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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It was an odd request but Penelope didn’t argue. She ran downstairs and grabbed two of the old serving women, explaining what had happened. The old women ran off in a flurry to collect necessary items and Penelope raced back up the stairs and into the master chamber where Bhrodi was evidently starting to come around. She could hear his low, slow voice and she ran to the bed, a massive lump in her throat when she tried to speak.

  Bhrodi, barely conscious, had been roused by all of the movement. His eyes were muddled and his entire body had an oddly numb feeling to it, but the moment Penelope appeared in his line of sight, it was as if all else faded away. All he could see was her. He stared at her a moment before speaking.

  “Are you real?” he whispered.

  Penelope slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing as she nodded her head. “I am,” she said tightly.

  “I thought I may have dreamed you.”

  “You did not dream me. I am real.”

  Bhrodi lifted a weak hand in her direction and she collapsed on the bed beside him, taking his hand in hers. Bhrodi, seeing the tears streaming down her cheeks, shushed her softly.

  “No tears,” he muttered thickly. “Knights do not weep.”

  Penelope couldn’t help it; his statement made her cry harder. “I am not a knight,” she said. “You do not need another knight. I am your wife; you told me so.”

  He grinned ever so faintly. “Aye,” he whispered. “You are my wife. In fact, there is something I must tell my wife.”

  Penelope wiped at her eyes. “What is it?”

  His tone softened with emotion. “I must tell her that I love her very much,” he breathed. “She must always remember that, for always.”

  Penelope broke down into sobs, laying her forehead against his chest. Bhrodi’s arms went around her, weakly, holding her against him and relishing what he believed would be his last feel of her in this life. He knew he was badly injured; more than likely mortally injured. He’d never known anyone to recover from such a devastating wound and he thanked God that he was conscious at the moment and able to tell his wife what he wanted to. But he could feel his consciousness slipping away again and he hurried as much as he was able to tell her what he needed to. She had to know all of it.

  “Caria, listen to me,” he whispered. “I was foolish; so foolish. I should have told you of my love for you but I was afraid to, afraid you would not return the feelings. Forgive me for being a coward.”

  Penelope’s head came up, her face very close to his. “If you are a coward, then I am one as well,” she murmured. “I was afraid to tell you of my feelings also, knowing that you had once loved someone very much and that you had lost her. I was afraid you would not let yourself feel such things again. I love you deeply, Bhrodi. You are my husband and my heart and no matter what happens, know that you will be with me always.”

  He smiled at her and feebly touched her cheek. When she reached up to touch his face, he kissed her fingers gently. It was a warm and joyous moment in the midst of such anguish. As Penelope lay her head back on his chest, hearing his slow heartbeat, Bhrodi looked at the men surrounding his bed. He could hear Tacey crying in the background as his gaze fell on Kevin. He seemed to become a bit more lucid as he looked at the man, the dark green eyes wrought with both turmoil and hope. Thoughts began churning in his pain-hazed mind.

  “You,” he said weakly. “Come closer.”

  Puzzled, Kevin obediently moved around the bed and made his way next to Penelope. He stood there a moment, looking down at Bhrodi and, for a few long seconds, they simply stared at one another. It was no great secret between them that Kevin wanted what Bhrodi had; he wanted Penelope. But it was a secret only between the three of them. There was no shame of the entire castle knowing the details of confidential information. Therefore, as Penelope watched with some curiosity, Bhrodi lifted a hand to Kevin, who hesitantly took it. Bhrodi squeezed hard.

  “You are the only knight in this room who is not related to Penelope by blood so I will therefore ask this of you,” he said, grunting in pain because the old surgeon was beginning to unwrap his wound. “If I die, I want to die with the peace of knowing my beloved wife will be well taken care of. You have known her your entire life, have you not?”

  Kevin’s brow was slightly furrowed; he had a feeling what was coming. It was a deathbed request and one he could not refuse. If it was what he thought it was, he would not have refused it in any case.

