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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I will not argue with you,” he said. “I cannot. I am too exhausted. Penny, give me a place to sleep for a few hours. I cannot think straight.”

  Penelope called one of the serving women and had the old lady take Edward up to the second floor, to the chamber where Thomas and Kevin slept. Edward kissed her on the forehead before he went, staggering wearily after the old woman as he disappeared from the hall. Once he was gone, Penelope, Thomas and Kevin sat in silence for a few moments, each to their own thoughts. There was much to think about. Finally, Penelope broke the silence.

  “If you two are going to help me hold the fortress, then we must go about our business,” she said. “Kevin, find a man who can translate English to Welsh and then have the men gather in the bailey in one hour. I will speak to them at that time. Thomas, it will be your job to walk the perimeter of Rhydilian and look for any weaknesses. Since we will have so few forces, we will need to concentrate the men where there are obvious weaknesses. Go on about your duties and then join us in the bailey in an hour.”

  Thomas nodded and stood up, heading out of the hall, but Kevin was slower to move. His gaze lingered on Penelope as she stood up, her mind occupied, obviously thinking of what lay ahead. His heart, so soft when it came to her, was beginning to ache with sorrow.

  “Penny,” he said softly. “I will again ask you to run away with me and leave this all behind. You and de Shera have been married less than a week; it is not as if he has been your husband for many years and your lives and loyalties are intertwined. You have only known the man a few days. Surely you cannot feel such strong loyalty to him.”

  Penelope struggled with her patience; she didn’t want to hear Kevin speak of such things. “I know you mean well, but it makes me feel so very low and so very angry when you speak this way,” she said. “You of all people understand honor. What I do, I do for my honor and for my father’s honor. The Wolfe and his progeny do not run from anything and we do not break our bond, Kevin. You know this. I will not fail Bhrodi no matter how much you beg me to.”

  Kevin inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. “I am not begging you to fail him,” he said. “I am begging you to spare your own life. Do you know what will happen if Edward captures you? Do you have any idea what the man will do?”

  Penelope didn’t want to hear him. She turned away, abruptly, but he was on her, grabbing her by the arms and forcing her to stop. Furious, she began to fight him.

  “Let me go!” she demanded.

  Kevin gave her a good shake to get her attention. “If Edward captures you, he will treat you as he would treat any enemy,” he said. “You would be fortunate if you were only taken to London and bottled up in the Tower, but more than likely he would make an example of out of you. The executioner’s axe, mayhap, or he might even purge you by fire. Do you have any idea how horrific that will be? Of course, your father would not allow it and he would go to war against Edward, but Edward’s army is bigger and there is every chance your father would be defeated. Then he would be a prisoner, too, and have his lands and titles stripped. Your brothers would be fugitives more than likely and your mother… how do you think this will affect your mother, Penny?”

  He had said too much. Tears formed in Penelope’s eyes and, with a burst of anger, she reached up and slapped him across the face. Stung, Kevin loosened his grip enough for Penelope to pull away from him and run from the hall. Kevin stood there where she left him, with a stinging cheek and a hole where his heart used to be.

  He couldn’t make her understand; she was loyal to de Shera. In fact, she was too loyal and he was coming to think that perhaps it was more than just the marriage. Perhaps she had feeling for the man, which utterly broke his heart to think of. But it must have been the truth because she was behaving most irrationally. Women in love were irrational creatures.

  Kevin was coming to curse the day he had ever heard the name Bhrodi de Shera. In silence, he quit the hall.

  When the hall was dead and still, the wardrobe in the shadows began to rattle. It was only slight, not the usual banging that was normally witnessed. Very quietly, the wardrobe door opened and the tiny man appeared, only this time, it wasn’t to fight the unseen enemy. In spite of what everyone had said about him and in spite of his usual routine for thirty years, the old man had very brief moments of lucidity and this one was one of them.

