The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “He is very frightening.”

  Jathan gave her half-grin. “Aye, he is, but there is no man more fearless or loyal in battle.”

  “Go on.”

  Jathan turned to look at the group. “De Reyne is from Morlaix in Brittany, the son of a great landowner, and….”

  “But how do they all know one another? And what makes them so loyal to de Lohr?”

  Jathan could see that she was studying the group quite intently, understandably curious about these men she found herself traveling with. But there was something more in her tone, as if she were deeply puzzled by their association because she didn’t understand the kind of bond they shared. Women usually didn’t.

  “They all fostered with other knights who fought together on the field of battle,” he said. “That is how I met them, too. I was a knight before I turned to the church. These men go back to their childhood in some cases and bonds were forged that cannot be broken. That is why they go after de Lohr; these men are brothers, my lady. And they will not leave one of their own behind.”

  Ghislaine drained her mead, reaching for the pitcher to pour herself more even though she knew she shouldn’t. The buzz in her head was growing stronger and when that happened, it meant she would sleep heavily and wake up with an aching head. But she didn’t much care this night; her world had changed drastically over the past few days and she was trying very hard to make sense of it all. But there was one thing she could already make sense of and that was the strength of the relationship between these men. She wished she had someone who cared about her enough to go after her should she be abducted. But the truth was that there was no one. Depressed, she took another gulp of mead when she heard someone call her name.

  “Lady Ghislaine!”

  She could see Gaetan waving her down the table to where he was sitting and, startled, she immediately set her cup down and got up from the bench. The great and handsome Gaetan was summoning her and she was more than willing to go to him, if only to be in the man’s midst for only a moment. She was halfway down the table when Gaetan pointed to her as he spoke to his men.

  “We have a goddess among us,” he told them. “I am sure none of you knew that The Beautiful Maid of Mercia was our guide. Lady Ghislaine is the sister of Edith the Fair, who was the wife of Harold Godwinson. Truthfully, I have never been this close to a lady of legendary beauty before, although it is difficult to tell by the clothing she wears.”

  Ghislaine was horrified by the compliment once again paired with an insult from Gaetan’s lips. He never seemed to do anything else. Wide-eyed, she looked at the Norman knights who were all looking at her quite curiously now. De Russe and de Moray were the closest to her, the men she was the most frightened of, and when she saw them turn to her, she moved away quickly, tripping over her own feet as she did. She stumbled right in to de Lara, who grabbed her before she could pitch into their food.

  “Steady, my lady, steady,” de Lara said, carefully righting her. He had noticed her discomfort with the proximity of de Russe and de Moray. “But I do not blame your reaction to those two. See their dark eyes? That means the devil is upon them. De Moray will belch loudly enough to knock cups from the table and, although it is not frequently spoken of, de Russe is known as the Lord of Flatulence to his friends. He will fart a tune if he is drunk enough.”

  The table erupted in laughter, all except Aramis. Being insulted in front of men was one thing, but being insulted in front of a woman was quite another. “I see that I have not beat you nearly hard enough, de Lara, for your mouth continues to runneth over,” he growled. “Next time I shall cut out your tongue.”

  The table was still laughing but Ghislaine wasn’t so sure why when de Russe was leveling threats. She believed him even if the others did not. “I do not believe that about you, my lord, truly,” she said to de Russe because she didn’t want him spewing threats at her, too. “I am sure Lord de Lara is mistaken.”

  Luc was grinning even though Ghislaine was very nervous. “Do not fear him, my lady,” he said, putting an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and away from de Russe. “He would not dare strike me with you as my protector.”

  Aramis simply shook his head, sighing heavily as he turned back to his drink. “Only de Lara would have a woman as a protector.”

  “I would not discount her so easily,” Gaetan, across the table, pointed out. “I have seen her fight. She is not to be trifled with.”

  Aramis cast Ghislaine a long glance. “Is that so?” he said. He then looked her up and down with those dark murky eyes. “How many men do you command, my lady?”

