She was well protected against the chill as she wrapped herself up in a big shawl that belonged to her mother. It smelled like Jordan and Penelope took great comfort from it. Swaddled in the shawl and her leather and fur robe, she was insulated against the cold as she opened the wagon door and took the five wooden steps down into the bailey. The mist, growing thicker by the moment, cloaked her as she made her way to the tent where her parents were still bickering.
Penelope lingered outside the tent flap for a moment, listening to her mother scold her father about something. Most of it was in Gaelic, which Penelope understood somewhat, and from what she could tell, her mother wanted her father to fight someone. Probably de Shera from the way they were talking; something about the meeting hadn’t gone well at all.
Penelope didn’t want to get in the middle of it, mostly because she knew she would only exacerbate the problem, so it would be best to stay clear of her mother and father until they decided what to do about it. They both knew her position on it so one more opinion to the situation wouldn’t help. When she heard her Aunt Jemma pipe up, she moved swiftly away from the tent. With Aunt Jemma in any argument, things were likely to get lively and she didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. She wondered if she should go for her Uncle Kieran; he was usually the only one who could calm Jemma. But her better sense told her to just stay away.
So, she did. Penelope rounded the tent and moved through the very tight collection of shelters that dotted the eastern portion of Rhydilian’s bailey. She passed by her brothers’ tent, hearing them muttering inside and moved past the tent belonging to her Uncle Paris. Just as she passed by, Apollo emerged.
“You, there,” he called softly. “Where do you think you are going? You are not running away, are you?”
Apollo had his father’s sense of humor and his mother’s red-headed looks. He was one of her favorite cousins with his ready smile and gentle manner.
“And if I am?” she retorted.
He made a wry face. “I will be forced to stop you.”
“You can try.”
She was grinning as she said it and he shook his head. “Nay,” he said, putting up his hands in surrender. “You take too much pleasure fighting with me. Where are you going, anyway?”
Penelope shrugged. “I thought to search for the privy,” she said. “I am going to assume it is near or in the great hall over there.”
Apollo glanced in the direction of the big stone hall with the sharply angled thatched roof, now shrouded in mist. “Mayhap,” he said. “Shall I escort you?”
Penelope shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I do not need you.”
Apollo grinned. “You never have needed of us, Penny. You are too independent for your own good.”
“Will you be sorry to see me go, Apollo?”
He shook his head firmly. “I will wish the man the best of luck. He will need it.”
Penelope grinned and balled her fist at him, but she continued on. The mist seemed to be heavier now as she wandered across the bailey, glancing up at the sentries on the walls with their torches and knowing that Apollo was watching her from afar. The boys were always watching her from afar to make sure she didn’t come to any harm. It used to annoy her badly and it still did, so she ducked behind the D-shaped keep in order to break the man’s line of sight. When she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore, she moved into the shadows of the great stone wall, moist with the mist and slick with moss, and headed in the direction of the cold and dark hall.
As she had hoped, there was indeed a garderobe in the great hall; there were two, in fact, built into the thickness of the wall with chutes that emptied out into a great hole to the north side of the structure. When Penelope emerged from the hall, she could see that the entire north side of the hall was perched on what seemed to be a precipice; the bailey angled very sharply down the rocky slope and the walls were built to accommodate not only the drop, but the rocks, and the river of muck from the garderobe ran down the hill and collected far away. It was a very odd portion of the bailey and she stood a moment, studying the drop and the rocky terrain, as the mist settled down upon it. It was becoming very thick now. Pulling the shawl more tightly around her neck and shoulders, Penelope turned around and plowed directly into a big, warm body.
Startled, Penelope gasped and instinctively jumped back, grabbing for the dirk she always kept strapped to her upper left arm, just above the elbow. The dirk came out in a flash but a massive armored arm blocked it, knocking it from her grip. Penelope was about to launch into full battle mode until she saw the face of her accoster. She stilled her fighting inclination but she made sure to back away from him at the same time. She put obvious distance between them.
“You again?” she asked, sounding displeased. “What are you doing here?”
Bhrodi gazed back at her, his emerald eyes glimmering. “I live here,” he said, a hint of humor in his tone. “What are you doing here?”
Penelope eyed the man; he was certainly enormous and strong, and his reflexes were cat-like and swift. He was also rather handsome if she allowed herself to think on it, but that thought disturbed her greatly so she pushed it aside. She didn’t want to think the man handsome. He was annoying and she didn’t like the way he looked at her; there was something rather lusty reflected in the dark green depths. It unnerved her and intrigued her at the same time.
“Looking,” she said simply. “I am leaving now. Good eve to you.”
She pushed past him and Bhrodi watched her go. “I surely have that effect on you,” he said. “The last time we met, you ran off, too.”
Penelope paused to look at the man. “You gave me little choice,” she pointed out. “I asked you to release me and you did not. Therefore, I was forced to break free.”
Bhrodi cocked his head, perhaps in agreement. “I am sorry that you find me so terrible and disgusting that you would bolt from my arms,” he said. “Most women do not think so.”
