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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Out in the darkened baily of Monteviot, William could see his sons lingering near the main gate.

  They weren’t hard to miss; three of the biggest men in the whole of England, and probably Scotland, too. Troy with his impossibly broad shoulders, Patrick with his sheer height and breadth, and James for his soaring height as well. It wasn’t as if William was a short man; he was a few inches over six feet, but his sons had either met that height or, in the cases of Patrick and James, had exceeded it. His boys had never been difficult to pick out in a crowd.

  His sons. Men he loved deeply, each for their own special gifts. William felt so guilty that he’d let his longing for Scott overshadow his relationship with them, mostly Troy. Paris had been right; they’d all been right. William knew that but he didn’t know how to overcome it. For the sake of his relationship with his remaining sons, however, he knew that he had to.

  As William approached the group, James caught sight of him. Tall, blond, gentle James. Held up a hand to his father in greeting but in the same movement, told his brothers that their father was on the approach because they all turned to look at him. William smiled weakly as he came into the group.

  “I came to tell you that Adonis has the men worked up into a frenzy with his songs,” he said to break the ice. “James, he will need you. No one can sing like you can.”

  James grinned at his father. “It does not work well when I sing with Apollo,” he said. “He tries to shout over me and eventually we come to blows.”

  William began to laugh. “Not always,” he said. “I have heard the two of you do excellent duets.”

  James swished a hand at him, a dismissive gesture. “Only when he feels like sharing the attention,” he said. “More often than not, Apollo wants to have all of the attention. I will not fight him for it.”

  It was very true. William had to concede the point. “He is too much like his father,” he said. “You know how your Uncle Paris can be. If all eyes are not upon him, then he is not happy.”

  “Then it must have made for an interesting experience working side by side with him since you were both young,” Patrick said. “It is a wonder you did not beat him to a bloody pulp at times.”

  William lifted his eyebrows. “Who is to say that I did not?” he said. Then, he shrugged his big shoulders. “But beneath all of that pomp and bluster, Paris is the best man I know. He would do anything for those he loves and he is wise beyond measure. Do not tell him I said that.”

  The men shook their head. “Never,” Patrick said. Then, he sobered, glancing at his brothers as he spoke. “Talk of Uncle Paris aside, Papa, we were just discussing our departure from Monteviot. I will be returning to Berwick on the morrow and James must return to Wark. Have you decided what you are going to do about the staffing at Monteviot?”

  William nodded, looking straight at Troy. “There is no one I would trust more than Troy to man the tower at the moment,” he said. “Troy, the reason I asked you to remain here for a time is not to punish you, lad. It is because I do not believe there is anyone more capable. You know this area and you know the Kerr. If anyone can keep peace here, it is you.”

  Troy was looking at his father with a rather guarded gaze. He sighed heavily. “If that is your wish, I will remain. But what about Kale?”

  William cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your knights are in charge of Kale at the moment,” he said. “Brodie de Reyne and Cassius de Shera have the command and I am sure they are doing an excellent job. They will be able to manage things until you return.”

  Troy had calmed after his outburst in the hall, feeling guilty that he’d yelled at his father but still feeling snubbed in the face of his brother’s absence. Still, he knew his father was only doing as he felt best. Troy knew his father didn’t think him incapable of commanding the Lair; it was simply that he held out hope Scott would return. Aye, Troy understood that even though it didn’t make the situation any more bearable. He still felt overlooked and underappreciated.

  “If we are to have trouble with the Kerr at Monteviot, then I want Brodie and Cassius here with me,” he said. “Send Apollo or Tobias to command Kale until we are sure the Kerr will not try to dig us out.”

  William nodded, thinking on the shifting of knights to keep his holdings protected. “If that is your wish, then send for them,” he said. “I will go speak with Tobias right now. I am not sure Patrick wants to part with Apollo.”

  Patrick, brought into the conversation, lifted his big shoulders. “I would prefer not to because we must remember that if the Kerr are unsettled, it may spread on the border. We may all end up defending our posts against angry clans.”

