“The poor and troubled pig,” he said as he came off the narrow staircase that led into the kitchens. “What did he ever do to you that you should sever his head so cleanly?”
Startled at his abrupt appearance, Penelope tried not to look too guilty as she thrust the butcher’s axe at Awen. She wanted to get it out of her hands quickly, knowing that Bhrodi wasn’t too keen on her continuing her knightly pursuits. She smiled weakly at him as she made her way in his direction.
“I….,” she stammered, looking at the women around her and silently begging forgiveness for the lie she was about to tell. “I came down to the kitchens to supervise the meal and… well, as you know, it is a skill I need to learn and… and… they were having difficulty butchering the pig so I offered to… well, I was helping.”
She was so nervous that Bhrodi laughed softly and touched her gently on the cheek. “You did a very good job,” he said. “Shall we go to the hall and prepare for the meal? I invited your brother and the other English knight to join us if they are able. Mayhap they will.”
Penelope was confused at his lack of a scolding. She was fairly certain he didn’t believe her about helping but, to his credit, he didn’t dispute her. Just as he hadn’t when he had overheard Kevin begging her to run away with him. Either Bhrodi didn’t like confrontation, he didn’t care, or he simply chose his battles wisely. Penelope didn’t know him well enough to know which it truly was but she was coming to suspect it was the latter.
All things considered, he had been extremely gracious in two situations where he would have had every right to become cross with her. In fact, he’d never become cross with her at all, not once. That told Penelope that Bhrodi had an exceptionally accepting nature, which was surprising for a warlord with such a terrible reputation. Or perhaps he was only accepting when it came to her. She wondered.
The feasting hall was littered with fresh rushes and a collection of dogs hovered beneath the table, knowing the meal time was approaching. They could smell the food on the floor below. As Bhrodi and Penelope emerged from the narrow stairs that led up from the kitchens, they were just in time to see the old uncle burst from his wardrobe and begin his furious dance about the room.
Oh, but it was a vicious battle this night. The old man was working feverishly against an unseen enemy, cutting and slashing, fighting his ghostly foe. Bhrodi wasn’t paying much attention to him, as usual, but Penelope was. She found it rather fascinating that the man had been doing the same thing, like clockwork, for over thirty years. She watched him as he remained in the shadows, in the darkness, barely emerging into the light. In fact, it seemed as if whenever he neared the light, he deliberately veered away.
This night, however, he seemed to be heading towards the darkened foyer of the keep’s entry. It was very dark in the entry and the old man danced and shrieked his way towards that small room. At one point, he fell to his knees and grabbed his gut as if he had just been terribly gored. Moaning and groaning, he struggled to his feet just about the time Thomas emerged from the upper floors. The young knight came off the stairs into the darkened hall and came up behind the old man. When the old man, acting out a grievous injury, looked up to see the knight, he screamed like a woman.
Startled, Thomas jumped back, away from the old man who suddenly produced a dirk and slashed at him. Bhrodi was up, running in their direction as Thomas, who truly had no idea who, or what, the old man was, lashed out a big fist and knocked the dirk out of the old man’s hand. The elderly man fell to the ground, screaming, as he crawled back towards his wardrobe. Bhrodi put out a hand to Thomas to prevent him from pursuing, putting himself between the English knight and his insane old uncle.
“Hold fast,” he told the young knight, watching the old man crawl away. “He cannot help what he has done. He is my grandfather’s brother and quite mad.”
Thomas was in battle mode, his brow furrowed as he watched the skinny old man drag himself into the wardrobe and close the door. Incredulous, he looked at Bhrodi.
“What is he doing?” he demanded. “He pulled a dirk on me!”
Bhrodi nodded patiently, holding out a hand to indicate the feasting table where Penelope was sitting.
“I know,” he said. “Please come in and sit. I will explain everything to you.”
Keeping a wary eye on the wardrobe, Thomas came into the hall and sat next to his sister, who looked anxiously upon him.
“Are you unharmed?” she asked, concerned. “He did not catch you with the dirk, did he?”
