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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The keep was the last frontier to search and they tackled it readily. Just as the pack of de Wolfe’s men, led by William himself, came charging up the exterior staircase, Penelope bolted from the entry. She collided with her father somewhere at the top of the steps and William had to grab her so they both wouldn’t pitch over the side.

  “Penny!” he gasped. “What happened? Are you well, lass?”

  Penelope had a tight grip on her father, but not because she had nearly fallen over the side of the steps; it was because she was afraid he was going to go rushing into the keep after de Shera. Given the conversation she had just had with the man, she wasn’t entirely sure her father, as an elderly knight with age-diminished reflexes, could best him. De Shera was indeed deadly and powerful. What she did was in protection of her father.

  “I am very well,” she assured him and the host of anxious faces around him. “De Shera and I were simply having a discussion. I am sorry to have frightened you.”

  William went from being thrilled to see her to exasperated with her explanation as to why, exactly, she had been missing. He scowled.

  “What do you mean you were having a discussion with him?” he demanded. “I have yet to introduce you two.”

  Penelope patted his arm patiently. “We came across each other earlier when I was looking for the privy,” she said. “We introduced ourselves and have been having a pleasant conversation.”

  William was doing a slow burn at that point. He was furious that Penelope had taken it upon herself to seek out her prospective groom and more furious that de Shera had evidently been a party to it. He had seen how conceited and confident the man was; he could only imagine how he had persuaded Penelope into his lair.

  “Pleasant conversation?” William repeated, his jaw flexing. “I cannot believe my ears.”

  “Why not?” Penelope asked innocently.

  William opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Bhrodi suddenly appeared through the entryway, the expression on his face one of great concern. He saw de Wolfe, and all of the heavily armed men behind him, and began to speak but William cut him off.

  “Given the fact that you and my daughter have not yet been formally introduced, when did it occur to you that having a conversation with her without the presence of chaperones would be a good idea?” he asked with thinly restrained rage. “Mayhap this is the way they do things in Wales, allowing unprotected women to be in the company of strange men, but in England we do things a little differently. We have care for our women’s safety and for their reputations.”

  Bhrodi could see that he was in a very bad position; de Wolfe was furious that Penelope had been alone with her prospective groom and had every right to be. Bhrodi wasn’t foolish; he had been taking a chance when speaking alone with the woman but he had considered it worth the risk. It was still well worth the risk because he had briefly come to know a woman of astonishing beauty and intelligence. However, protocols dictated chaperones and escorts upon such a meeting. Therefore, he was in a weak position to defend himself and struggled not to sound as if he was at de Wolfe’s mercy.

  “My lord, I assure you that nothing improper took place,” he said evenly. “I found the lady wandering in the bailey and we introduced ourselves. We were simply speaking on the current situation and on the future in general. I was preparing to escort her back to your encampment quite soon.”

  A small lie, but de Wolfe didn’t have to know that. Already the man was about to explode. Bhrodi could read the distrust and disgust in the man’s expression. But William was prevented from replying when Penelope stepped in.

  “Papa, nothing unseemly happened in the least,” she said, sounding irritated, as if her father had no basis for his anger. “Do you really think I would let it? Do you trust me so little that you would think I would allow a man I just met to take advantage of me?”

  William tore his gaze away from Bhrodi, looking at his small and agitated daughter. “You know better than to allow yourself alone with a man,” he rumbled, avoiding her questions and grasping her by the arm. “Come, now. We are returning to England on the morrow.”

  “Wait,” Bhrodi stepped forward, his expression one of concern. “What do you mean by that? You came here for a reason, de Wolfe. You came all the way to Wales to offer your daughter to me in marriage to cement an alliance. I will gladly accept your contract.”

  William was simmering with fury as he looked at Bhrodi. “I withdraw the offer,” he grumbled. “You are not worthy of my daughter, a man who would undermine propriety simply to gain his wants. You are a spoiled and insufficient man, de Shera. Edward will have to find you another bride if he wants an alliance.”