  Ghislaine was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the discussion and the fact that de Lara had his arm around her waist. Although seemingly a kind enough man, and a handsome one, she was vastly uncomfortable with him touching her. In fact, the entire situation had her wanting to run for cover.

  “Two hundred men,” she said, wondering if her voice sounded as nervous as she felt. “Mostly archers.”

  Aramis seemed to turn more of his attention to her, now seriously inspecting the lady warrior they’d brought with them. The highly alcoholic mead was loosening them all up, even those who normally didn’t speak much, de Russe included.

  “I see,” he said. “But do they fight in hand to hand combat?”

  Ghislaine nodded. “They have.”

  “Have you?”

  Again, Ghislaine nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Aramis rolled his head sideways, looking at the men around the table. “This is something I must see for myself,” he muttered, a flash of a grin on his face. “Someone give her a sword. I want to see how she can fight.”

  There was jest and joviality to the conversation and the knights around the table were grinning as one of them turned to the squires sitting against the wall by the door, demanding a short sword.

  Ghislaine, however, was mortified. Terrified and mortified. Was it really possible that the enormous knight wanted to fight her? Worse still, she could see men pulling out their coin purses and plopping silver coins onto the table, evidently betting how long it would take for her to either surrender or be disarmed by de Russe.

  Ghislaine couldn’t decide if she was more insulted by what was going on or more frightened. De Lara still had a grip on her as one of the squires ran up and handed her a beautifully made sword that was fairly lightweight, but it was something Ghislaine had never fought with before. It wasn’t her weapon and she wasn’t used to it. So they expected her to fight with this, did they?

  She could hardly believe this was happening.

  But it was happening, indeed, and men were putting money out to bet on the spectacle. Feeling increasingly frightened, Ghislaine looked to Gaetan to see if he would stop the fight but he was looking at her most appraisingly over the rim of his cup, his bronze eyes dark in the dim light of the hall. As de Russe collected his sword and came away from the table, pulling her out of de Lara’s grip, Gaetan stood up and came around the end of the table.

  Ghislaine was standing near de Russe, having absolutely no idea what she was going to do, when Gaetan put himself between her and the massive figure of de Russe. Thank God! Ghislaine was relieved beyond measure that Gaetan was showing some sense but that comfort lasted only briefly. Gaetan pulled her away a few feet and put his hands on her upper arms, bending over to speak to her in a calm, quiet voice.

  “He has a blind spot below his chin,” he muttered. “He is used to fighting big men or men near his eye level, not a small woman. He will lift his sword and when he does, go underneath it and put your blade to his belly. Do not puncture him but let him know you will not stand for his foolery. I have seen you fight, my lady. Your bravery knows no bounds.”

  Ghislaine was looking up at Gaetan, trembling in his grip. “Does he really want to kill me?”

  Tears filled her eyes when she said it and Gaetan could see, at that instant, that she did not see this as a joke. She saw it as a very big man trying to kill her, her enemy.
Gaetan shouldn’t have felt anything towards her at that moment but he did; he felt a great deal of pity for her. She was frightened and they were all making a joke about it.

  But it wasn’t funny anymore.

  Gaetan had been watching her all evening as she sat with their hostess, Lady Gunnora, and the truth was that it was difficult for him to take his eyes off of her. Something about Ghislaine was drawing him to her more and more but it was interest unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d known beautiful women – he owned beautiful women – but Ghislaine was different. There was something about this serious, courageous woman that had captured something inside of him. He wasn’t sure what yet, but she stirred something within him, and right now he was feeling a good deal of compassion for her fear.

  And a good deal of protectiveness.

  “Nay, he does not,” he answered after a moment, his voice soft with sympathy. “He is making a joke with you because he does not believe you can fight. I know better, but he does not. If it frightens you, I will not let him do this.”

