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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Quick as a flash, Penelope unsheathed her broadsword, the one she had fallen on when the horse had dumped her. There was nowhere to run or hide as the enormous head of the beast began to reach for her; if she turned her back on it to run away, it would surely kill her, and she couldn’t run fast enough to get out of the reach of its very long neck. Therefore, she stood her ground as a trained warrior would, watching the thing come down on her and waiting until the last second to roll away, away from the momentum of the lurching head. As it slammed to the ground beside her, she lifted her sword and jammed the blade straight into the baleful right eye.

  The creature screamed, a howl that was so loud it nearly ruptured her eardrums, and her broadsword remained stuck in the beast’s eye as it reared up and screamed in pain. Terrified, Penelope scrambled to her feet and began to run, running so hard and so fast that she dare not look behind her. As she ran for the safety of the nearby trees, men on horseback raced past her, heading for the animal. All except one; he pulled his horse up as she ran past him and bailed off of the animal, grabbing her on the arm.

  Her momentum sent them both to the ground. Penelope was in a flurry of panic, beating at the man who held her, struggling to get away from his grip. But his embrace was like iron; he was a very big man and extraordinarily strong.

  “Let me go!” she howled. “We must run from this place! It will come back!”

  The knight held on tightly. “Easy,” he said, laboring to calm her. “You’ll not run that way. There is only more swamp and many ways to drown.”

  Penelope had stopped fighting him but she was still struggling. “Please,” she begged. “We must get away from here. That beast will surely return.”

  The man sat up, pulling her with him. His dark green eyes were on the scene in the distance; the creature with a broadsword in its eye had quickly submerged and his men were standing on the edge of the marsh, waiting and watching for the beast’s return. But his attention was more on the knight he had grabbed than the beast; he had no idea it was a woman until she spoke and now, his curiosity had the better of him.

  He studied her intently in the silver moonlight; her dark hair was pulled back against her skull, braided and pinned behind her head. He hadn’t noticed her hair until now; she must have had a lot of it because the bun and the braid were very thick. At close range, he could see her exquisite features with a pert nose and seductive, long-lashed eyes. She was a remarkable beauty, even in the dark, but she was also wearing heavy mail, portions of plate armor that was custom –fitted to her body, and a scabbard for the sword she had just launched into the beast’s eye. His curiosity turned to confusion.

  “You… you are not a knight,” he stated the obvious. “Who are you?”

  Penelope looked at the man, hearing the disapproval and hazard in his tone. She resumed her attempts to pull away from him. “I am with William de Wolfe,” she said, avoiding giving him an answer for the most part. “Who are you?”

  Bhrodi wasn’t going to tell her; at this point, he really didn’t want anyone to know. He still wasn’t sure he wanted de Wolfe here and certainly didn’t want to meet the man on a level playing field, here out in the middle of the marsh as they fought off The Serpent. He wanted to meet the man in his great hall where he had the upper hand and the perception of being in control in his own castle.

  “A man who has saved your life,” he said, eyeing the mail hood about her shoulders. “What are you doing dressed as a knight? Where is your husband that he would let you dress like this?”

  Penelope could see he was more interested in what she was than who she was. Still, she didn’t like the questions. She didn’t like his tone. But there was something in the depths of his dark green eyes that smoldered at her, like the glowing embers of a raging fire that were waiting to be rekindled. There was something very unsettling and powerful about the man, something that was starting to shake her.

  “What was that… that creature?” she asked, instinctively shrinking away from him.

  He sat next to her, watching her pull away. His grip tightened. He didn’t want her going anywhere. After a moment, he stood up and pulled her up next to him. “Where is de Wolfe?” he asked, ignoring the question. He could hear the shouts of men in the distance. “I want to know why this man lets you fight for him. Are the English so desperate for knights that they are now recruiting women?”

  Penelope had enough of his condescending attitude. She tried to yank her hand away but he held fast. “He lets me fight for him because I am a warrior,” she said snappishly. “Let me go immediately or you will not like my reaction.”

