Tall, Dark & De Wolfe

by Barbara Devlin

  “Hither we ventured by Lady Vael’s command.” The guard rubbed the back of his neck. “Her ladyship was quite displeased, which she made known to the entire garrison, that we allowed your lordship to depart Tharnham, unattended.”

  “Oh, she was?” He chuckled, as he checked to ensure the jewels remained in his leather pouch. “Never fear, as I will make amends, on your behalf.” Whistling, he summoned his destrier, leaped into the saddle, and set a course for home, with the compliment of guards in his wake.

  To save time, he abandoned the roads in favor of the shorter route through the valleys. After cutting across the south moorlands, he spied the frieze-carved parapets of Tharnham, and his blood stirred. When he entered the main gates, he slowed to a canter, and he bit his tongue against a snort of mirth, as he spied Rosenwyn, standing in the bailey.

  With arms folded in front of her, her foot tapped a steady rhythm, reminiscent of the pose his mother adopted when she was vexed with his father. Ah, his lady truly cared for him.

  “Good morrow, sweetheart.” Ravenous for her supple flesh, he jumped from the saddle, grabbed the leather pouch, and marched straight to Rosenwyn, to steal a kiss.

  Instead, she slapped him.

  “How dare you leave Tharnham, without a contingent of guards?” Then she shoved him, and he vowed he would make love to her until she screamed again. “You could have been hurt or—worse. And I woke, alone and cold, in our bed.” It was then she spotted the attackers, and she shrieked. “What happened?”

  “I had a minor misunderstanding on the way home, when six raiders attacked me.” As he tried to divert her, she evaded him. “Rosenwyn, prithee, my dear, let us retire to the solar.”

  “I see you, Marrak. And you, too, Gwennel.” She shook a fist. “I know all of you, and I will speak with your mothers. What gives you the right to harm Lord Vael, the man whose life is dearer to me than my own? The knight I love?” That ensnared his full attention, and he moved into action. “I shall have recompense.”

  “Vennor, send word to Credan that I cannot meet, today.” After the steward acknowledged the directive, Titus wound an arm about Rosenwyn’s waist, hugged her to his chest, and carried her to the main residence, but he paused at the double doors and shouted over his shoulder. “Tell him I will see him on Wednesday.”

  “Titus, put me down.” She squirmed, and he swatted her bottom, in play. “Whither are you taking me?”

  “To bed.” He shuffled her in his hold. “Whither I shall put all this fire and spirit to good use.”

  “But I thought you had something to discuss with Credan, regarding the estate.” His bride pouted, and he nipped her nose. “Is it not a matter of importance?”

  “Nay, love. This is important, and I intend to keep you locked in our chambers, until the morrow.” He grinned. “Mayhap, a sennight.”

  “Wherefore?” With her tongue, she teased the crest of his ear. “I am going nowhere, and you hold my heart, wherever you journey.”

  “And that is cause for a celebration.” He ascended the stairs, as the thrill of victory charged his loins. “Because I have long coveted your heart.”

  “I thought you coveted my—” Given her bashful demeanor, in regard to marital relations, it appeared she could not bring herself to speak the word aloud, so she whispered it to him.

  “That, too.”

  ~

  Rolling onto her back, Rosenwyn caught her breath, after her husband exercised her thoroughly, as was his way, not that she complained, extended an arm, and peered at the gold bracelet, with the shimmering wolf’s head pendant dangling from the exquisite chain.

  “Aside from your declaration, this is the most precious gift you have ever given me, as it marks me as a De Wolfe, for all to see.” Titus shifted on his side and cupped her breast, and she sighed. “I will never take it off, not even when I bathe, as your mother does the same.”

  “You know of the De Wolfe custom, in regard to our brides?” She knew much more than that, but she would not tell him. When she nodded, he arched a brow. “Who told you?”

  “Your mother met with me, prior to our nuptials.” She recalled the startling conversation, in detail, as it was most provoking in its mastery of all things De Wolfe related, but she would never admit everything. “It was quite fascinating.”

  “To what purpose?” He eased atop her, pressed his hips to hers, nudged apart her legs, and rested between her thighs, in his much-professed new favorite position, and who was she to deny him? “And what did she say?”

