption.”

  “Have I told you how glad I am that I married you?” With his nose, he traced the curve of her jaw. When her husband was aroused, he employed every part of his anatomy to entice and seduce.

  “Arsenius, this is serious.” Despite her plea, he pushed her onto the mattress.

  “Ah, sweetheart, this is serious.” With his legs, he parted her thighs. “I want you again.”

  “But I have a plan.” As he slipped inside her, Senara shivered.

  “As do I.” With his hips, he initiated the delicate dance. “And we will discuss it, later.”

  _________________

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The brisk September morrow dawned, and Arsenius and Senara rose early to share the sunrise and review their strategy. After partaking of a light sop and hot tea, they joined Ryol in the great hall, to set their plan in motion. All too soon, he lifted his wife to the saddle of her mare, claiming a kiss to soothe her frazzled nerves.

  “It will be all right, sweetheart.” As he passed her the reins, he twined his fingers in hers. “I am by your side, even when I am not with you, and naught can harm you.”

  “I will do my best to avert a crisis.” For a while, she met his gaze, and intimate promises, silent but powerful, passed between them. Thither was so much he wanted to declare, but words failed him. Then she nudged her horse and rode beyond the gate.

  “Let us depart.” Arsenius peered at Ryol. “I do not want her unguarded for the briefest moment.”

  “My daughter is a spirited woman, possessed of uncommon intelligence, and she will not fail you.” Ryol tugged on his gloves. “Remember, she is not alone.”

  In an unsettling repeat of the previous events, they drove their destriers through the valleys, while Senara crossed the moors. Keeping time in his head, he counted the peaks until she disappeared, and they turned east. As prearranged, his wife lured Petroc and his followers to a hillside, which offered Arsenius the advantageous high ground.

  After dismounting, he crawled to the rise to guard his precious bride. When the rebels, mayhap thirty, in all, emerged from the thick bushes, Arsenius clenched his jaw and flexed his fists.

  “You came.” Petroc scowled. “In light of your defense of De Wolfe, I should not be surprised.”

  “As promised, I journeyed hither to persuade your supporters to alter their course.” To her credit and his infinite pride, Senara maintained her composure. “Prithee, gentlemen, thither is no need for further conflict, and yours is a fight you cannot win.”

  “But you underestimate the strength of our position, as we have something our fathers lacked.” Petroc smiled, and the hair on the back of Arsenius’s neck stood on end.

  “And that would be—what?” she inquired, as her horse shifted.

  Licking his lips, Petroc advanced. “A prisoner.”

  When the boothaler dragged Senara from the saddle, she screamed, and Arsenius lurched upright and revealed himself. “You dare touch my wife?”

  In an instant, hell broke loose, and the group unsheathed their weapons.

  “De Wolfe.” Baring his teeth, Petroc situated Senara as a shield, but that would not save him.

  Moving swift and sure, Arsenius drew, aimed, and threw a dagger, which embedded in Petroc’s shoulder. In the ensuing commotion, Senara broke free and ran into Arsenius’s waiting arms.

  “You should not have come hither, on your own, loyalist.” Petroc wrenched the knife from his person and spat.

  “Who says I am alone?” Cradling his wife’s head, Arsenius peered to his rear, as a large collective of farmers marched forth, over the rise. “It would appear you are outnumbered, Burville. Surrender, and I will let you live. Revolt, and I can assure your demise by my hand.”

  “Austol, is that you?” an elder called.

  “Breok, what on earth are you doing?” another De Wolfe ally shouted, with unmasked disgust. “Would you bring shame upon your family? Come hither.”

  One by one, the would-be rebels relented, until only a few stubborn combatants remained. Bleeding, Petroc clutched a sword. “De Wolfe bastard, I challenge you.”

  “I am only too happy to oblige, Burville.” As Arsenius leveled his weapon, Senara hurled herself into the fray.

  “Nay, my
lord. I forbid it.” Wrapping her arms about his waist, she refused to relent. “If you are injured, I will never forgive you.”

  “You are worried about me?” That stunned him, as he presumed her display of concern was for Petroc’s benefit. “But I am His Majesty’s soldier.”

  “I do not care, as I will not risk a single hair on your head.” Then, to his utter amazement, she framed his face and kissed him. “I love you.”