Thomas shook his head; his left arm was still heavily wrapped and he rubbed his right hand over the bindings.
“Nay,” he said. “I doubt anything less than a broadsword would nick me through these wrappings. They would make fine armor.”
Bhrodi got his first good look at Penelope’s brother; he was a mixture of his parents with his father’s dark hair and mother’s pale eyes. He was actually quite handsome, rather average in height but with that muscular de Wolfe build that all of the men in the family seemed to have. Moreover, he seemed friendly enough. After the circumstances of his injury, Bhrodi wasn’t entirely sure how the man would view him. He seemed rather pleasant, in fact.
“Dwyn was my grandfather’s surgeon,” Bhrodi said. “He has been a healer for more years than I have been alive. He soaks the linen bandages in vinegar and then once he has wrapped the wound, he puts a mixture of flour and water all over them to harden them on the outside. That is why they are stiff like armor, but the method protects the injury quite well.”
Penelope knocked on her brother’s wrappings, grinning when she realized they were, indeed, very stiff. “I hadn’t looked closely at them,” she said, looking at her brother. “Has he taken great care of you?”
Thomas nodded. “He comes every morning when I awaken and also every night before I got to sleep,” he said. Then he glanced at Bhrodi. “Does the man speak any English?”
Bhrodi shook his head. “Not a word.”
Thomas grunted. “No wonder he would not speak to me,” he said. “I thought it was because I was English.”
As Bhrodi grinned and began to pour some wine, Tacey entered the hall. She was eating something, which seemed to be usual with her as of late, and she planted herself next to her brother as he poured another cup of wine. Bhrodi was preparing to hand it to Penelope but Tacey snatched it and drank deeply. Bhrodi frowned.
“That was not meant for you,” he scolded softly. “Unless it is offered to you, do not take it.”
Contrite, Tacey hung her head but she still continued to put bits of cheese in her mouth. Thomas and Penelope looked at the girl, varying degrees of smirks on their faces. Penelope finally spoke, simply to move past the scolding.
“Tacey, have you met my brother?” she asked. “He has been sleeping in your former chamber.”
Tacey’s head came up, timidly, as Penelope introduced them. “Tacey, this is Sir Thomas de Wolfe,” she said. “Thomas, this is Bhrodi’s sister, the Lady Tacey de Shera ap Gruffydd. Her husband was a son of Dafydd ap Gruffydd.”
Thomas knew that name only too well; every Englishman did. He nodded his head politely. “My lady.”
Tacey bobbed her head nervously and looked at her lap again, or what was left of it with her blooming belly. There wasn’t much more to say by way of introduction or greeting, so Penelope shifted the subject.
“How is Kevin, Thomas?” she asked. “Is he coming down to eat, also?”
Thomas shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He seems better but the old surgeon has forbidden him from moving about too much. He says the man must heal.”
“And I will only heal if I am allowed to walk and breathe,” came a voice from the hall entry. They all turned to see Kevin standing there, dressed in the tunic he was stabbed in and leaning against the door jamb wearily. When he saw that everyone was looking at him, he pushed himself off the wall and continued, very slowly and stiffly, into the hall. “I am tired of lying in bed and being fed mashed-up food. I am g
oing to eat like a man tonight if it kills me.”
Penelope was already up, rushing to him to help him walk but he waved her off. She stood there and frowned at him as he plodded, hunched-over, to the table.
“Look at you,” she scolded, following him at a distance. “You walk like an old man. You should not be up!”
Kevin was holding his torso with his left arm as he walked. “That may be, but I am nonetheless on my feet,” he said, his gaze coming to rest on Bhrodi as the man sat at the table. “My lord, may I join you for sup?”
Bhrodi eyed the very big knight. After what he’d heard the other night when the man had declared his love for Penelope, he wasn’t exactly glad to see him but he would not deny him a seat at his table. He had invited him, after all. He gestured to a seat without saying a word and turned back to his wine.
