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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Where is your brother?” he asked.

  Cader shook his head. “I have been wondering the same thing,” he said. “I have not seen him in some time, but I am sure he will be here. He would not miss it.”

  Howell knew that about Morys. If there was battle and glory to be had, he wanted to be in the middle of it. “Strange,” he said. “He should have been one of the first to arrive. He has known of this meeting for several days.”

  “Gwendraith is not far from here,” Cader said. “Shall I send a rider?”

  Howell looked to Hew. “Will you go?”

  Hew didn’t want to leave the meeting, but as Howell’s teulu, he didn’t have much choice. If his lord needed him, then he would go.

  “If you wish it, lord,” he said.

  Howell nodded. “Be quick, then,” he said. “If you see Morys on the road, tell him to hurry. Everyone has gathered and he must not delay.”

  Begrudgingly, Hew turned for the hall entry, very put out that he should have to go and hunt down Morys ap Macsen, a man he didn’t even like. The man was arrogant and nasty. Several days ago, he’d come to Carmarthen to discuss this very meeting with Howell and he’d been quite pushy about it. Hew was starting to think that Morys had a rebellion of his own in mind, something led by the man he claimed to be Llywelyn’s bastard, and they were thoughts he’d relayed to Howell, but the man didn’t seem too concerned about it. Morys dreamt big but, in Howell’s opinion, much of it was just talk.

  But he was still an important part of this rebellion and as Hew headed from the hall on the unhappy task of tracking Morys down, he ran headlong into two of Morys’ men as they entered the hall.

  Aeddan and Pryce had arrived and Hew recognized them immediately. He went to the pair, curiosity in his expression.

  “I am glad that Morys has arrived,” he said. “Howell has sent me to find him. Where is he?”

  Aeddan looked at Hew, a man he had known for years but didn’t know particularly well. He stuck by Howell’s side and rarely ventured far from it.

  “He is not here,” he said, his voice low. “I must speak with Howell immediately. It cannot wait.”

  Hew sensed something urgent in his voice. He looked more closely at the man to see that he looked weary and strained.

  “God,” he hissed. “What has happened?”

  Aeddan simply shook his head, pushing through the crowd of men with his brother in tow, away from Hew, who began to follow. Aeddan pushed all the way to the broken feasting table and when Howell saw him, he recognized him.

  “Ah,” he said. “Morys has arrived. Where is your lord?”

  Aeddan saw Cader next to the table Howell was standing on. The question had been asked and although Aeddan had hoped to tell Cader privately the fate of his brother, he knew that any delay would upset the entire meeting. Men would be on edge, and rumors and speculation would run rampant if he were to take Cader aside.

  Therefore, he knew he had to speak to all of them, as cruel or as harsh as it might seem, because he’d been planning for two days what he was going to say at this meeting. It was the meeting Morys had spoken of, knowing this would be where they decided the details for the second wave of conquest. But now, Morys would no longer be part of those plans.

  And Aeddan wasn’t sorry in the least.

  He’d spent the past two days in turmoil, having his lord buried and hating the man with all his heart. Everything he’d suspected about him had been true, about his lies and manipulation, and to realize that his faith in the man had been misplaced had been a bitter seed to swallow. Aeddan’s father had served Morys, and he and Pryce owed the man a great deal, as they’d once told Asmara. They’d often remained blind to Morys’ greed and conceit, but what happened two days ago at Gwendraith erased every bit of gratitude they’d ever felt for Morys. In those brief few moments when Morys had challenged Blayth, they saw the man for what he truly was.

  A devil.

  Therefore, when Aeddan answered Howell’s question, he was looking at Cader.

  “Lord,” he said steadily, “I regret to inform you that your brother, Morys, has been killed.”

  A collective gasp went up, followed by dead silence. Cader’s expression didn’t seem to change much other than his eyes seemed to narrow in disbelief.

  “What?” he finally hissed.

  Howell came down from the table, putting a hand on Aeddan’s arm to force the man to look at him. “Is this true?” he gasped. “What happened?”