  “Sweet Senara, I love you, too.” And naught could spoil his amity, as he wore her treasured declaration as a suit of armor. “Now stay behind me, angel. Indeed, I need no sword to triumph over your former fiancé.” To Petroc, Arsenius said, “Fortune smiles upon you, as my lady has just bestowed upon me a gift without equal, so I shall be merciful and let you live. But I intend to teach you a lesson, so let us have done with it.”

  With a pathetic lunge, Petroc made the opening advance, which Arsenius deflected with ease. When the boy who would be a man cut to the left, Arsenius sidestepped and smacked Petroc upside the head. In a comedy of errors, the younger opponent executed a series of clumsy maneuvers, all of which failed to meet their aim, but Arsenius humored the lad. However, when he glanced at Senara and noted her tears and expression of terror, he indulged Petroc in a final move. To wit Arsenius kicked the incompetent fool in the arse and simply stole the sword from Petroc’s grasp.

  “Yield, Burville, as you test my patience, and my wife weeps.” Arsenius winked at Senara, and she sobbed, before he returned his attention to his adversary. “Cede or die, the choice is yours.”

  “I surrender.” Petroc grimaced and rubbed his injured shoulder.

  “I accept.” To Ryol, Arsenius said, “Send the others home, take him to the physic, and see that he receives proper care. When he is healed, bring him to the house, as I gain far more use from an ally than a corpse.”

  “Of course.” Ryol nodded.

  Facing Senara, Arsenius bent and swept her into his arms, and she burrowed to his chest but said naught. Instead of conveying her to the mare, he lifted her atop his destrier, leaped into the saddle, and settled her in his lap. Spurring his destrier, he set a blazing pace for Bellesea.

  By the time they passed through the gate and drew to a halt in the courtyard, he was just as emotional as his bride. Without a word, he lowered her to the ground, and then he descended. Absent a prompt, his wife turned aside, in perfect positioning that he might carry her, which he did.

  In the main entrance, they met the housekeeper, and Arsenius glanced at Senara. Ah, how well he knew his bride. “Have the ancere filled with warm water, as her ladyship desires a bath. And have dinner served in the solar, as we do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “At once, my lord.” The servant scurried toward the kitchens.

  At the double oak panel entry of their suite, he kicked open the portal. In the relative quiet and privacy of their sanctuary, he set Senara down. In an instant, she charged him and burst into tears.

  “It is all right, my heart.” Aye, he would make love to her for the remains of the day, but at that moment, he needed to hold her. “I was never in danger.”

  “You could have been killed.” Lifting her chin in unmistakable invitation, she closed her eyes, and he brushed his lips to hers.

  Standing at the windows, he reveled in her soft and feminine body, as below the courtyard came alive with activity. Resting his cheek to her braided crown, he sighed in unimaginable contentment, as he opened the door to his memory and let her declaration command him.

  Even when the small army of servants appeared, bearing steaming buckets of water, Arsenius refused to let go of his wife, and she made no protest. Alone, at last, he untied her laces and loosened her gown, which dropped to the floor. Then he removed her kirtle, hose, shoes, and chemise.

  In silence, he led her to the large tub and held her hand as she eased into the water. After stripping bare, he joined her. Sitting at the end of the ancere, he spread wide his legs and pulled Senara to rest against his chest. Dropping back her head, she nuzzled him and sighed.

  It could have been an intensely seductive exchange, marked by the customary grunts and groans and licentious release, but it was not. Indeed, their passion had far surpassed the superficial pleasures of the flesh, unrivaled by the base desires and shallow attachments indicative of the physical realm. Theirs was a connection based on the invisible but unshakable devotion, impervious to human weaknesses, when two hearts, in perfect accord, were engaged, and thither was no doubt that Senara was his match.

  “Tell me again.” Arsenius kissed her temple.

  “I love you.”

  Thither were no more words spoken that night.

  ~

  Thither was hell to pay for the previous day’s fledgling rebellion, and as Senara reclined in the solar and reviewed the plans for the feast of Michaelmas, in November, Arsenius met with various community leaders to address any lingering grievances. At times, loud voices echoed off the walls in the great hall, but she pretended not to notice. When a particularly startling outburst rattled the windows, she closed her ledger and marched into the corridor.