Penelope could see, in that gesture, that what Bhrodi had heard in the darkened chamber between her and Kevin had indeed left a mark. The man had been very polite to Thomas but when Kevin had appeared, his manner cooled considerably. Not that she blamed him. But it was important that she show attention to Bhrodi in Kevin’s presence. She thought perhaps it would reassure Bhrodi that whatever the knight had said had no meaning to her. Even if Bhrodi wouldn’t discuss what he had heard, Penelope could still show him that her loyalty was with him. She was his wife, after all.
As Kevin gingerly took a seat next to Tacey, Penelope went to Bhrodi and sat next to him. Usually, she sat across from him so he could look into her face. He seemed to like being able to speak with her face to face. But she resumed a seat next to her husband and he looked at her, seemingly pleased, as she claimed a cup of wine and put it to her lips. As she drank, her gaze fixed on his, she couldn’t help but notice the warm glimmer in the dark green eyes. Beneath the table, his hand came to rest on her knee and it was enough to make her heart skip a beat. It was the first true display of affection, in a public place no less, that she’d ever received from him. She was thrilled.
As Penelope relished the feel of Bhrodi’s warm hand against her leg, the serving wenches began bringing out steaming bowls of food and great, trenchers of bread that sat atop big wooden trays. The pork that Penelope had so gleefully butchered was produced, smothered in a rich gravy that had apples and cloves in it. There was plenty of food to go around and Tacey, in her eagerness, ended up on her knees on the bench, shoving pork into her mouth and reaching across the table to grab at bowls of pears soaked in honey, or carrots with dill and herbs. There was also a big bowl of beans and pieces of pork simmered in a sauce made from onions and garlic.
In all, it was a massive spread, fit for a king, and soon enough the commanders of Bhrodi’s teulu joined them. Ivor, Gwyllim, and Yestin joined the meal, eating peacefully alongside English knights that had once been considered their enemy. Now, they didn’t seem so much like the enemy any more. Because of Penelope, they were now family. Penelope realized she felt comfortable with them for the first time since her arrival. Aye, she was most definitely settling in and they even began to include her in conversation. Soon, the entire table was chatting, even Kevin, and it seemed like a calm and pleasant meal.
The only commander missing was Ianto. That wasn’t unusual because the man had command of Rhydilian, setting posts for the night and taking some of the burden of command off of Bhrodi at times. But tonight, there was more to it than that; deep inside the keep with its three-foot thick walls, the feasting inhabitants hadn’t heard the cry from the sentries out in the gatehouse, nor had they been aware of the man-door in the massive outer gates opening to admit a lone rider.
Ianto had been there, in his diligence, and he had heard the message that the rider had been ordered to deliver. It was a message for Bhrodi, a most important message, and once Ianto had obtained all the information, he had told the gate sentries to feed the messenger as he ran for the keep.
After tonight, things would never be the same again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Welsh Marches
“Castell y Bere has fallen to the English,” William told his men, gathered in his great tent. They had been on the border of Wales and England, heading home, when they had come into contact with a gaggle of English soldiers on their way out of Wales. That gaggle had brought much news with them. “Dafydd ap Gruffydd has escaped the siege and it is suspected that he is moving north.”
Paris and Kieran, as the oldest and most experienced men of the group, cast each other concerned glances. They had been through Henry’s wars and now they were going through even worse wars with his son, the very powerful Edward. The man had a blood lust that his father had never had so this was serious news, indeed.
“The Welsh prince has been running from Edward for quite some time now,” Paris said quietly. “I was unaware there was a siege at Castell y Bere.”
William nodded grimly. “Dafydd started the rebellion in the north last fall and he has been battling Edward ever since,” he said. “Why do you think our king was so determined to secure Anglesey? He wants de Shera neutralized but if that is not possible, then he certainly wants the man’s allegiance. If Bhrodi de Shera jumps into this fight, then all of northern Wales will be in turmoil because de Shera is nearly unbeatable in the field. But if Dafydd has escaped Edward once again and is moving north….”
“… then he could very well seek refuge and support with de Shera,” Kieran finished.