  “I have, my lord,” he replied steadily.

  Bhrodi gazed at the man a moment. “You know her well and she knows you,” he said, his voice starting to fade a bit. “I would ask you to take care of my wife when I have gone. Love her as I would have and treat her as if she is the most important thing on this earth, because she is that to me and more. All I ask is that you worship her and be kind to her, Saesneg. Can you do this for me?”

  Kevin was pale with the sorrow the request provoked. Surprisingly, he was starting to feel extremely guilty for having coveted another man’s wife, even though he had coveted her well before Bhrodi had married her. Now, it seemed like such a dishonorable thing to do and Kevin was far from a dishonorable man. He was a man of great integrity but when it came to Penelope, his overwhelming love for her had twisted his common sense. Now, he couldn’t escape the onslaught of remorse.

  “Aye, my lord,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shall not fail you.”

  Bhrodi nodded faintly, his eyes glimmering, conveying with his gaze alone that he knew what Kevin was feeling. He knew the man loved Penelope and he knew the man would take great care of her. It was the last act of graciousness from a dying man, asking his competition to take care of the women they both loved. Then, and only then, did Kevin begin to understand that there was more to Bhrodi de Shera than simply a warlord; he was a man of forgiveness and benevolence, and it touched Kevin deeply.

  “Then I am eased,” Bhrodi finally muttered as he released Kevin’s big hand. “I am only concerned with my wife and her comfort after I die. I know I leave her in good hands.”

  Penelope was looking at Kevin with big eyes, somewhere between shock and denial. Now he had permission to marry her should Bhrodi die and she was torn with grief and resentment. She turned to Bhrodi, gently touching his face.

  “You will not die,” she whispered firmly. “You and I will grow old together and have a dozen daughters. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

  Bhrodi’s gaze returned to her. He was growing increasingly weak and the urge to close his eyes was overwhelming. Collecting one of Penelope’s hands, lingering near his chest, he kissed her flesh reverently.

  “Sons only, you little vixen,” he murmured.

  Penelope smiled but the tears were on the surface. She could see he was having great difficulty keeping his eyes open and she reached up, gently closing his eyelids.

  “Sleep now,” she whispered, kissing each closed eye tenderly. “I will be here when you awaken and we will discuss the sex of our children further.”

  She thought she saw a faint smile tug at Bhrodi’s lips and then he was unconscious again, fading off into a world he might never awaken from. Penelope struggled against the sobs that threatened, instead, turning to Ianto and the other teulu commanders standing next to the bed. They met her gaze with both sadness and defeat. Penelope didn’t like it one bit; she didn’t like seeing Bhrodi’s men defeated. They thought he was as good as dead, too.

  “Let the surgeon tend him now,” she whispered, forcing herself to show courage. The men needed direction to help them function and she intended to give it. “You four will go get something to eat, and mayhap a bit of sleep, and meet me in the hall in a few hours. There is much to discuss.”

  Silently, they bowed out, shuffling from the room that was dark except for the fire in the hearth. The sun had set completely and shadows were cast upon the land. They were the shadows of death, some thought. Death that had come for Bhrodi.

  Tacey was still standing by the doorway, weeping quietly. Pe
nelope sighed faintly at the sight of the girl, so overwrought with grief. She turned to Thomas.

  “Would you please remove Tacey?” she asked quietly. “She will need to eat something. Please see that she does and then put her to bed. She should not be so upset in her condition.”

  Thomas nodded silently and left the bedside, heading over to Tacey. He put his hands on the young woman’s shoulders, gently, and turned her for the door. Penelope could still hear her crying as Thomas took her down to the hall below. When the sounds of weeping faded, she looked to Edward. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at Kevin, at least not yet. There was great anger in her heart for him.

  “Edward,” she said. “Will you go down to the bailey and make sure the men that brought Bhrodi home are peacefully settled? And please make sure the castle is secure for the night.”