  I know better, but he does not. Ghislaine could see Gaetan’s respect for her in his eyes as he said those words, respect that he’d never shown her before. It was so strange how those few words suddenly dashed her fear for the most part, fortifying her because she realized that Gaetan had faith in her.

  She blinked away her tears, looking at de Russe standing a few feet away, toying with the sword in his hand. It occurred to her that if she fought de Russe, even in jest, then it might make Gaetan’s knights respect her just a little as well. Perhaps they would even talk to her. As Jathan had said, these men had fought together for many years and there was an inherent respect for one another because of it. They knew what each man was capable of. But they didn’t know what she was capable of. She’d spent the entire meal marveling at their bond, even being jealous of it.

  Perhaps this was her chance to earn a little of their respect, too.

  “I will fight him,” she said, sniffling. Then her gaze returned to Gaetan. “And I shall win.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  Gaetan could see that she was dead serious. She’d overcome that fear he’d seen in her eyes and now all he saw was determination. It had happened quickly, like a flame being doused, but there was no doubt that she would now meet de Russe head-on. It was a rather astonishing transformation but one he admired. He couldn’t help the lick of a smile that crossed his lips.

  “I believe you.”

  With that, he moved back to the table and pulled out his own coin purse. As his men were vying for control of the pot, he slapped a gold coin right into the middle of it.

  “That is for the lady’s win,” he said.

  His men looked at him with some astonishment as more coins began to come forth, turning the pile on the table into a significant sum. De Wolfe had upped the ante and his men responded in kind. De Russe, meanwhile, could see what was happening and his brow furrowed as he marched over to the table to see that Gaetan had bet against him.

  “You do not think I can subdue her?” he asked Gaetan, incredulous.

  Gaetan had to fight off the giggles at the sight of Aramis’ insulted face. “I think you can try.”

  Aramis scowled. “You are going to lose your money, de Wolfe.”

  Gaetan thought it was quite humorous to toy with Aramis’ pride, which was considerable. “We shall see.”

  In a huff, Aramis turned back to Ghislaine, who had set the sword down and had pulled out her dagger. It wasn’t a big dagger and certainly a lot smaller than the sword that Aramis held. He looked at her in disbelief.

  “Is that what you intend to use?” he demanded.

  Ghislaine nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  Exasperated, Aramis shook his head. “Then you are either the bravest woman alive or the most foolish,” he said, lifting the sword defensively. “Then let us get about this, my lady.”

  “Make your move, my lord.”

  Aramis couldn’t believe it. Was she actually challenging him? Shaking his head in disbelief, he lifted his sword and headed straight at Ghislaine, who was simply standing there with her dagger in her hand. He took about five steps when she suddenly fell to her knees, well under his range, and latched on to his left leg.

  As Aramis faltered because Ghislaine threw him off balance, she wedged herself between his legs and brought the dagger to bear straight up, pointing right into his manhood. Aramis was forced to freeze in position because he could feel the tip of the blade through his trousers. Moreover, she had her free hand braced against his left buttock so if she truly wanted to ram that dagger into his privates, it would give her the leverage to do it.

  In less than a few seconds, he was beaten and he knew it. Damnation, he knew it all too well. His sword clattered to the ground and he lifted his hands slowly in surrender.

  “I concede, my lady,” he said steadily. “I have yet to have a son, so I would be grateful if that dagger did not go any further.”

  It was a swift and clever victory on the part of Ghislaine and, after a moment’s disbelief at what she had done, the table of knights and half of the room erupted in cheers and laughter. Other men had seen what had happened and their laughter joined the knights’.

  Still wedged between Aramis’ legs, Ghislaine could hear the revelry but she refused to take her eyes off of Aramis, who was looking down at her with those dark cloudy eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t try to grab her or otherwise try to snatch this victory from her if she lowered the dagger, so it remained in place until the corner of Aramis’ mouth began to twitch. When a slow smile spread across his lips and, perhaps, even gave a faint nod of approval, Ghislaine smiled back.

  The dagger swiftly came away.