  Now, the real story was about to unfold. Aeddan didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, no matter how much he despised the man, but he had to speak the truth. To a roomful of men who looked to Morys as a leader, they were about to receive a shock as to who Morys really was.

  He braced himself.

  “There is no way I can tell you what happened without telling you of everything surrounding his death,” he said. “I will tell you the truth from my own experience, and from what I was told by both Blayth and Asmara ap Cader.”

  Cader’s features paled. “Asmara?” he repeated. “What does she have to do with my brother’s death?”

  Aeddan could see that Cader was already quite upset and he tried to be careful in how he delivered the news. But no matter how careful he was, the end result would be the same.

  Shock.

  “I will tell you, great lord,” he said. “But first, you must know that what Morys told you of Blayth the Strong was a lie. He is not the bastard son of Llywelyn the Last. He is an English knight who was gravely wounded at Llandeilo. Morys saved his life, but only to use him. He fabricated his history, and his name, because Blayth did not remember who he was. He accepted what Morys told him because he did not know any differently, but Morys knew the truth. He was using Blayth to spur this rebellion so that he could seek the glory of it.”

  Cader was ashen as he listened to what his brother had done. “My… God,” he whispered. “Is this true? Did he really do this?”

  Where Aeddan was trying to be tactful, Pryce would not make that mistake. He hated Morys and he didn’t care who knew it.

  “Of course he did,” he said loudly, angrily. “He used Blayth and he lied to him, but that lie came to light when we took Gwendraith from the Saesneg because the garrison commander knew Blayth in his former life, when he was a Saesneg knight. He called Blayth by name, and Blayth asked Morys if it was true. Morys lied to him again. I do not know exactly what happened after that, but Morys finally told Blayth the truth of his origins and when Blayth tried to leave Gwendraith to seek answers of his past, Morys turned on him. He told the men that Blayth was really a Saesneg traitor and he tried to turn us all against him, but it did not work. Lady Asmara defended Blayth and Morys hated her for it.”

  By now, the hall was beginning to rumble with men repeating the story and discussing it, shocked and angered at what they were hearing. Aeddan tried to raise his voice, to calm them down, but the buzz was too strong. It was Pryce who finally leapt onto the dilapidated feasting table and began shouting.

  “Morys threatened to kill Blayth if he tried to leave him,” he boomed. “At the gates of Gwendraith Castle, he had a crossbow in his hands and he threatened the man, who was determined to leave. Morys finally tried to kill him, but he hit Lady Asmara instead. She, too, was armed, and she fired back to Morys, striking him in the neck. And that is what killed him, good lords. He deserved it!”

  The roar in the hall reached a splitting capacity as men shouted their support of Morys’ death, while still more were shouting about the entire situation. Above all of the shouting, Cader sank down into a chair, his face in his hand, while next to him, he heard sobbing and turned to see Fairynne weeping.

  “Is my sister dead, too, Papa?” she sobbed. “What happened to my sister?”

  Cader was wondering that very same thing, completely overwhelmed with what he’d been told. Standing up unsteadily, he pushed his way through a few men until he came to Aeddan. Cader grabbed him by the arm.

  “What o
f my daughter?” he demanded. “Did she survive?”

  Aeddan turned to him, looking into a father’s worried face. “Morys hit her in the shoulder,” he said. “I do not know how bad it was, but she rode from Gwendraith with the arrow in her shoulder. It was not bad enough to topple her from her horse. Great lord… she went with Blayth to discover the truth behind his past. I cannot believe that she succumbed to Morys’ arrow. She is too strong for that, and God is not so cruel.”

  Cader was relieved, but he was still very concerned. “But where did they go?”

  Aeddan shook his head. “I wish I could tell you, but I do not know,” he said. “All I know is that Asmara told me his real name was de Wolfe, so mayhap they have gone to find the House of de Wolfe. I wish I could tell you more. But I can tell you this – I do believe that Blayth was in love with her, and she with him. No one told me, but you could see it in their eyes. There was something between them that was very special, indeed.”