It was a horribly arrogant statement but one that brought a twitch of a smile to Penelope’s lips; with six older brothers, she had heard her share of conceit. It was always great fun to cut them down to size.
“I am not most women,” she said, her gaze moving over his enormously broad shoulders. They weren’t unappealing, in fact. “Good eve to you, my lord.”
“Wait,” Bhrodi took a step after her as she tried to walk away again. When she paused to look at him, he offered a weak smile as if he really didn’t have much more to say but didn’t want her leaving just yet. “Won’t you tell me your name?”
“No.”
“What can I do to wrest it from you? Jewels? Money? A promise of servitude?”
He was being funny and she struggled not to smile. “There is nothing you can do,” she said. “I am afraid you will have to go the rest of your life wondering who I am.”
“Can I guess?”
“No.”
“Why not? Surely there is no harm in guessing.”
There was a game afoot and even though Penelope knew she should return to the safety of her encampment, she found herself staying, if only to shoot arrows into the man’s overinflated ego. She could tell he was very sure of himself. It made him rather attractive, actually. There was something impish in his expression.
“You could never guess in a thousand years,” she said. “You will embarrass yourself trying.”
Bhrodi cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he said, pondering. “That is a bold statement.”
“Mayhap.”
His grin broke through, a beautiful smile that revealed a row of straight, white teeth. Penelope felt her heart race at the sight, just a little.
“You are obviously English,” he said. “Did I get that much correct?”
“You did.”
“Since you do not know who I am, do you want to guess, too?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not care.”
He burst out laughing, putting a hand ov
er his chest as if she had mortally wounded him. “Ouch,” he gasped, pretending he was having difficulty breathing. He began to go through exaggerated death throes. “Cannot… speak… the wound… it is great.”
Penelope bit her lip to keep from smiling. “You will survive,” she said confidently. “Do you have any other silly questions for me?”
He put out a hand, either to stop her from speaking or to beg a pause. His other hand was still over his heart and he continued to wince dramatically.
“I am not finished with my pains yet,” he grunted. “Your aim is sound.”
“Of course it is.”
He grunted and groaned. “Why would you say that?”
She was enjoying his performance, and the game in general, so much so that she wasn’t as cognizant of her answers as she should have been. “Because I am a knight from a long line of great knights,” she said. “My aim is always true.”
He stopped posturing and looked at her. “A knight from a long line of great knights,” he repeated. “The greatest English knight at Rhydilian is de Wolfe. Are you related to him, perchance?”
Penelope’s smile fled and her cheeks flushed. He’d nearly caught her, damn him! She pulled the shawl more tightly about her and began to turn away, hunting for the dirk he had knocked from her hand.
“I will not tell you,” she said. “It is cold and I must return. Good eve to you.”
Bhrodi took three enormous strides and was right behind her. “Please,” he begged softly, fearful of grasping her should she respond by trying to stab him again. “Do not go. I did not mean to be so forward. I simply want to know who you are.”
When Penelope realized he was right behind her, she snatched her dirk off of the ground and whirled on him, pointing the dirk at his chest.
“You are bold to be so close to an armed woman,” she said, the humor gone from her tone. “I will ask you to please leave me alone.”
Bhrodi came to a halt, watching her as she backed away from him. He was genuinely sorry, and rather ashamed, that he hadn’t warmed her to him. He’d felt sure he could accomplish it and it was a significant blow to his male pride to realize she had not instantly fallen for him.
“I cannot,” he said simply.
Penelope was still backing away. “You’d better,” she said. “My father will not like it if….”
She stopped herself from continuing, furious that she had let it slip about her father. Ever the shrewd tactician, Bhrodi pounced on the information. Like a good warrior, he took advantage of his adversary’s weakness and Penelope knew she had given him more fuel for the information he sought.
“Your father is here?” he asked, sounding rather eager. “Who is he that I may speak to him?”
She scowled as she continued to move away. “Speak to him about what?”
Bhrodi followed at a safe distance. “About you, of course.”
“What about me?”
Bhrodi came to a halt. “I find you astonishingly beautiful and very intelligent,” he said. “Mayhap your father will sell you to me.”
Penelope came to a halt, outraged. “Sell me?” she repeated. “Sirrah, you overstep yourself. I am not a slave to be bartered!”
Bhrodi gazed at her, a faint smile on his lips. “Nay,” he said softly, “but mayhap you are a bride to be negotiated. You have his eyes, you know.”
Off-balance, Penelope wasn’t sure what to say. “Who?”
“De Wolfe’s.”
Penelope came to a halt. So he knew; well, she’d as much as told him with her foolish answers to his questions. She’d tried to be clever but he, in fact, was cleverer. He had played her soundly and gained the upper hand. There was nothing left to do now but surrender. She sighed heavily and put the dirk down.
“What do you know of him?” she asked.
Bhrodi shrugged faintly. “I know he has come to Rhydilian with a bride for de Shera.”
“And what do you know of de Shera?” she wanted to know, sounding exasperated. “Does he spread his business around so that everyone knows why we are here?”