  William mulled over that thought. “It is a distinct possibility. Therefore, pulling Tobias from Northwood may be a smarter move. Uncle Paris has many knights who serve him there, so pulling one knight out of the group will not diminish his strength.”

  “Agreed,” said Patrick.

  William looked to James at that point. “And you?” he asked. “If the clans go to war along the border because of this, you are prepared to defend your post, are you not?”

  James nodded. “I mostly deal with the Gordon and I have an excellent relationship with them,” he said. “I do not expect any trouble, not even if the Kerr go to war.”

  Troy shook his head. “You are so amiable, no one would go to battle against you,” he said. “You’ve charmed the Gordon to the point that they look at you as a brother. In fact, if the Kerr went to war against de Wolfe, I am certain the Gordon would protect you. We should all learn a lesson in diplomacy from you, James.”

  James smiled at his brother, reaching out to grasp the man affectionately on the shoulder. “That is because a man can gain his wants better with honey than with a blade,” he said. “I am not fond of confrontation, as you well know. Sometimes you must give a little in order to receive, and as the new commander of Monteviot, you would do well to remember that.”

  Troy frowned. “There is nothing I can give other than my sword to a Scot’s belly,” he said. “But something just occurred to me.”

  “What?” James asked.”

  Troy looked around the bailey, torn up by the battle. “Rule Water Castle is called Wolfe’s Lair, Kale Water Castle is called Wolfe’s Den, Wark Castle is called Wolfe’s Eye, and Atty’s castle at Berwick is called Wolfe’s Teeth. I wonder what name the Scots will give to Monteviot now that it belongs to the House of de Wolfe?”

  William simply shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, as James answered. “Remember when our brother, Thomas, spoke of naming his future command the Wolfe’s Arse?” he asked. “Mayhap this is the one. It is in the arse-end of Scotland, after all. Mayhap it is Monteviot who will shite upon the enemy as the Wolfe’s Arse.”

  The four of them chuckled, but it was William who spoke. “Nay,” he said. “This place is not the hindquarters of a beast. In fact, it will cement us deep into this border land, creating a trio of castles that will ward off any Scots’ incursion. If it must be known as something, I’d prefer to call it the Wolfe’s Shield. The last line of defense between England and the Scots.”

  It was appropriate. Monteviot Tower became Wolfe’s Shield and as Troy looked around, he wasn’t so opposed to remaining. It would be a volatile place until things settled down, and he was a knight. He needed to be where the action was. More and more, he was becoming resigned to his father stationing him there. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  “The Shield it is,” he said quietly. “Papa, if you wish to discuss the organization of the outpost, then I am ready. I am assuming most everyone will be leaving, along with Atty, on the morrow?”

  William nodded. “There is no longer any reason for the armies to remain and they are anxious to return, I am sure,” he said. “However, you mentioned leaving two hundred men from Kale here and asked me to leave one hundred from Questing. I will be happy to do that. And you will call forth de Reyne and de Shera from Kale to come to Monteviot?”

  “
I shall.”

  “Then we can do no more. It will be crowded here, however. Do you have enough supplies?”

  Troy shrugged. “I can take all you can send me. I shall have Brodie and Cassius bring provisions with them, but anything you can send me from Questing would be a blessing. You can also send me those men you promised to repair the tower. I would like to repair it as soon as possible.”

  It seemed there wasn’t much more to say about the fortification of Monteviot, so James and Patrick excused themselves, returning to the hall so that William and Troy could iron out the smaller details. It was also a chance for them to mend any hurt feelings from their earlier tussle. Once James and Patrick were out of earshot, William spoke to Troy.

  “When Monteviot is settled, I will send Edward here,” he said, speaking of his twenty-two-year-old son, his third youngest child in fact, who served at Wolfe’s Lair along with Kieran. When Kieran brought the army to Monteviot, he’d left Edward in command of the mighty Lair. “Edward has learned a great deal serving with Kieran and I believe he will be ready for command.”

