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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  As Troy watched, Rhoswyn pulled her elbow free of the man no less than three times as they headed into the shop. He grinned at her reluctance to be treated like a proper woman and helped by a man, in any fashion. She was too independent for that. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Audric looking at him.

  “She has much to learn,” he explained quietly, turning to survey the village center now that Rhoswyn had passed out of his line of sight. “She has no idea how to behave as a lady.”

  Audric could see Rhoswyn deep in the shop now, moving through the piles of merchandise with the chatty merchant. “I believe Red Keith did the lass a great disservice raisin’ her as he did,” he muttered. “Mayhap he simply dinna think on how it would affect her as a grown woman. The man wanted a son and he made her intae one, but now the lass must struggle with the consequences.”

  As the priest spoke, Troy suddenly spotted a host of English soldiers entering from the south side of the village. He recognized the colors right away – the brown and yellow of Deauxville Mount. The barons of “The Mount”, as it was called, was the family of de Troiu, a family that used to be allies with the de Wolfes many years ago but an incident between William de Wolfe and a leading member of the de Troiu family had ended that alliance.

  William would never discuss the exact circumstances of the separation. But one night when Paris had too much to drink, he told Troy that Daniel de Troiu, then the head of the family those years ago, had tried to steal Troy’s mother away. It had evidently culminated in a nasty battle and since then, the name de Troiu was not permitted to be spoken anywhere in the halls of Castle Questing, Northwood Castle, or any other de Wolfe ally or property. That left Deauxville Mount as an outcast in the north, allying with questionable local barons. The once-proud family had dwindled in both wealth and prestige, and now was considered the dregs of the border.

  In truth, de Wolfe and de Troiu had become hated and bitter enemies over the years, so not only was Troy surprised to see de Troiu soldiers, he was uncomfortable seeing them as well. There weren’t very many of them – perhaps ten that he could see – but he knew his twenty-man contingent was nearby and he didn’t want them getting into a scuffle with the de Troiu men. He hoped his soldiers had better sense than to engage them. Audric, seeing that Troy appeared rather on edge as he gazed out over the village center, turned to see what had the man so uneasy.

  “What is it, m’laird?” he asked.

  Troy’s gaze was still on the de Troiu men as they filtered into the town, but rather than upset the priest with his concerns, he simply shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “There are a great many people in town today, including soldiers. I was simply noticing the soldiers.”

  Audric was too short to see what Troy, with his height, could see. He simply returned his attention to the stall, where the merchant had brought forth a big basket that now had a pile of goods in it for Rhoswyn. And the pile was growing. As he watched the lady examine a piece of cloth the merchant had given her, his thoughts turned to his very reason for being here and the day Troy and Rhoswyn had met. Strangely, it seemed like years ago.

  “I told ye that yer father asked me tae stay tae help ye and the lady in the beginnings of yer marriage,” he said. “But I must say that I’ve seen nothin’ that needs me help. She has calmed down admirably and ye’ve been very patient with her.”

  Troy didn’t take his eyes off the distant de Troiu soldiers who were starting to head in his direction. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said. “She did not want this marriage, nor did I, but blaming her for it would not solve anything. Moreover… when handled properly, she can be quite pleasant. She is a hard worker and unafraid to do something she is not familiar with, like trying to become a lady or cook a meal. At least she is willing to try. That shows strength of character.”

  Audric looked at him as he spoke, thinking that the man sounded very much like he was infatuated with the woman or, at the very least, appreciative of her. He had suspected it since yesterday, but today saw that opinion grow.

  “No de Wolfe wife would be any less,” Audric said. “Surely this is the lass ye’ve been waitin’ for all yer life – strong, intelligent, and devoted.”

  Troy shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I’ve not been waiting for her all my life. You see, I was married once before but she died two years ago. She was a woman I had known all my life. I never expected that I would live to an old age without her.”

  Audric hadn’t known that Troy had been married before, a marriage that evidently ended on tragedy. Frankly, he was shocked, now scrambling to find the right words to convey his sympathies.