  Bhrodi looked at her, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Is that so?” he said. “I would like to see your reaction, in fact.”

  “Nay, you would not.”

  “I think I would.”

  Those eyes were pulling at her again, stronger than before. There was something in the glimmer that made her heart skip a beat. But she was also incredibly frustrated, fearful and angry to boot, so she lashed out a fist and nearly caught him in the neck. Bhrodi was too fast for her, however, and managed to move out of the line of fire just in time. Penelope’s momentum took her forward and he got in behind her, wrapping her up in a bear hug. Infuriated, Penelope threw her head backwards, right into his face, and hit him squarely in the nose. Stars danced before Bhrodi’s eyes but he didn’t release her. Something about the tussle excited him. Something about her intrigued him.

  I can feel her heat through the mail, he thought even as his nose throbbed with the blow. He could feel the blood begin to trickle. Trapped against him, Penelope stomped on his foot, hard enough to cause him to flinch and loosen his grip. As she threw herself forward to get away, Bhrodi reached out and snatched her by the hair, pulling loose the bun and sending the iron pins flying.

  Penelope was furious to realize he had her by her long, thick braid, now like a leash in his hand. Turning around, she flew at him with hands and feet, ably landing some blows because he was handicapped with only one free hand. Still, he was able to very adequately defend himself and he never made any attempt to strike her in return; he simply prevented her from doing any further damage to him. When she came too close, he managed to block a series of strikes and spin her around, trapping her yet again. This time, he had her hair wound around one of his big fists and her head was against his chest. He wasn’t about to put himself in a position where she could head-butt him again.

  “That was a good reaction,” he admitted. “Had you caught me off guard, you might have done real damage. You are skilled for a woman.”

  Angry, insulted, Penelope struggled against his iron grip. “I am skilled for anyone, man or woman,” she said. “Let me go, do you hear?”

  “Not until you tell me your name.”

  “I will not tell you my name.”

  “Then we will be here for a very long time. I will not release you until you tell me who you are and why you fight for de Wolfe.”

  “I’ll not tell you anything!”

  He didn’t reply for a moment and Penelope knew that was not a good sign. So far, he had proved to be cunning and powerful, and she knew he was about to turn those attributes against her. Unfortunately, she was correct; abruptly, the knight picked her up and, still clutched against his torso, began to walk towards the marsh.

  “Tell me or I’ll throw you to the beast,” he said.

  Penelope could see the ghostly silver expanse of marsh drawing closer and her heart began to race with fear. “Never!”

  “Then the beast will enjoy your tasty flesh.”

  With a furious and frightened shriek, Penelope went mad, kicking at his legs savagely until she made contact with his knees. It was enough of a blow to cause him to lose his balance and together, they fell into the soft, marshy earth. Penelope fell beneath him and Bhrodi’s entire body weight came crashing down upon her. Even though she had on mail and pieces of armor, it hadn’t prevented the full impact of his substantial weight. Momentarily stunned an
d unable to breathe, she lay there gasping.

  The humor was out of his expression when he realized how hard he had fallen on her. Releasing her hair, he pushed himself up and looked at her with worry.

  “Are you well?” he asked, concerned in spite of himself. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Penelope didn’t respond; she continued to gasp for air, but after the first few moments, it was all an act. He had released her and she wasn’t about to let down her guard. She wanted to get away from him. Peering through slitted eyes, she saw that he was rather close to her, his brow slightly furrowed upon his darkly handsome face. When he opened his mouth to ask her again, she reared up and hit him squarely in the throat.

  Bhrodi fell onto his back, gasping savagely for air as Penelope bolted to her feet and raced off into the darkness. He continued to lay there, struggling to breathe, until his men came around and found him there some time later.

  They had no idea why Bhrodi was on the ground, laughing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “It has guarded the pass through Pendraeth Forest since ages past and it always emerges on the full moon to feed. Your party was in the wrong place at the wrong time and it is fortunate there were not any deaths as a result.”