  He had heard every word spoken.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Three days later

  It was near sunset, three days after Penelope had given a rather rousing speech to the old men who had remained behind at Rhydilian. She was much like her father in that she was charismatic and encouraging and, even though her words had been translated through an old soldier as well as through Tacey, the men of the old Welsh guard had listened to her. It was clear that she was fiercely supportive of de Shera and she wanted to protect Rhydilian from the English should they come.

  The old men had come to know Lady de Shera somewhat since the departure of their lord and she had always been friendly and fair with them, which began to lay the foundation of trust. Moreover, Bhrodi had spoken with all of them before he left and assured them that she was trustworthy. She was William de Wolfe’s daughter, after all, and by sheer reputation of the father did they even consider embracing the daughter. But as the days had passed, embrace they did, and the men started calling her mae hi’n blaidd. Now, she was known as the She Wolfe. It was a sign of respect.

  They had also started showing some respect to the English knights who remained with her after Bhrodi had gone. They seemed to like Thomas in particular and after a productive day with the elderly guard of Rhydilian, Thomas was walking the wall with a few of the old men when they saw the approach of a party far off in the distance.

  At first, Thomas thought it was a trick of the light but quite soon realized that it was, indeed, a group of riders on the road for Rhydilian. After watching the coming party for several minutes, he turned to the nearest sentry and sent the man for Penelope.

  Kevin, who had been in Rhydilian’s armory trying to organize what equipment was left after Bhrodi’s departure, heard the calls of the sentries and joined Thomas on the battlements. He was still reeling from his conversation with Penelope three days prior so when she appeared on the wall to see about the incoming party, he tried not to look at her. He’d spent three days trying not to look or speak to her. He just couldn’t. Therefore, he didn’t notice that Penelope wouldn’t look at him, either. There was tension between the two of them that wasn’t normal as Penelope focused on the incoming group.

  “Can you tell who they are yet?” she asked Thomas. “Are they flying any colors?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Welsh do not fly colors,” he said, “and if it was Edward, we would already know it.”

  Penelope knew all of that but she was still curious, now wrought with anxiety. Given Edward’s visit and the news he bore, she was understandably apprehensive.

  Edward soon joined them on the battlements to await the incoming group. The sun continued to set, streaking spectacular colors across the sky, as the party approaching Rhydilian continued to make its way towards the castle. Penelope and the others noticed that the group wasn’t moving particularly fast and there were at least two wagons that they could see. But they were traveling so slowly that it would soon be dark and even though the moon was now a sliver in the sky, the beast of the marsh was always a fear once the sun went down. As the party approached the base of the mountain that Rhydilian was situated upon, a lone rider broke off from the group and thundered up the road.

  Penelope, Thomas, Edward, and Kevin came off the wall and met the rider down at the gate. Slowly, the great panels cranked open and the rider, wearing the de Shera teulu tunic of deep red, galloped through the opening. The man was off his horse before it came to a complete halt and it took Penelope a moment to recognize the haggard and beard-covered face.

  “Ianto!” she gasped in shock. “What is it? Why are you here?”

  Ian
to was beaten and weary as he moved for Penelope. “My lady,” he said. “We are bringing Lord de Shera home.”

  Penelope didn’t understand him at first. “You are bringing Bhrodi home?” she repeated. Then, her face lit up. “He has come with you?”

  Ianto was the bearer of terrible news. He could see that she didn’t comprehend his meaning and in an uncharacteristic breach of protocol, he reached out and grasped her arm as if to physically impart his news upon her. His eyes, big and sad, focused on her.

  “He is with us,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My lady, he was badly injured in the fighting at Aber two days ago. With the help of your father, we were able to break through the English lines in order to bring him home. He is… not well, my lady. Not well at all.”

  Ianto’s words hit Penelope with the force of a lightning strike. She went from joyful to shattered all in a split second and, as the others watched, the color drained out of her face. She swayed, grasping at Ianto as if to keep from falling.

  “What do you mean?” she breathed. “What are you telling me?”