  Cader was struck by his words; Asmara in love? He’d never heard anything so foolish. Asmara wasn’t the type. He pondered the information, struggling not to be overcome by it.

  “What of my brother?” he asked. “What became of his corpse?”

  Aeddan paused, wondering if he should tell the man about his brother’s grisly end, being trampled by horses, his body broken and smashed. Ultimately, he decided against it; it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

  “I gave him over to St. John’s Church in Llanegwad for burial,” he said. “Forgive me, great lord, but after what I witnessed, I wanted nothing more to do with him.”

  Cader accepted the statement without judgement. Perhaps there was none to give. In any case, Aeddan watched the man struggle with what he’d been told, but he didn’t sense any animosity because of it. Simply resignation. Cader finally turned away from him and put his arm around Fairynne, who was still sobbing her eyes out.

  With his gaze lingering on the pair, Aeddan leapt onto the table beside his brother and emitted a piercing whistle between his teeth, loud enough to shock the room into silence.

  He had more to say and he wanted men to hear it.

  “Listen to me, please,” he said. “I did not tell you all of this to turn you against Blayth, who was lied to. I told you all of this because you needed to know that there was subversion going on, perpetrated by a man you trusted. Although I know Morys was self-serving, and his reasons for the most part were selfish, we must all remember one thing – Blayth was a leader in our fight for freedom. Whether the man was real, or a myth, the fact remains that his name means something to the cymry. Morys built up a Welsh hero in his lies and it is something we must not take away from those fighting for our freedom. Mayhap, it will be an even greater inspiration now that he has left us. This is a gift, good men. The myth of Blayth the Strong is our gift. We should not waste it.”

  The young Welshman had a point. It was possible to turn such a shocking situation into something positive, by using Blayth as a martyr in their question for freedom. As Morys himself had once considered, martyrs made the very best heroes of all.

  Aeddan climbed off the table, followed by his brother, only to be faced with Howell. The older man looked particularly worn and weary. He was having a difficult time accepting what had happened. But in Aeddan’s final words, he found hope that it would not be as devastating as he originally believed.

  “Morys built up an elaborate web around Blayth,” he said. “It is something that has indeed given the cymry great inspiration. You are correct – mayhap it is a gift we should not waste. Sometimes the myths are even greater than our realities.”

  Aeddan nodded. “That is very true,” he said. “But there is something else to consider – when Blayth fled Gwendraith, Lady Asmara went with him. The rebellion has also lost the Dragon Princess, as great a legend as there ever was. Her memory should not be forgotten, either.”

  Howell thought on that. “It is difficult to lose such strong warriors,” he said. “You said that you saw them leave together?”

  “I did, great lord.”

  “You do not know where they went or if they will return?”

  Aeddan shook his head. “Lord Cader asked the same question,” he said. “All I know is that Blayth went to discover his true past and Lady Asmara went with him. Whether or not they will return, I cannot say. But if I could speculate, I would not think so. Blayth was living a lie here in Wales, and a man cannot live a lie forever. Even so, what he has left us is a gift, as I have said. The memory of Blayth, and of Asmara, shall fuel this rebellion, mayhap stronger than before.”

  Howell was willing to accept that. With Morys dead, and Blayth vanished with the lady warrior known as the Dragon Princess, the rebellion led by Rhys ap Maredudd had lost three very strong patriots. But it was true what Aeddan had said – sometimes myths were stronger than truth, and Howell was willing to use the memories of Blayth and Asmara to inspire those fighting so hard for their freedom.

  Perhaps the rebellion would find new life from it, after all.

  As Howell went to gather his thoughts and continue the discussion that needed to be pursued at the gathering, the next phase in the rebellion, Cader was still reeling from the news of his brother’s death and Asmara’s disappearance. He found a chair against the wall and sat down, pulling Fairynne with him as she wept over her sister.