  In the great hall of Rhydilian Castle that smelled heavily of smoke and dogs, William and his knights stood just inside the doorway as a man standing near the enormous hearth lectured them. They had just arrived at Rhydilian as a result of their flight from the marsh and William was in no mood for foolery. The entire night had been unnerving and exhausting, and his usually calm temper was in danger of flaring because it was clear that Bhrodi de Shera was not happy to see the English upon his doorstep. Instead of polite Welsh hospitality, they were receiving a lashing.

  “I will not speak another word until I know who it is I am addressing,” William said, his tone a growl. “Although I am deeply appreciative of your protection for my people this night, your behavior since I have walked within these walls has been rude and arrogant. I am a lord with titles and honor and will not tolerate your discourteous behavior any longer. Either you bring me de Shera or I will turn and ride from here. I do not speak with hired men on a matter of such importance.”

  Bhrodi was standing near the flames with Ivor, Ianto, Yestin, and Gwyllim. Since the moment they had returned from the marshes near Llyn Llwydiarth, he had purposely kept the English waiting and when he did speak to de Wolfe, it was without introduction. He was making his displeasure at their uninvited appearance known but he wasn’t willing to push it too far; there was a part of him that wanted peace, an alliance, although it was difficult to admit it. Only since he had aided the English in chasing off the beast from the marsh had he really given it serious thought.

  Oddly, it had felt empowering fighting with The Wolfe and not against him. He rather liked the feeling when he should not have. There was a sense of unity and strength, something he’d never known with the Saesneg. Indeed, perhaps he needed to give the marriage proposal more consideration. Perhaps it was time to ease his rough stance and show the English a measure of welcome.

  With a faint sigh, Bhrodi moved away from the flames and in William’s direction. His gaze was intense upon the enormous man with the eye patch. He knew he was looking at a legend; the entire room filled with the presence of de Wolfe the moment the man passed through the doors. There was no mistaking such power.

  “I am de Shera,” he finally said, “and you, my lord, are William de Wolfe. I was raised on stories of your valor. Even Welshmen respect you.”

  William eyed the very big, and very muscular, young lord. He was dark, like the Welsh, but he had eyes the color of emeralds that looked strangely bright on his shadowed face. The most predominant feature about the man that struck William was the size of de Shera’s shoulders; the man was tall, although he’d seen taller, but the pure muscular width of his shoulders and chest was truly something to behold. The only men he’d ever seen close to that kind of power were Kieran and Kieran’s son, Kevin. De Shera radiated nothing but pure, unadulterated power. So many master races culminated in de Shera; English, Welsh, Norse, and Irish. The powerful qualities of each race filled him. The man was bred to kill.

  But he also radiated a sense of entitlement and arrogance; William could see it in his face. De Shera spoke with a deep, succinct voice, as if there was no room for discussion or debate because he knew better than everyone else. Therefore, William had suspected the man’s identity all along but he wanted a formal introduction. He didn’t like being treated like a lesser class because he was English; it was simply good manners.

  “If that is true, then why have you treated me so poorly since my arrival?” he asked after a moment. “You show your respect in strange ways.”

  Bhrodi smiled wryly. “And you appear in places you have not yet been invited to.”

  William wouldn’t back down, especially not to a Welshman regardless of his titles. “I am here on the directive of my king. If you have issues with whether or not I was invited, then I suggest you take it up with Edward.”

  Bhrodi’s smile turned real. “I intend to,” he said. “And I will thank him for sending The Wolfe to my doorstep. In spite of the circumstances, I would say that it is an honor for us both.”

  William couldn’t help it; the man’s arrogance was astounding and he cocked an eyebrow at the comment. “How kind,” he said, although he didn’t mean it and they all knew it. “Now, let us return to the subject at hand when I had entered the hall; what was that… that beast that attacked us? I have never heard of such a thing in all of my travels.”