  Ianto was struggling. “My lady, he was….”

  Panicked, Penelope cut him off. “Is he dead? Tell me now!”

  Ianto could see the pain in her face; he had seen the same pain on Bhrodi’s face before the man lost consciousness. It was tragic, truly; such emotion from a man and wife who, under normal circumstances, would have never been. Penelope would have been in her world and Bhrodi would have remained in his. Yet they had come together under impossible circumstances, and something fine was growing between them. Anyone could tell that simply by looking at them. Ianto hadn’t seen Bhrodi so happy in over two years, and now this. He was greatly sorrowed, just like the rest of them.

  “Nay, my lady, he is not dead,” Ianto replied, grabbing her because she seemed to be collapsing somehow. She was difficult to hold on to, like water running through his fingers. “But he is badly injured. We had to bring him home.”

  The group had reached the top of the road by now and more horses began thundering in through the gates. The chaos of their swift arrival filled the bailey with dirt and noise. Penelope let go of Ianto and turned for the incoming party. She began to run, dodging men and horses, until she came to the first wagon that was just starting to enter the gates. Running up to the edge of the wagon bed, she was abruptly faced with her greatest fear.

  Bhrodi lay in the bed of the wagon with the little old surgeon, the one who had tended Kevin and Thomas, hovering over him. He was lying on the wood slats; there weren’t even any rushes or blankets beneath him. He simply lay on the wood, his arms and legs askew, like a poppet that had been thrown to the floor. He was unconscious, sporting several day’s growth of beard, and as Penelope’s gaze moved down his body to see where this horrific injury was, she could see that his entire pelvis was wrapped tightly. Bloodied stains marred the entire left side of wrappings and the breeches of his left thigh were stained and shredded.

  Shocked, horrified, Penelope hoisted herself into the wagon bed. The first thing she did was lean over Bhrodi’s face, her gentle hands on his head as she lifted first one eyelid and then the other. His eyes were bloodshot and the pupils were slow to react to the light. She looked at the surgeon.

  “What is wrong with him?” she demanded. “What happened?”

  The old surgeon didn’t speak a lick of English. He simply shook his head. Frustrated, Penelope let out a yell of pure frustration.

  “Ianto!” she bellowed. “Someone, anyone, help me translate to the surgeon!”

  Ianto appeared at the side of the wagon; he murmured a few words to the surgeon, who muttered back at him. Penelope expression was frantic.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What did he say? What happened to my husband?”

  Ianto sighed heavily. “We were in close quarters fighting with some English knights who had cornered Dafydd in a church,” he said softly. “Dafydd had lost most of his mail and protection in his flight from Edward and was dressed only in rags. Bhrodi gave him his own mail and weapons, my lady. He gave Dafydd everything except his sword. When a group of English knights invaded the church in search of Dafydd, we bought Dafydd enough time to help him escape by engaging the knights. We were outnumbered and heavily out-weaponed. Lord de Shera was without any mail or protection when he caught a morning star in his lower abdomen. It glanced off for the most part; had it hit him directly it would have killed him. Even so, it tore him to pieces.”

  Penelope clapped a hand over her mouth or she would have surely become sick. In fact, she did gag, a reflexive action to what she knew would be a devastating injury. Unable to recover, she gagged again and this time vomited over the side of the wagon, weeping as she did so. She couldn’t help it; she was shattered and everything was spilling out, fueled by her horrible grief.

  “Knights on foot do not use morning stars,” she wept and gagged. “What business did they have bringing that type of weaponry into a church?”

  Ianto had been joined by Yestin and Ivor, and they watched Lady de Shera become physically ill at the sight of her husband. It was a tragic sight to behold.

  “Two knights were on horseback when they entered the church,” Ianto tried to be gentle. “We had been fighting all around the town for most of the day, so each man was as heavily armed as he could manage. The men on horseback tore the church apart looking for Dafydd, but we held firm and fought them off. Lord de Shera was caught by the morning star after he had pushed a massive bank of candles down onto several knights, severely injuring them. After that, the other knights made a point of trying to kill him. They nearly succeeded and would have had your father not intervened.”