  He spelled out his intentions, leaving no doubt that the arrogant Welsh lord was an unsuitable match for Penelope. The decision had been made. But along with that declaration came the obvious; if they were not here on a peace mission, then they were in enemy territory. Tension filled the air as the de Wolfe knights began to form a protective barrier around William and his daughter. Without another word, the English contingent headed down the stairs except for Penelope; she dug her heels in, preventing her father from dragging her down the steps.

  “Papa, wait,” she insisted, forcing the man to come to a halt. “I agree that we should not have been alone in conversation, but I am glad that Lord de Shera and I were able to speak without you or Mamma hanging over us. There was much less pressure and it was an honest conversation. You know I was opposed to this marriage contract but after speaking with him, I… I do believe it might be an amiable agreement, after all.”

  William just looked at her and shook his head. He tugged on her arm, forcing her to take the top step. “Not now,” he grumbled. “Come with me.”

  Penelope grabbed the hand that was holding onto her and began to peel the fingers away. “Papa, stop,” she commanded, holding firm on the top stair. “I am not going anywhere until you listen to what I have to say.”

  William’s fury was gaining steam. “This is my decision, not yours,” he hissed. “It has been my decision from the beginning. You must trust that I know what is best for you and you will cease to shame me in front of everyone with your arguing.”

  Penelope jerked his hand free of her wrist and jumped back, out of his reach. “You are embarrassing me,” she snapped softly. “You are so stubborn, Papa. You did not listen to me when I told you I did not want to come here, so I came. Now that I am here, I believe you were correct in wanting to broker this marriage and I am willing to stay. Will you listen to me on something that will affect me for the rest of my life or will you ignore me as you have always done? You do not always know what is best for me, Papa. Sometimes, I can be correct, too. I am not an idiot.”

  William forced himself to draw in a deep, calming breath; he had to or else he would be putting her over his knee. Penelope was very much his daughter, clever and unafraid to speak her mind. He had raised her to think for herself. He had to keep reminding himself of that as his intense gaze fixed on her.

  “I know you are not an idiot,” he said. “But you are young. You do not understand fully what is in men’s hearts or who they truly are. De Shera used coercion to bring you inside where he could be alone with you; do you not understand that? He broke propriety for his selfish wants. If he wanted to speak with you, he should have waited until the time was right. I cannot abide by a man who will circumvent me to get at you.”

  Penelope lifted her eyebrows. “Just as you circumvented my mother’s intended husband those years ago so you could get at her?”

  It was a low stab, directly to William’s honor. Everyone in the north of England knew how The Wolfe had once been the captain of Lady Jordan’s intended husband those years ago. He carried on an affair with her until he was finally able to marry her. It was the legend of The Wolfe, long romanticized until reality and fiction blended. The truth was that William, long ago, had used subversion to be with the woman he loved. But the situation back then had been markedly differen
t; he wouldn’t allow Penelope to use that circumstance as a parallel comparison. There was no comparison at all.

  “I loved your mother,” he muttered. “Where love is concerned, anything can and will happen. But de Shera does not love you, Penny; he simply wanted to be alone with you and to compromise your reputation. God only knows what he would have done had your clandestine meeting with him been allowed to continue.”

  Her expression was serious. “Then you do not trust me?” she asked, hurt. “Do you truly think I would have allowed the man any liberties at all?”

  William sighed faintly, glancing at Paris and Kieran as he did so. “I trust you, love,” he said. “It is de Shera I have issue with.”