William nodded gravely. It was the logical path of progression in Dafydd’s war against Edward. As William drew in a deep breath and pondered the information, Scott spoke.
“We cannot turn back for Rhydilian, Father,” he said. “We carry women with us. We are not prepared for battle.”
William nodded. “I am well aware of that,” he said. “We could, however, send the women and an escort back to Questing while we return to Rhydilian to see if Dafydd shows himself there.”
“And then what?” Scott wanted to know. “We would be fourteen knights against Dafydd and his men. Moreover, Bhrodi is now your son. What if he sides with Dafydd? Do we fight against Bhrodi or with him?”
William eyed his eldest son; the man had a point. After a moment, William simply shook his head. “I do not know,” he admitted. “The marital contract was for peace so I suppose I could neither fight for him or against him.”
“So we would let Dafydd ap Gruffydd do as he pleases and not intervene?” Troy spoke up, incredulous. “Father, we are English and our loyalty is to Edward over all others. We could not side with de Shera.”
William knew that; God, he knew that all too well. This was extraordinarily serious news and he was greatly torn by it. He knew what his duty dictated, but he also had a marriage contract to consider with his daughter involved. He was in a terrible position and they all knew it. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the group, his thoughts pensive and sorrowful. It was several long and painful moments before he spoke again.
“If de Shera decides to support Dafydd, then the marriage contract would be void,” he muttered, turning to the group of powerful knights that filled his tent. “If the marriage contract is void, then Penny is in great danger.”
“So what do we do?” Troy demanded, but it was without force. “Do we go back to Wales and rescue my sister?”
William lingered on the question. “Nay,” he said, although it was killing him to say it. He very much wanted to run back into Wales and get his daughter. “I think we need to find Edward. I must consult with him before we do anything.”
“But what about Penny?” Troy wanted to know. “Do we just leave her to the mercy of the enemy?”
William shook his head. “De Shera is her husband, not the enemy,” he said, “and we do not know for certain if Dafydd has even made it to Rhydilian. It is all speculation at this point. Therefore, it is my inclination to find our king and discuss all of this with him. He will want to know what we know, and I require his counsel on how to proceed. To act foolishly and rashly would not do Penny any good at all. For now, we mu
st trust that de Shera is still our ally.”
He was proceeding rationally, which at this point was the best course of action. But Kieran spoke softly.
“Kevin and Thomas are at Rhydilian,” he reminded them. “If de Shera decides to support Dafydd, they will more than likely become prisoners.”
William shook his head firmly. “Penny would not allow it and you know it,” he said. “For now, we must seek Edward. Apollo, Adonis, Alec, and Nathaniel will take the women back to Questing along with half of our men as escort. The rest of us will proceed into Wales to find Edward. The last intelligence I received said he was Corwen Castle, so we will proceed there. I must know what the king says to all of this.”
“And if he demands you fight against de Shera?” Scott wanted to know. “What then, Father? Do you fight against Penny?”
William sighed heavily; the mere thought made him ill. After a moment, he shook his head. “I am not for certain,” he said. “I must seek counsel from a higher source in that matter.”
He went to find Jordan.
*
Rhydilian Castle
“Dafydd is at Dolbadarn Castle,” Ianto said. “He has requested aid from you. He is facing an English onslaught and he requires your support.”
Bhrodi was listening to Ianto’s message with both disbelief and indecision. They were standing just outside of the keep and had been ever since Ianto had entered the hall in the midst of a very pleasant meal and requested a private audience with his liege. Bhrodi had complied and had been the recipient of some very serious news; the last Prince of Wales, Dafydd ap Gruffydd, was running from Edward and needed Bhrodi’s help. After Ianto delivered the bulk of the information, Bhrodi sighed heavily. There was regret there.
“What about Castell y Bere?” he asked. “Who was in command?”
“Cynfrid ap Madog,” Ianto replied quietly. “He surrendered the garrison but did it in a way that allowed Dafydd time to escape with his entire family.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 300