  Penelope wiped her mouth and returned to Bhrodi’s side. She was trying so very hard not to openly sob but it was difficult for so many reasons; Bhrodi’s injury and now evidence that her father had somehow saved him. She stroked Bhrodi’s dirty hair tenderly.

  “What did my father do?” she asked hoarsely.

  “He entered the church just after Lord de Shera had been injured,” Ianto replied. “He saw Lord de Shera sent to the floor by the first blow and he shouted at the English knights as they went in for the kill. They listened to your father and they left Lord de Shera alone, but the damage had already been done. Your father helped us remove Lord de Shera and smuggle him through the English lines dressed as an English knight. That is why he only wears breeches and a tunic; he made us take off the English armor as soon as we were clear. He said he couldn’t stand the stench of it on him, not even for a moment, but he remained conscious long enough to thank your father. He thanked him for helping him return to the woman they both loved.”

  Penelope put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs but it was of little use; they broke through anyway as she wept her tears of anguish. Collapsing forward, she wept on Bhrodi’s chest, so very broken in sorrow. God, if she had only told him she had loved him before he left, then that would have been of some comfort. At least he would have known. As it was, he had loved her, too, only he’d been too frightened or reluctant or shy to tell her. Maybe he had been afraid she hadn’t shared those feelings. But he had told her father his feelings. That was something to hold on to.

  But tears would not heal him. She was unused to weeping and struggled to stop the flow. She sat up, wiping furiously at her face as if embarrassed by her breakdown. She could see Kevin and Edward and Thomas standing by the edge of the wagon, their sorrowful gaze on Bhrodi.

  “Help me,” she pleaded. “Help me get him up into the keep.”

  Ianto, Ivor, Yestin, and Gwyllim were all on horseback, all exhausted men that were dismounting in an effort to aid their lord, but the English moved in more quickly; they were rested and strong, and between the three of them, lifted Bhrodi from the wagon bed and very carefully carried him towards the keep. As they cautiously moved him up the steps to the keep entry, Tacey emerged from the structure.

  Lured by the sounds of men and horses, she had come out to see what all the commotio
n was about. One look at her brother, however, had her in hysterics.

  “Bhrodi!” she cried. “What has happened to him?”

  Penelope rushed up the stairs and put her arms around the girl. “Be calm, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Your brother has been injured. We will take very good care of him and he will be well again, I promise.”

  Tacey began sobbing, reaching out to touch Bhrodi as they carried him past her and on into the keep. “He looks dead!” she sobbed.

  Penelope thought he did, too, but she didn’t voice her thoughts. Her arm was around Tacey’s shoulders as she escorted the young girl into the keep, following the men who were carrying her brother. It was like a funeral procession already, with grief and sadness filling the air they breathed. Rhydilian’s keep was now full of it, bleeding sorrow from the very walls.

  The spiral steps leading up to the third floor where the master’s chamber was were narrow and steep, and it was difficult to maneuver Bhrodi up the stairs. Kevin had Bhrodi under the arms and was taking the steps backwards, moving the man very, very carefully so he would not hit his head, while Thomas and Edward supported his legs and torso. It made for extremely slow going but once they were to the third floor, they carried him swiftly into the master’s chamber.

  As Tacey stood by the door and wept, Penelope moved quickly into the room and helped the men settled Bhrodi on the bed. Keeping busy helped her focus on something other than her grief and she grabbed Ianto as the teulu filed exhausted into the room.

  “Ask the surgeon what he needs,” she said urgently.

  Ianto spoke to the surgeon, who was already crawling onto the bed beside Bhrodi and fumbling with his bandages. When the little man murmured in return, Ianto turned to Penelope.

  “Hot water,” he replied. “He also needs his medicament bag, which I will go and retrieve. He also says to bring great quantities of wine.”