  “My lord, I swear to you I would not have molested her,” Bhrodi spoke up in his own defense; he had to. The fact that Penelope was defending him filled his heart with a joy he hadn’t felt in over two years. She was stirring something inside of him that he thought was long buried. “I will again reiterate the circumstances; Lady Penelope was standing alone in the bailey and we spoke. Because it was cold and misty, I invited her into the keep to offer some shelter. She sat on one side of the table and I sat on the other. I did indeed invite a beautiful woman into my keep, alone, but it was not for the reasons you think; it was because I very much wanted to speak to her, this woman whom you intend for me. I have not touched her, nor will I, until she is properly mine. This I swear on my oath as a knight, and on my ancestors as the kings of Anglesey. If you still do not believe me, then I suppose there is nothing left to discuss. But I will say one last thing; you insult me by believing I have only ill intent where it pertains to your daughter. If the situation was reversed and based upon your reputation alone, I would not have thought the same thing of you. I would have assumed you were honorable until proven otherwise.”

  They were prudent words, ones that William could not readily reject. De Shera made perfect sense and he could feel himself waver. Honorable until proven otherwise. In fact, the man had him dead to rights. Perhaps William was the one who was wrong in all of this. He had instantly assumed the worst, about everything. It was the zealous father in him, protecting his daughter against all harm regardless of the facts. Protecting her against an arrogant young lord who, if he was honest with himself, reminded him a good deal of himself when he was younger. Perhaps that was the problem all along; Bhrodi was much as he had been, once.

  William glanced at Penelope; she was looking at de Shera with a hint of respect in her expression. Coming from Penelope, that was like moving the Walls of Jericho; earning the woman’s respect was nearly impossible. William’s stance began to waver a little more and he sighed heavily, looking at all of the knights on the steps below him, men who rushed to do his bidding without question.

  His gaze traveled over Scott, big and brawny, and Troy, dark and tall, and to Patrick, who was an enormous mountain of man, and finally to Edward and Thomas, his youngest sons. Both of them were broad and dark, like their father. Sons he adored more than he could express, but then he looked at Penelope… God, could he really let her go? Was this something he was ready to do? He simply wasn’t sure. Perhaps he was looking for excuses not to let her out of his sight. Perhaps that was really what this was all about.

  “Very well,” he finally said, turning to look at Bhrodi. “Mayhap you are correct; mayhap I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. But if your daughter disappeared under similar circumstances, what would you think?”

  Bhrodi lifted his eyebrows. “What you thought,” he said honestly. “But I swear to you, once again, that nothing improper occurred. We were simply talking.”

  William gave up the fight; too much in him was uncertain right now. “I will believe you,” he said. “But I am taking Penelope to bed now. I am sure you understand.”

  Bhrodi nodded, taking a step or two towards William and Penelope, his gaze moving between the two of them. “Then may we discuss the contract on the morrow?” he asked hopefully. “I would very much like to.”

  William looked at his daughter; for once, he would give her the final word. It was her future, after all. Perhaps she needed to make the ultimate decision.

  Penelope met her father’s gaze, seeing sadness and hope and sorrow and adoration in it. She knew what he was feeling; it was written all over his face. Perhaps I do not want you to go, after all. But Penelope wasn’t of that mindset; the conversation with de Shera had opened her eyes to a great many things. He was arrogant, that was true, but he was also humorous and protective and loyal. She liked those qualities. She could envision herself tolerating such a husband and perhaps more; perhaps she would even be fond of him someday. Nay, she wasn’t opposed to the marriage contract in the least.

  “We will discuss it,” she said to her father, then looked at Bhrodi. “I must take my father to bed now. He has had a very eventful night and needs his rest.”

  Bhrodi grinned, noticing that a few of the English knights were grinning, too, but they quickly sobered when they realized de Shera was looking at them. Silently, the English wandered down the steps of the keep, leaving Bhrodi standing on the entry landing, watching about twenty Saesneg knights filter back towards their encampment.

  His gaze never left the small woman in the center of the pack as she clung to her father; the affection between them was obvious. Seeing that she was capable of such affection gave him hope that someday, perhaps he would know such warmth from her. Perhaps he would know happiness again.