  Troy agreed; Edward was level-headed and steady, like the rest of them, in spite of his youth. “It will be a good first command for him,” he said. “I have every confidence that he will do well here.”

  William nodded; he was looking at his feet as if considering other issues, other things. “When Edward comes to Monteviot, I will pull Kieran out of Wolfe’s Lair,” he said after a moment. “I find that I need him with me at Questing. I am getting old, Troy. I do not wish to bear the burden of my empire alone and Kieran is a great help to me.”

  Troy looked at him. “That will leave the Lair without a commander.”

  William shook his head, lifting it to look at him. “It will not,” he said softly. “I will put you in command of it.”

  Troy stared at him a moment; there was disbelief and wariness in his eyes. “What about Scott?” he asked. “We just had this discussion. You said that it is Scott’s command.”

  William’s features washed with sadness. “You are correct,” he said. “He has been gone these two years. Mayhap, he is never coming back. I should not wait for him so. He has made his choice but I suppose I simply do not wish to acknowledge it and removing him as commander of the Lair… in doing so, I am admitting my son is never coming home. That is the same as him being dead, Troy. I do not wish for your brother to be dead.”

  Troy felt his father’s agony like a stab to the gut. Now, he felt so terribly guilty for being angry about what he perceived as a slight against him. Deep down, he supposed he always knew that his father loved him as equally as his brother, but the past two years had seen tumult for them all. They had all lived through so much emotion, making it difficult to remain steady over such matters. He sighed heavily.

  “I am sorry I became angry with you, Papa,” he said. “I do not want Scott to be dead, either. He is my brother, the person I know best in this world. When he left, I lost a part of me. I had lost my wife; I did not need to lose my brother, too.”

  William put a hand on his arm. “I know,” he murmured. “It has been so very hard on you. Scott ran to escape and you remained to take the brunt of it. I cannot tell you how much I admire your strength in all things, Troy. You are stronger than I could ever be in such matters.”

  Troy looked at his father, the man he loved most. He had been the most patient, loving, and gracious father a man could have ever hoped for and Troy considered himself extremely blessed. His anger towards William dissolved away until all that was left were the remnants of guilt for having become so angry in the first place.

  “I am not strong,” he said. “I simply did what needed to be done. Running from grief does not make it go away.”

  William shook his head. “It does not, but it was easier for Scott to do what he did. You must not judge him for it. We all do what we need in order to survive, and he did what he needed to do. I still believe he will return. I cannot stomach the alternative.”

  Troy wasn’t going to contradict him. Whether or not he believed that his brother would return someday was inconsequential; it was what his father believed that mattered. He wouldn’t destroy the man’s hope. He put his arm around his father’s neck and pulled him close.

  “For your sake, I hope he does,” he whispered, giving him a hug. “And forgive me for being angry about it, but I am angry with him for leaving. I have been ever since that terrible day, but that is my cross to bear.”

  William understood. He cupped his son’s face and kissed his cheek before releasing him. “Then I pray you find peace with it someday,” he said. “Scott did not leave because he did not love you, Troy. His leaving had nothing to do with you.”

  They hadn’t spoken so openly and calmly about the subject in a very long time and Troy simply shrugged. “He left me behind to bear this burden of grief alone,” he said. “Mayhap, he did not think on it that way, but that was the end result. He left me alone.”

  William suspected that was what Troy felt. When a twin departed, leaving the other twin, it was literally as if the man had lost half of himself. It had always been Scott and Troy, since birth, the two of them always together as if they were shadows of one another. The loss of one’s shadow was a difficult thing to reconcile. He patted his son on the cheek.

  “You are not alone, lad,” he assured him. “You are never alone. You have me and Atty and James and Edward and Thomas. You even have your mother. How you think you could be alone with that brood, I will never know.”

  There was a gleam of mirth in his eye as he spoke and Troy smiled weakly. “It does become crowded at times,” he admitted.

  William moved softly and took him by the arm, pulling him back towards the hall. “That is true, but I would not have it any other way,” he said. “Now, come inside and finish your meal. Enjoy this night before everyone leaves and you really are alone. You deserve this night, Troy. It belongs to you.”