  “I dinna know,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for yer loss.”

  Troy thought on Helene but as he did, thoughts of Rhoswyn swept over him. Thoughts of her were stronger than thoughts of a wife who had died, someone he’d loved very much. But now, all he could think of was Rhoswyn and her fine body, an instant lust and desire that made his heart race. Helene had never had that effect on him, not ever, but the more he tried to remember his love for Helene, the more thoughts of Rhoswyn overwhelmed him.

  God, what was happening to him?

  “It was a difficult time,” he said to Audric, trying to distract himself from the fact that, in his mind, Rhoswyn was overwhelming Helene. “She drowned, and my two youngest children with her. I have an older son but he was fostering at the time. In fact, I have not seen him in a year. He favors his mother, you see, so seeing him reminds me of her. Sometimes it is difficult to look at him and not feel the loss. He inherited none of my Saracen darkness and all of his mother’s pale English beauty.”

  Audric thought on the boy as his father described him. “Saracen?” he repeated. “But yer father is English.”

  Troy smiled weakly. “His grandmother was Saracen,” he said. “She was a dark and sultry beauty, so I am told, and I favor her and her heathen roots. I am sure you have noticed that I am darker than most Englishmen.”

  Audric had. He remembered thinking how dark Troy appeared when he’d first met the man. “That explains a good deal,” he said. “But those in the Holy Land, where yer great-grandmother was from, are cunnin’ fighters and bold warriors, so I’ve heard. Surely that spirit is within ye, also.”

  Troy nodded, thinking on his Saracen blood, but only briefly. He was still stuck on thoughts of Helene and Rhoswyn, still wrestling with the fact that he couldn’t seem to remember his strong feelings for Helene at this moment. He loved her, didn’t he? He’d told Paris that he would only and always love her, but after a few days of being married to a woman he never wanted to marry in the first place, it was as if he didn’t know his mind any longer. Something had changed.

  He didn’t want it to change.

  “Mayhap,” he said belatedly, distracted with his other thoughts. “I would like to think I have something of my father in me and not mostly heathen tribes.”

  “Ye have the blood of de Wolfe and the Saracens in ye – ye have the blood of legends.”

  Troy looked at the priest, who had made the statement softly and matter-of-factly. Ye have the blood of legends. Perhaps it was true; he did have the blood of legends in him. In any case, he was becoming uncomfortable and edgy with thoughts of Helene and Rhoswyn on one hand and the approach of de Troiu’s men on the other.

  Since he was without his soldiers at the ready, he didn’t particularly want to be seen by enemy soldiers, especially with his wife around. He didn’t want her caught up in anything, should something get started. With that in mind, he turned for the stall.

  “I will see how Rhoswyn is coming along,” he said. “You will remain here. I shan’t be long.”

  Audric watched him duck his head down in order to enter the low-ceilinged stall. “I thought ye said it wasna a fit place for a man?”

  Troy snorted. “It is not,” he said. “But I have a feeling she might let the merchant talk her into buying everything in the stall and I am not sure I have that much
money with me.”

  Leaving the priest grinning, Troy headed into the dark, smelly stall that was stuffed to the ceiling with merchandise. As big as he was, he was trying very hard not to knock anything aside. He passed a table that had dozens of glass phials on them, or fragile alabaster and he made sure not to brush against it.

  In the rear of the stall, he caught sight of Rhoswyn’s auburn head with the merchant next to her as they inspected piles of fabrics. Troy could already see that there were neatly folded stacks of fabric in the big basket that the merchant had brought out to carry her goods, but she was closely inspecting an orange silk that glistened in the weak light. In fact, the orange reflected some of the highlights of her hair color. When she saw Troy approaching, she quickly set the silk down.

  “I… I was lookin’ at it because it was so lovely,” she said, sounding as if he’d caught her at something she shouldn’t be doing. She pointed to the basket. “Everythin’ I’ve selected is very durable. The merchant says so.”

  Troy craned his neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the orange silk. “What about the orange fabric?” he asked. “Do you not want that, too?”