  It had been a very eventful night, indeed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Penelope was squirming so much that her mother jabbed her with an iron pin for the tenth time that morning. This time, it was in the thigh and Penelope howled.

  “Mamma!” she cried, rubbing her stung leg. “You keep spearing me!”

  Jordan was at the end of her patience with her wriggly daughter. “If ye stood still, I wouldna stick ye,” she scolded. “For the love of God, Penny, stand still or we shall never be done with this!”

  In one of the two top floor chambers of Rhydilian’s keep, Jordan, Jemma, and Penelope were spread out all over the room. Trunks had been brought up from the tents and the chamber, once cold and dusty, had been cleaned and swept by Welsh servants to provide a suitable living space for the family of de Shera’s betrothed.

  A fire burned in the hearth and there were comfortable furnishings. It was a cozy chamber indeed, although the second chamber on the same floor was still one that had gone undisturbed. It still held bloodied linens and things from two years ago, not touched since then. Although Bhrodi had been willing to put Penelope on the top floor, he was still unwilling to disturb the indisturbable chamber. It sat, cold and silent still.

  The past two days had seen some progress, however, on the marital front. After forty-eight hours of negotiations, of William laying down his boundaries for Penelope’s dowry and of Bhrodi declaring he wasn’t so interested in her money as he was in additional manpower as part of the bargain, it had been two solid days and nights of bartering until both parties were satisfied with the outcome. It was then, and only then, that Bhrodi opened up the entire upper floor of the keep for his future wife and her kin. Now, the real preparations began in earnest and messengers were sent out with invitations and announcements to local chieftains.

  While William, Paris, Scott, and Troy slept off the effects of the marathon bargaining session they had all participated in to varying degrees, the rest of the English camp was preparing for a wedding. Bhrodi, after about an hour’s worth of sleep, took several of his men and three of Penelope’s brothers on a hunting expedition to provide meat for the wedding feast while others in the English contingent polished armor and made other preparations. Bhrodi’s men, for the most part, went about their usual duties while servants made ready the hall for the festivities. The priest was expected on the morrow and a great wedding would take place. Rhydilian had not seen so much activity in years. The old fortress in the heart of the Pendraeth Forest was alive once again. T
here was hope in the air.

  But Penelope wasn’t happy with the dress her mother had brought for her, one that was too small in the bust line and too narrow in the hips. It had been Jordan’s wedding dress, in fact, a beautiful garment of pale ivory silk embroidered with gold thread around the cuff of the sleeves, the hem of the full skirt, and around the neckline. Jordan and Jemma had been trying to fit it to Penelope’s curvy figure but Penelope had no patience for such things. She hated surcoats, shifts, corsets, delicate shoes, and anything else feminine, so it was a struggle for her to be patient through all of it.

  When Jordan finally finished pinning and peeled the garment from Penelope’s body, the girl, clad only in a shift and hose, threw herself onto the nearest bed while Jordan and Jemma sat down next to one another and continued working on the alterations together. Penelope was fidgety and bored, a bad combination.

  “I wanted to go hunting,” she said wistfully, her gaze moving to the lancet window and the bright blue sky beyond. It was a cool day with puffy clouds scattered across the sky. “Do you suppose they have gone anywhere near that marsh?”

  Jordan shuddered. “I hope not,” she said. “Yer da said that de Shera told him the beastie had been there for many generations, brought by the Northmen when they sailed these shores.”

  “I seem to recall hearing a similar tale of a beastie far to the north of Scotland,” Jemma said, concentrating on the stitches she was making. “I seem to remember me da telling me stories of it. Do ye remember, Jordie? It was a tale of St. Columba and how he vanquished a beastie from the River Ness. Do ye think the beastie came down here to Wales, then? Mayhap he found another home.”

  Jordan shrugged as she fixed the stitching on one of the sleeves. “A Scots beastie would never come tae Wales,” she declared. “The animal has too much taste. He would stay in Scotland.”