  Troy let his father drag him back into the hall without much resistance. Truth be told, he was looking forward to more of that bitter wine and, perhaps, losing himself in a few hours of much-needed sleep. But for tonight, Monteviot was secure and, for a few brief and blissful hours, Troy would find peace. Peace was essential because one never knew what the morrow would bring.

  That rang doubly true at Monteviot Tower, in the heart of enemy territory.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a cold, blustery dawn when they set out from Sibbald’s Hold, heading southwest to the isolated outpost known as Monteviot.

  Autumn was descending with full force, for the cold winds were blowing and the leaves on the trees were scattering. Soon, the weather would give way to the snows of winter that would cover the mountains and vales through March. Winters could be long this far north, and even as the party from Sibbald’s rode south, following the rocky vale that would lead them to the border lands where they would head due east to Monteviot, they could see that the farmers were already up and tending to their fields and herds.

  They, too, felt the change in seasons and it was imperative to make preparations for the coming winter. Late crops of barley and oats were in the fields, the majority of the fields having been harvested in August. But there would be a late harvest on some of them, as late as November or early December, or before the snow came in earnest.

  Keith may have had a small fortress on the moors, but he was smart about what that fortress produced to keep them fed. A small village was established around Sibbald’s and there were also many farms in the surrounding area that Keith supported. He would pay for seed and the farmers would grow the crops, giving Keith about three-quarters of the yield. There were also farmers who raised the shaggy cows so prevalent to the area for meat and milk, and more sheep herders than they could count. The Lowlands of Scotland were rich, agriculturally, and Keith benefitted from that. It had made him rather wealthy, or at least wealthy enough to sustain what he had.

  Fortunately, Rhoswyn had followed in her father’s footst
eps with her financial savvy. She understood what it took to keep men fed and she was often in on business decisions but, beyond that, she knew nothing more about running a house or hold. Sibbald’s had a host of female servants that knew how to run a fortress, from stuffing mattresses to washing clothing to cooking sides of sheep. Rhoswyn had never bothered with such things. Her focus had been on the things her father had taught her.

  Things regarding men and war. Even now, she was thinking ahead to the confrontation with de Wolfe. Astride her big black beast of a horse, Rhoswyn wore what she usually wore to battle, and she had seen a few. This felt like a battle. She had seen skirmishes with her father; not many, but enough that she had fought against men and she had killed against them, too. It had never been easy for her to kill, but there had been times when it had been necessary. She certainly wasn’t afraid to lift a dagger.

  While her kinsmen wore the long tunics and braies, heavy cloaks against the cold wind, Rhoswyn wore leather hose because they were warmer and softer than the woolen braies. They also provided some protection against a sharp blade. Over that, she wore a heavy tunic of yellow – the fighting tunic, the men called it – dyed with expensive saffron her father had purchased. Still, over that, she wore a padded tunic and then a mail coat that her father, long ago, had stolen off of a dead Sassenach soldier during one of the battles at the border.

  Along with that mail coat came a beautiful weapon and a helm, all of which now belonged to Rhoswyn. The helm had a metal strip down the center of it to protect her nose and, with her hair braided and shoved up into the helm, it was difficult to see that she was a woman. In fact, no one would know unless they heard her speak or got a close look at her. Considering she was about to challenge de Wolfe’s best warrior, she didn’t want them to know a woman was part of the challenge until it was too late.

  Until their honor was at stake.

  And she was eager for that moment. Rhoswyn could see her father riding at the head of the group, astride a horse that was starting to grow its winter coat. She knew he was uncomfortable, venturing out of Sibbald’s as he was, because Keith usually stayed to himself unless forced to ride out. Their clan had a few run-ins with a smaller branch of Clan Elliot over the years, and Keith had risen to the call, but he didn’t like to do it. He liked to stay to Sibbald, drinking his wine or playing games with his men. In spite of Keith’s temper, and it could be fierce, he really did prefer to live in peace. That meant the trip to Monteviot was a duty, not a want.