  After that, Ghislaine spent the rest of the evening seated between Aramis and Gaetan as the knights drank and told stories of the man they were going to rescue. She didn’t really participate in the conversation, but she was permitted to listen. De Russe even filled her cup with mead. It would seem that besting the man had the effect she had hoped for; now, they weren’t nearly so indifferent to her. Enemy or not, she had proven herself in some small way to the Anges de Guerre. It was a night she would never forget.

  Little did she know that while she was enjoying her evening, Gunnora’s majordomo had sent a message, at Gunnora’s request, to Alary, who had been easy to track because of the size of his group and the lone wagon and oxen that was pulling it.

  Near dawn, Alary received a missive from a Westerham rider that Lady Ghislaine had arrived at Westerham for the night with an escort of Norman soldiers and Lady Gunnora suggested that Alary wait for her to catch up with him.

  Puzzled and panicked, waiting for Ghislaine was the last thing Alary had in mind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Message Received

  The Village of Oxshott

  Kristoph was healing slowly but his misery lingered.

  It was just before dawn on the fourth day after the battle that saw Harold Godwinson lose his life and Kristoph was awake, standing beside the horse that Alary rode because his bound hands were tied to the saddle. Alary wouldn’t permit him to have his own mount, even though his battered body screamed for it, instead making him walk beside him as they traveled. If Alary spurred the horse into a trot, then Kristoph ran beside him and if he happened to stumble, which he did once, then Alary would drag him for as long as he found pleasure in his suffering.

  But Kristoph was strong, which probably irked Alary. He never begged for mercy and he hardly said a word about anything, not his pain nor his suffering nor his hunger, which was substantial. He’d hardly been fed since his capture but the previous night, one of Alary’s men had taken pity on him and brought him half a loaf of bread from the inn where Alary was staying, bread that Kristoph had taken gratefully and wolfed down. He had no idea when he’d be fed next and, even now, as the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon on this damp, cold morning, he wasn’t s
ure when he would eat this day, if he would eat this day. But his strength was returning for the most part and he suspected he’d be able to escape in a day or two.

  That was the plan.

  Therefore, he didn’t let his depression in the situation get to him. He’d been watching Alary for the better part of four days, analyzing his enemy. The man was petty and suspicious, but he didn’t seem particularly bright. Kristoph was fairly certain he could outsmart him at some point.

  As he stood by the horse this chill morning with a few of Alary’s men standing around on guard, he noticed when a rider on a weary horse arrived and began asking questions of some of Alary’s men. Someone pointed to the inn and the man disappeared inside, which led Kristoph to wonder if the rider was looking for Alary in particular. It seemed to him as if the man was looking for someone from the way he was behaving.

  But Kristoph didn’t give the rider any more consideration than that as the same man who had given him the half-loaf of bread untied his hands and gave him watered ale to drink and another cup full of a barley gruel, which Kristoph sucked down in one big swallow. He smiled gratefully to the man and handed back the wooden cups about the time another of Alary’s men came bolting from the inn, heading in his direction. Kristoph heard a reference to himself, twice, and his curiosity piqued. Soon enough, he discovered that he’d been summoned.

  Fighting down his trepidation, Kristoph’s four-man escort took him to the inn, which was essentially one long single-room building and little else. There were people sleeping all over the hard-packed earthen floor although at this time in the morning, men were rising as serving wenches moved among them, delivering food. Coughing, snorting, and farting abounded as men woke to a new day.

  Kristoph hadn’t slept in the inn the previous night. He’d slept on the cold ground next to the cart, so the stale heat of the inn was welcoming as his escort took him over to Alary, who was sitting next to the blazing hearth. Alary was breaking his fast for the day, eating his bread and cheese as he sat at the table with the rider who had so recently arrived on the weary horse. Kristoph had been correct in his assumption that the rider had been looking for Alary. When Alary looked up from his food to notice that Kristoph had arrived, he indicated for the man to sit.