  Edward nodded and quit the room. When he was gone, the only people remaining in the room other than Bhrodi were the old surgeon, Penelope, and Kevin. A horrible, tense silence filled the air as the surgeon continued to cut away the wrappings from around Bhrodi’s waist. Penelope continued to hold her husband’s hand, looking at his sleeping face and murmuring prayers over and over. Surely God would hear her pleas; it would be purely tragic should Bhrodi leave her now, just when they had professed their love for one another. How cruel that would be. Kissing his hand, she happened to glance down at what the surgeon was doing and was met by the horrible sight of what the morning star had done to her husband.

  The wound looked like raw meat. Slapping a hand over her mouth so she would not become ill again, she quickly stood up and moved away from the bed, her back to the scene. Even though she had seen her share of battle wounds, this time, it was different. Someone very close to her heart was injured and she simply couldn’t watch.

  Kevin, however, was closer; he had a clear sight of the wound and was not upset by the sight. He’d seen worse. It was, however, quite terrible. When the surgeon pulled all of the bandages off and began pulling some of the dead flesh surrounding the wound, a pair of old serving women entered with steaming water and two big pitchers of wine.

  The surgeon caught sight of the servants and indicated for them to set the things on the floor next to the bed. The water sloshed over as they set it on the floor and the old surgeon barked at the women in the harsh Welsh tongue, sending them scurrying out of the room. The surgeon took a rag, rinsed it in the hot water and then poured wine all over it, and began to clean Bhrodi’s wound with it. Kevin watched it all closely as Penelope stood by the lancet window, letting the cold night breeze blow in her face.

  “You finally have what you wanted,” she said quietly. “Now you have his permission to marry me.”

  Kevin knew the accusations would be coming and it was an effort not to become emotional about it. “You are not being fair,” he said. “Never did I wish for marriage under these circumstances. You know me well enough to know that I would not have hoped for your husband to be badly injured so that I could claim his bride.”

  He was right; Penelope knew him well and she knew he was not malicious or underhanded. Kevin Hage was a good man, a man to be trusted. He had been her good and close friend for many years, a friendship that had been very happy until her betrothal to Bhrodi. That was when things became complicated and Penelope was still trying to come to terms with all of it. She didn’t like it when she and Kevin were at odds. After a moment, she sighed heavily.

  “I apologize,” she said softly. “I know you would not wish for such a thing. But what does this all mean now? Bhrodi is badly wounded and the last Prince of Wales is still running from Edward. God’s Blood, if Dafydd ap Gruffydd was standing here I would kill him myself. It is all his fault.”

  Kevin turned to look at her. “You cannot blame the man when those loyal to him become injured or even die,” he said. “If that was the case, then every monarch, lord, or battle commander would be responsible for every death in every war, ever. You know that you cannot cast blame like that.”

  Penelope turned away from the window, her eyes blazing as she looked at him. “I do not blame him because Bhrodi was loyal to him,” she seethed. “I blame him because Bhrodi gave the man all of the protection that he was wearing. It left my husband defenseless!”

  Her tears had turned to anger. Now, she was looking for someone to blame in all of this as Kevin remained calm.

  “That was Bhrodi’s choice,” he reminded her softly. “Dafydd had nothing to do with that.”

  Penelope turned back to the window, still furious and still in anguish even though Kevin had been correct. She couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it. After a moment, she shook her head in frustration.

  “The man is running from Edward,” she grumbled. “He has been running for years. He is a rag-tag monarch of a kingdom that no longer exists. He should simply give himself over and be done with it but, instead, he continues to run and my husband, whilst defending this… this pauper, has been horribly injured. What if it is my father who is injured next? You heard what the teulu said; my father is in the middle of it, fighting with Edward again in Wales. He is too old to be fighting!”

  Her agony was causing her to speak so; Kevin understood that. He went over her as she stood next to the window.