  In truth, Cader didn’t know what to say to her to give her comfort because he had no idea if Asmara was dead or alive. Aeddan’s words had given him some hope that she’d survived, but he still didn’t know for certain. It was going to be a difficult thing to tell Asmara’s mother, but Morwenna was a strong woman. That was where Asmara got her strength from. Morwenna would be philosophical about the situation and she wouldn’t let her husband know how worried she was. That was simply her way. But through the chaos, something Aeddan said stuck with Cader above all else.

  I do believe that Blayth was in love with her, and she with him.

  That was something Cader never thought he would hear and reliving those words in his mind brought a smile to his lips. At first, he hadn’t believed it, but now that the news had time to sink in, he was willing to believe anything. Asmara? In love? How many times had he scolded her for having no marital prospects, and for not allowing him to find her any? Too many times to count. Every time he’d bring up grandsons, she would say “someday, Dadau, but not today”. That was her standard answer to about anything he said to her regarding marriage and children.

  Now, he was told that she’d fallen for Morys’ silent warrior, a man who wasn’t even Welsh, so they had discovered. But Asmara was an excellent judge of character, and Cader had always trusted her instincts, so he couldn’t imagine that she’d put herself in a stupid situation with a man who wasn’t everything she thought he was. Cader hadn’t really known the man, or shared more than a few words with him, but he saw the warrior as a scarred, nasty brute who was fearless in battle. Surely Asmara saw the same but, clearly, she saw even more than that.

  Finally, she’d found a man who didn’t mind that his woman could fight.

  More and more, Cader pondered that very thing. The death of his brother was fading; he was distressed by it, but not overly. Given Morys’ ambitions, it was only a matter of time before he got himself killed or someone killed him, so Cader simply accepted what had happened. It was done.

  But Asmara – that had his attention far more than his brother did. His long-legged, beautiful daughter who had lived the life of a warrior had actually fallen in love, and now she was with the man she loved helping him seek out what was important to him… who he was.

  It was a noble quest, Cader had to admit, and he didn’t feel one bit of disapproval for what Asmara had chosen to do. In fact, he was glad – she was no longer fighting in a rebellion meant for men as she found her place alongside the man she loved.

  That was noble, indeed.

  It would take some time for Cader to accept her absence, but he refused to accept her loss. Somehow,
he suspected he would see her again. He couldn’t believe Morys’ arrow had killed her and he refused to believe that she would never return to see him, perhaps with those grandsons he so badly wanted.

  Someday, Dadau, but not today.

  It seemed that someday had finally come.

  As Cader sat back in the chair and thought of Asmara and her adventure of a new life, he happened to glance over to check on Fairynne and saw her talking to the younger of the ap Ninian brothers, Pryce. She was no longer weeping as he held her hand and seemed to be gently explaining things to her. Fairynne, his flighty, silly, and sometimes rebellious daughter, was listening to him intently, wiping away her tears, and then finally smiling at him.

  Pryce smiled back.

  That was when Cader chuckled, shaking his head at his daughters, warrior women who were tough and skilled in battle yet, at heart, they were women just like all the rest, women who were the happiest with a good man by their side. As much as Asmara and Fairynne pretended otherwise, the devotion of a good man was perhaps the greatest achievement they could both find. For their father, it was the thing that gave him the most peace of mind. His gaze lingered on Fairynne as she let Pryce hold her hand, and it was bittersweet to realize that she, too, might soon be leaving him.

  Glancing up to the heavens, Cader said a little prayer for Asmara.

  Fair winds and fortune, my daughter, wherever you may be.

  Somehow, he knew God heard him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Six Days later

  Lioncross Abbey

  The sky was crowded with gray-tinged clouds, blown about by a blustery wind.

  Asmara and Blayth were nearing Lioncross Abbey Castle, perched on the rise in the distance like a great crouching beast. It had massive towers on the corners of the curtain walls, and the mass of it was bigger than anything either of them had ever seen. The small Welsh castles had nothing against this enormous Norman monstrosity, at least from their limited experience. As they drew close and the wind whistled and howled, Asmara was beginning to feel a distinct sense of foreboding.