  Rhoswyn turned to look at it again, hesitantly, as the merchant spoke up. “It is very fine silk, my lord,” he said. “But it comes at a dear price.”

  “How much is it?”

  The merchant picked up the fabric in question and held it up. “It is wild silk all the way from Rome,” he said. “This is enough to make a lovely garment for the lady.”

  “How much?”

  “I would accept an offer of six pieces of silver for it.”

  “Sold. Put it in the basket.”

  Rhoswyn’s mouth popped open in surprise as the merchant gleefully rolled up the silk so it wouldn’t crease. “But…”

  Troy waved her off. “You will need a beautiful dress to wear for the times when we have privileged guests,” he said. Then, he looked at the merchant. “Show her any other fine fabric you have.”

  Rhoswyn was beside herself. As the merchant called to his wife and the two of them began hunting in the rear of the stall for the expensive material, Rhoswyn went to Troy and hissed at him.

  “Six pieces of silver?” she said through her teeth. “Are ye mad, laddie? That money would feed Sibbald’s for a month!”

  He grinned at her. “Shut your mouth, woman. I told you I wanted you well-dressed.”

  Her eyes widened, both in humor and in outrage. “Ye’ll regret sayin’ that tae me. I dunna take such words from any man.”

  He grabbed her, whipping her into his arms and planting a delicious kiss on her sweet lips. That lust he felt for her compelled him to kiss her again, listening to her gasp as he pulled away.

  “You’ll take it from me and you’ll like it,” he breathed. “Do you understand?”

  Rhoswyn swallowed, struggling to catch her breath as she was pressed up against him. “Aye.”

  “Aye who?”

  A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. “Aye, laddie.”

  That wasn’t the answer he was looking for but he couldn’t remain stern enough to tell her so. She was toying with him; he could see it in her eyes and it inflamed his desire for her like nothing else.

  “Cheeky wench,” he hissed. Releasing her, he turned her around so that she was facing the merchant again and slapped her lightly on the rump. “Buy something else beautiful. That is a command.”

  Rhoswyn didn’t argue with him; she simply turned and grinned at him, feeling such warmth and attraction to the man. Any man who would give her commands and slap her on the arse was someone to be appreciated, she thought. No one had ever dared do it. But Troy had.

  And she loved it.

  “As ye wish, m’laird,” she said. “I’ll spend yer money and more besides.”

  “Now, I did not say that.”

  She giggled. “’Tis too late,” she said, moving towards the merchant and his wife as they came at her with their arms laden with beautiful material. “I shall select the most costly piece they have.”

  Troy simply shook his head at her, grinning, watching her as she went over to the merchants and began rifling through their products. He saw her looking at something glittery and blue, holding it up to the light, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the expression on her face. She looked so… happy. She was happy, and so was he.

  In fact, it took Troy a moment to realize that he hadn’t been this wildly happy in years. Sheer, unadulterated joy that made him want to take Rhoswyn in his arms and kiss her until she fainted, which for her would probably never happen. She was tough and she was strong, and he loved that about her.

  But he loved it when she submitted to him, too. Just a little.

  Is this what it meant to be happy again? Was that why he could only think distantly of Helene, as if she were a warm memory and nothing more? Rhoswyn scorched him like the fires of hell, a blaze in his belly that was only quenched when he took her to his bed and had his way with her long, strong body.

  God help him, he never knew it could be like this again, this strength of happiness again. He married a woman who kicked him in the groin and hit him in the face when they’d first met. Instead of letting that set the tone for the marriage, he’d had to be more understanding and more forgiving than he’d ever been in his life, but it took him a moment to realize that those two qualities were something Helene had always tried to impress upon him. Be forgiving, she used to say. A gracious man is a great man. But he’d ignored that advice until now.

  Was it Helene’s influence that had made him a better man for Rhoswyn?

  He wondered.