  “Your father is doing what he has always done,” he said quietly. “He is a knight, as is my father, and as is Uncle Paris. Fighting for England is in their blood, and I am equally sure he is not in the midst of the active fighting. I am sure he is simply commanding the active troops. Therefore, you mustn’t worry about him. What I suppose we must worry about now is how Dafydd’s resistance will be viewed now that Bhrodi is incapacitated. The Welsh have been known to be easily disheartened by bad fortune.”

  Penelope was in the midst of her anger when his words sank in. It was like water on a fire and she turned to him in confusion. “Why should you care?” she asked. “You are English, Kevin. I should think you would be happy should the Welsh be defeated once and for all.”

  He eyed her a moment before averting his gaze. “Under normal circumstances, that would be true,” he said. “But these are not normal circumstances. If Dafydd is captured then, according to your brother, the king will come after Bhrodi next and, as we can see, the man is in no shape to defend his castle. That means the defenses will fall to you and since Edward, Thomas, and I will not allow you to defend Rhydilian alone, that means that all three of us will be caught up in the Welsh resistance.”

  Penelope considered his words, pondering them with a clearer head now that her anger had been suppressed for the moment. She turned her pensive gaze to the night beyond the window.

  “I wonder if the Welsh even know that Bhrodi has been injured,” she pondered.

  Kevin leaned back against the wall, crossing his big arms thoughtfully. “According to your husband’s teulu, Bhrodi was with Dafydd in a church and it would be my guess that it wasn’t full of Welsh soldiers. There were probably very few. Even so, Ianto said that Bhrodi and the other teulu bought Dafydd time to escape the church by engaging the English, which leads me to believe that it was only Bhrodi and his men in the church, and his men and the English were the only ones that saw Bhrodi injured.”

  Penelope was following his train of thought. “But the English would not have known who he was,” she said. “Unless my father told them, which I am sure he did not, they had no idea that Bhrodi de Shera was injured.”

  Kevin nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “So it can only be assumed that no one other than Bhrodi’s men know that he has been wounded. Why would you ask?”

  Penelope sighed faintly, her mind, the one trained by her father, working furiously. “Because…,” she said, then shook her head and turned from the window. “I must speak to Bhrodi’s teulu. We must discuss what is to happen now.”

  Her gaze lingered on Bhrodi as the surgeon cleansed the wound and began to put some kind of herbal compound on it. Penelope really wasn’t sure what the old man was doing because she refused to l
ook, but she bent over and kissed her husband on the forehead before quitting the chamber.

  Kevin followed her; he wanted to be there when she spoke to the teulu because he wasn’t sure he liked the tone of her voice when she spoke of future plans. There was something decisive there, as if she had already made a decision about it.

  He had to know what that decision was.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “You cannot pose as Lord de Shera,” Ianto said with some anger in his tone. “How would you propose to do this? Unlike English marchogs who wear full armor and mail, including a helm to obscure the face, Welsh do not fight like that. We fight without the heavy encumbrances. Lord de Shera was quite evident to all of his men and to all Welshmen most of the time. You cannot pretend to be him by covering yourself in mail and armor to obscure your identity!”

  Penelope, sitting at the feasting table in the small hall, had listened to Bhrodi’s teulu argue with her for the past fifteen minutes. They were unhappy with her suggestion that she should take Bhrodi’s place in combat, and Kevin was even unhappier although he’d not said word about it. She could tell simply by the way the man was holding himself, standing off in the shadows with his big arms angrily crossed. He was resistant to the core.

  But Penelope was tired of fighting about it. She had made up her mind and it was her intention to shut down the teulu’s argument once and for all.

  “What do you mean most of the time?” she asked, fixed on a portion of Ianto’s statement. “If he fought in clear view of the Welsh all of the time, why would you say he was only known most of the time?”

  Ianto glanced at Ivor, at Gwyllim, before rolling his eyes in frustration. She had caught him on a technicality and he could not lie about it.

  “There were times in heavy combat that he would wear pieces of his father’s armor, including the man’s helm,” he said. “It is very distinctive and even though the Welsh could not see his face, they would know it was him. It was the trappings of the Earl of Coventry.”