  As she strolled into the massive gathering room, she found the men kneeling in a circle on the floor. Of course, naught should surprise her, as she was a De Wolfe bride. Raucous cheers pierced the quiet, and the group shouted all manner of confusing encouragement. She located her husband and peered over his shoulder, only to discover they raced four large beetles. Just then, Arsenius noted her presence, and he surrendered his spot to a rather enthusiastic spectator.

  “How are you, my heart?” How she adored his term of endearment, employed in the glow of their mutual declarations.

  “Wonderful, now.” He cupped her cheek, and she turned to press her lips to his palm. “And you?”

  “Every moment spent in your company is paradise.” His expression sobered. “Did you sleep?”

  “A little.” Although she considered herself a strong sort, witnessing his fight with Petroc terrified her, as she could not contemplate life without Arsenius, and horrible nightmares plagued her slumber. “But I rest better with you at my side.”

  “Go upstairs and climb between the sheets.” Patting her bottom, he kissed her forehead. “I will join you shortly.”

  “Do you not have business to conduct?” As always, she wound her arms about his waist. “I do not wish to be a burden.”

  “Your father can finish it, and you could never be a burden.” After a comforting massage of her back, he set her apart from him. “Do as I say, sweetheart. Anon, I shall arrive to guard you.”

  “If you insist.” In obeisance of his request, she turned toward the main entry but paused in the doorway of the great hall.

  It was only in June when she sat in that chamber and lamented her impending nuptials to Petroc. Then the Cornish lost the Battle of Blackheath, incurring the Crown’s wrath, and she was given in marriage, as a spoil of victory, to Arsenius. Never could she have predicted how that decision would change her life.

  Owing to her husband, Bellesea had been restored to its former glory, with improved windows, a roof that did not leak, and new tapestries. The stores were always full, the community was always tended, and laughter always filtered through the estate. And just last week, he broke ground on a new warehouse, which would double their yield of clotted cream.

  As she ascended the stairs and navigated the passage to their private quarters, she reached behind and tugged at her laces. By the time she closed the oak panel of their inner suite, she had loosened her gown enough to pull it over her head.

  Given her husband’s stated preference for nudity, she stripped bare before slipping between the soft bedclothes. When she settled amid the pillows, he appeared and all but ripped off his garments, but he was gentle as he scooted beside her, beneath the covers.

  “Do you know that I was scared of you when we first met?” She rolled onto her side and shifted close, resting her head to his shoulder, as he scratched her scalp. “In my defense
, you are rather large, in stature.”

  “And now?” He drew the quilt to her chin.

  “I long to have our child.” And she wanted a large family. “And I feel safe only in your company.”

  “It will be my pleasure to help with that.” As had become their custom, they held hands even in bed. “But as of this moment, I want you to recover, as you had quite a shock. Then, you have my most earnest promise that I will apply myself to begetting our first babe.”

  “I shall hold you to it.” She yawned and stretched her legs. Closing her eyes, she recalled her conversation with Mama, the day Papa returned from London, and her world shifted on end. Basking in the warmth of her husband’s beauteous body, she pondered her union, as the relaxing lure of sleep beckoned.

  Nay, Senara’s marriage to Arsenius was not perfect, but it was much closer to perfect than she ever thought she would achieve. Although he had no connection to her past, they did not spend their childhood in each other’s company, and they were strangers when they took their vows, he knew her better than anyone, and he loved her. While she was his, he was, most definitely, hers, and by his side was whither she belonged.

  _________________

  EPILOGUE

  A shrill scream of agony pierced the thick tension in the solar, echoing off the stone walls, and Arsenius raked his fingers through his hair, groaned, and stood. Focusing on the ceiling, he inhaled and exhaled, summoning calm. A second gut-wrenching shriek left him shuddering, and he clasped his hands behind his back and paced before the hearth. Telling himself to be strong, to persist in the face of misery, he flexed his jaw. The third howl of unfathomable torment had him marching to the entry of his bedchamber.

  “My son, do not interfere in women’s work.” Father rested a palm to Arsenius’s shoulder, as various shouts of encouragement rose from beyond the oak panels. “I know it is difficult to withstand the thought that you brought such suffering upon your wife, but it is the way of life, and she will survive.”