  Lost in thought, he turned for the front of the stall, mulling over the recent events in his life that had brought him to this moment. He was just coming out of the stall and catching a view of Audric before he abruptly caught sight of four de Troiu soldiers who were right at the mouth of the stall. In fact, he’d nearly run into them.

  Now, he was exactly where he didn’t want to be.

  As part of the de Wolfe empire, Troy always wore very specific armor – a mail coat that went to his knees, a black de Wolfe tunic over that, and then a breast plate, of the latest military protection at that time, that essentially covered his chest. There was newer technology in armor being developed all of the time and William made sure that he and his sons were on the cutting edge of it. But the breast plate had something to identify Troy as being part of the House of de Wolfe, and that was a stylized engraving of a wolf’s head on the upper left portion of the breast plate. It was a badge. Even if one didn’t recognize him or his colors, most men of the north recognized the wolf’s head.

  The de Troiu soldiers were no different.

  They recognized the wolf’s head immediately, before they even saw Troy’s face, and the four of them pulled into a suspicious group, scrutinizing Troy as a powerful and important knight from the House of de Wolfe. As soon as they started doing that, Troy turned to Audric.

  “Quickly,” he hissed. “Find my soldiers. Send them to me now.”

  Startled, and the slightest bit frightened, Audric scattered away, completely ignored by the de Troiu soldiers. Troy tried to move away, too, but as he knew, the soldiers were on to him. Old rivalries came out.

  “De Wolfe,” one man snarled. Then, he spit on the ground. “That is what I think of de Wolfe.”

  Troy didn’t reply; he simply stared at them. They were mere soldiers and he wasn’t going to get into a verbal debate with them. They were beneath him.

  “Be on your way,” he said evenly. “I have no personal quarrel with you but that will change if you do not move on.”

  The man didn’t like being challenged. “And who are you?” he demanded. When one of his colleagues tugged on him and pointed out that he was a knight, the man brushed him off. “So you’re a knight; who is to care? You’re alone, knight. Where is your army?”

  Troy cocked an eyebrow. “I do not think you wish to find that out. It will not go well for you.”


  The soldier’s colleague was increasingly trying to pull him away while the other two soldiers were simply standing there, watching. One big mouth was doing the talking for all four of them.

  “Is that a threat?” the soldier said. “You high and mighty de Wolfes like to give orders to the rest of us, but I won’t listen to you. Whatever you defend, knight, has been stolen from others. Old William de Wolfe is a thief and if you serve him, you are a fool!”

  Troy still didn’t rise to the challenge, although one more taunt and his temper would be unleashed. He could feel it beginning to rise. “Be on your way,” he said again. “I have no time for you rabble.”

  Now, three of the soldiers were tugging on the fourth, who seemed to want to get into a fight. But the fourth soldier wouldn’t move; he was an older man, perhaps even as old as William, and there was much hatred in his heart for de Wolfe. Troy could see that simply by looking at him.

  “And that whore of a wife that old William has,” he hissed. “Do you know her? She has taunted many a man on the border with her wicked ways. If that offends you, then do not be angry with me. I’m just the messenger to deliver such news. But surely you have heard it from others.”

  Now, they were speaking of Troy’s mother and his hackles went up. They could taunt him and even taunt his father, but the moment the soldier brought Jordan into the conversation, Troy found himself rising to the situation. He put his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, sheathed against his left leg.

  “I would not say another word if I were you, vermin,” he growled. “You are a dead man already, only you do not know it yet.”

  Because the knight put his hand on his sword, the three companions instantly drew their weapons, terrified they were about to enter into a losing battle. But Troy couldn’t see the fear on their faces; he was staring down the man who had just insulted his mother. Before he could tell them for the last time to move on, a figure suddenly appeared between him and the four soldiers.

  “Are ye stupid, all of ye?” It was Rhoswyn and she was flashing a rather large dirk in her right hand, shiny-new and clearly something she’d picked up in the merchant shop. “Are ye so full of English ignorance that ye seek tae take on a knight who can dispatch all of ye without effort? If ye want tae save yer own lives, then get out of here. Get out of here before ye rouse his anger!”