  Bhrodi didn’t seem too concerned about it; he lifted those enormous shoulders in response. “As I said, it has guarded the pass through Pendraeth Forest for as long as anyone can recall,” he said. “My grandfather used to tell me the Northmen brought it with them hundreds of years ago, a serpent that had followed them from their land who then took up residency in the marshes. It remains in the marshes, and in the lake at the base of the mountain, and it feeds when the moon is full although it has been known to expose itself in the daylight. Surely you’ve heard of The Serpent in these parts.”

  “I thought that was you.”

  Bhrodi’s intense eyes focused on him. “It is me,” he said. “Some say my family draws strength from the serpent of the lake; therefore, I am also called The Serpent. The beast and the lake and I are one and the same. We are both deadly.”

  It was a hugely egotistical statement and William resisted the urge to roll his eye. Paris, however, was not so discreet; he clearly rolled his eyes, glancing to Kieran as he did so. The two old men looked at each other, displaying expressions that suggested they’d had enough conceit for one day. William caught sight of Paris’ antics and hastened to keep Bhrodi’s attention away from it. He didn’t want the man becoming angry with the posturing of the elderly English knights.

  “As your reputation would suggest and I will not dispute,” he said, moving closer to the man and stepping on Paris’ foot in the process. It was a hard pinch, one that suggested the man keep his opinions off his face. He could hear Paris grunt in pain. “But surely that creature has not lived for hundreds of years. Nothing can live that long. It is quite clearly a living, breathing animal and not one of magic.”

  If Bhrodi had noticed the elderly knights and their impatience with him, he didn’t acknowledge it. Evidently, only The Wolfe was worthy of his attention.

  “Nay, it is not magic,” he agreed, his voice quieting. “Truthfully, my grandfather has spoken of it and he said his father before him did as well, but that is as far back as the legend goes. Mayhap it did not come with the Northmen hundreds of years ago as my grandfather said; in fact, the Northmen still come to these parts on occasion, although they have not attacked in recent memory. Have you seen their long ships? Often they have serpent’s heads carved upon the bow to break the waves. That is why my grandfather believes the Northmen brought that serpent with them and left it here to terrorize us.”r />
  William still wasn’t convinced, of anything. “And that is all you know about it?”

  “That is all I will tell you.”

  It was an evasive answer but William didn’t pursue it. Whatever the creature was, either de Shera wouldn’t tell him all of it, or couldn’t tell him all of it. What mattered now was that they had survived the attack and were now in Rhydilian’s great hall, facing a man with more royal and noble blood in him than most. William tried to keep that in perspective because he wasn’t at all sure he liked or even respected the man for the way they had all been treated.

  “Then I will again thank you for riding to our aid,” he finally said. “We had no idea such things even existed and surely no ideas on how to fight it off.”

  “Fire is the only thing that works.”

  “I deduced that.”

  Bhrodi held the man’s gaze for a moment, sensing something edgy in the old, one-eyed knight. He had no doubt that, if challenged, de Wolfe could quite easily put a blade in his belly. Men like de Wolfe had lived to a ripe old age for good reason. Perhaps now it was time to ease the standoffishness and create a more sociable atmosphere. This was a gathering of peace, after all. It was time to be hospitable.

  “I suppose we should discuss the reasons for your visit,” he said, turning his back and motioning to Ianto, who disappeared into the shadows. “Please be seated and be comfortable. I will have food and drink brought to you.”

  It was the first real show of hospitality and William motioned to his men; Kieran, Paris, Kevin, Scott, Troy, Patrick, and Paris’ son, Apollo, cautiously moved towards the feasting table in the middle of the room, chipped and worn with age, and began to sit. They, like William, were perturbed by de Shera’s attitude and slightly hostile as a result. The younger knights eyed de Shera’s men as they claimed their seats, feeling the uncertain mood settle. They were in enemy lands in an enemy castle. Anything could happen, and they would not be caught off guard.