Bhrodi shook his head, the smile still on his lips. “He does not,” he said. “But I am sure if he knew it was you he would be receiving as a bride, he would be most receptive.”
Penelope eyed him. “Why do you say that?”
Bhrodi’s grin broadened. “Because I have never seen such a magnificent woman,” he said simply. “Does your father truly allow you to fight as a man? I find that utterly astonishing. Did he, in fact, expect it from you because of who he is?”
Penelope didn’t know what to say. The heat coming from the man’s eyes was unnerving enough, now with the rather gentle voice behind it. Everything about him was unnerving and her heart was thumping loudly against her ribs. She could feel… something from him. Like invisible fingers, she could feel something from the man reaching out to grab her.
“Please,” she said softly, quickly sheathing the dirk as she turned away from him. “I really must go or you shall have de Wolfe’s entire contingent down around your ears.”
“You would not protect me?” he asked softly.
She paused to look at him. “You do not look as if you need protecting.”
“But as my wife, it would be expected of you.”
Penelope’s eyes widened. “Your wife?” she spat. “What madness is this?”
He smiled, his expression surprisingly gentle. “No madness, I assure you,” he said quietly. “I am de Shera. Now, will you again tell me you are not de Wolfe’s daughter and my intended?”
Penelope stared at him, realizing he indeed knew everything. There was no point in being coy any longer; in fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. Perhaps she wanted him to know. Perhaps it was all part of this silly but charming game he had been playing with her all along. Softly, she sighed, and stopped trying to run off. She found she was willing to face him.
“I am Penelope de Wolfe,” she said softly. “I fight with my father because I have always fought with my father, as the daughter of a great knight. He should not have allowed me to train as a knight but he could not deny me; he has never been able to deny me except one time.”
Bhrodi was thoroughly, utterly upswept in her soft voice and the expression on her face. “When was that?”
Her hazel eyes were fixed on him. “When I told him I did not want to marry the Welsh prince.”
His gentle expression didn’t change. “Do you still object to marrying me?”
Penelope shrugged, a vague gesture. She seemed to be quite caught up in the man and his thoroughly magnetic pull. Those invisible fingers were pulling at her again.
“I do not know,” she said honestly. “I would be lying if I did not express some fear at all of this.”
His smile was back. “Fear?” he replied. “I do not believe it. You do not seem as if you have ever been fearful of anything in your life. The courage you displayed earlier this evening when you fought the beast was more than I have seen in most men. It was both impressive and astonishing.”
Penelope thought back to that terrifying moment and the reflection unsettled her. “You saw that?”
“I saw it all.”
Her confidence, so strong during their entire encounter, began to waver. Perhaps it was her guard coming down, just a little.
“What was that creature?” she asked, as if he could supply all of the answers.
Bhrodi gestured in the direction of the keep. “It is much warmer inside,” he said. “If you will come inside, I should be happy to tell you what I know.”
“I do not believe I should.”
“Please?”
It was a very polite request, one she could have easily denied. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Something about his expression stilled her tongue. Perhaps she wanted to speak with him, just a little. Perhaps it was nothing more than pure, insatiable curiosity. In any case, she found herself agreeing.
In silence, she followed de Shera into the keep.
Penelope and Bhrodi ended up in the small hall of Rhydilian’s keep, a half-rounded room that occupied the entire second floor of the structure. At this late hour, it was dark and still, with the fire burning low in the very tall hearth and a haze of smoke from the malfunctioning chimney lingering up near the ceiling. It was very quiet, quiet enough for two people to have an uninterrupted conversation, which Bhrodi very much wanted to have. Penelope, however, was not so sure.
Seated at the small table near the hearth with a few dogs sleeping at their feet, Penelope sat across from Bhrodi because he had tried to sit next to her, twice, but she had moved away both times. Therefore, he was content to gaze at her from across the table. Like a beautiful, skittish mare, she would not let him come any closer. As long as she wasn’t running away he was satisfied, but now came the important part; keeping her engaged in the conversation so she wouldn’t grow bored and leave. Bhrodi immediately lapsed into tales of the beast from the marsh.
“When I was a child, I was not allowed to go near the marshes at all because of the beast you saw this evening,” he said as they settled down in their seats. “My mother would forbid it. Of course, when you are a child and your mother forbids you anything, it is imperative that you disobey her. Am I not correct in that assumption?”
Penelope fought off a smile. “In my house, it was the opposite,” she replied. “If we disobeyed my mother, then we were in for a row.”
Bhrodi smiled faintly. “And you have a large family?”
She nodded. “There are nine of us,” she said. “I am the youngest.”
Bhrodi pondered the information. “I would imagine having a large family makes you feel as if you belong to something,” he said. “As if you are a part of something big.”
Penelope shrugged. “It does, I suppose,” she said. “But my siblings were all so much older than I was that sometimes I felt like an only child.”
Bhrodi lifted his eyebrows in understanding. “I have no brothers, although I have a younger sister,” he said. “Many times I wished for more siblings, but it was not to be.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 286