  “It was most arresting, as I gather she wanted to assess my dedication to the sacrament, and I do not blame her.” She trailed her tongue along his beauteous lips, which never failed to stimulate him. “Isobeau loves you, and I do not believe she would have allowed our marriage ceremony to take place, had I not satisfied her requirements. And I have it on good authority that Desiderata did the same with Senara.”

  “Ah, a De Wolfe warrior demands an equally spirited bride.” If only to soften his pride, she mused, and she tittered, as he rubbed her nose with his. “And you meet that requirement, as well as a few others, which only our men can define, and to which our women remain blissfully ignorant, to my inexpressible gratitude.”

  “I would not be too certain about that.” When he frowned, she laughed. “In fact, I would assert that De Wolfe brides are just as knowledgeable as their husbands.” As he nuzzled her neck, she closed her eyes and savored his tender affection. “Perchance, more so.”

  “Oh?” In that moment, Titus flinched, and she came alert. “Prithee, what do you mean?”

  “Did you know that the reason Atticus always requests an estampie is because that is the only dance he has mastered?” Then she whispered, “And because your mother’s bosom bounces, as she makes the rotations, and it inspires him, but she is not supposed to notice that.”

  “Oh, no.” In haste, he retreated, winced, and shook his head. “Nay, Rosenwyn. I do not wish to hear such things of my mother, as that is too much to bear.”

  “And she insists that, for all their bravery and bluster, De Wolfe men possess a softer side, which they reveal only to their wives, and in that I agree.” Indeed, that gem of information posited a cherished truth, as in private Titus fulfilled Rosenwyn’s every need, with gentleness of which she never would have thought him capable. “Did you know that Atticus sings to your mother?”

  “What?” Titus blanched. “Nay, anything but that. Say it is not so.”

  “My poor knight, it is most undeniably so. Wherefore does that bother my warrior, when you have faced death countless times?” When Titus pressed a palm to his belly and groaned, she burst into unrestrained mirth. “According to Isobeau, your father is blessed with the voice of a nightingale.”

  “No more.” Venting something akin to a wild beast, Titus shuddered and covered his ears. “Prithee, no more, as I may never be able to look my father in the eye, again.”

  “Are you so delicate?” Sitting on her ankles, in bed, she assumed a mock pout. “Because, as Isobeau rightly proclaims, only a knight of incomparable strength is confident enough to admit he is not infallible and is secure enough in his manhood to share his vulnerabilities with his wife.” Then she inclined her head. “And whether or not you like it, you are no different, and I love you.”

  “Am I not?” Facing her, in all his naked and aroused glory, Titus squared his shoulders. “How so?”

  “Alas, must I list everything you do for me, in the confines of this room?” She flicked her fingers, and he joined her. “I should limit the recitation to my favored treat, which is when you hold me in your lap and feed me, by your own hands.”

  “But that is not so difficult a task.” He stretched beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I do that because I love you, too.”

  “And that declaration, freely bestowed, marks you as the bravest, of all.” Without warning, he pushed her to her back and covered her, and she trailed a finger along the curve of his jaw. “I also adore how you bathe
me. Did you ever notice that you hum when you wash my back?”

  In an instant, Titus stiffened his spine. “Promise me you will never tell my parents that.”

  _________________

  EPILOGUE

  The Lair

  July

  The Year of Our Lord, 1498

  The shrill cry of a babe pierced the quiet, and the gathering of De Wolfes sighed, in unison, as the son of Arsenius and Senara announced his hunger with an impressive wail. As Senara tended the child, surrounded by De Wolfe wives, comparing their symbolic wolf’s head bracelets, Titus patted Arsenius on the back.

  “He is beauteous, cousin.” How Titus longed to have a child with Rosenwyn, but despite his best efforts, and he gave it his all, every morrow and eventide, the blessing eluded them. “I am happy for you and Senara.”

  “Gramercy.” Arsenius wiped a stray tear. “I am a father. Can you believe it? I never imagined how it would feel, and I am most content, as it is an awe-filled responsibility.”

  “Rosenwyn and I are honored that you asked us to stand for little Talan, at his baptism, and I must express my appreciation for the fact that you chose a name other than Titus.” He laughed, though he envied his cousin. “Would that I might follow your example.”

  “No luck?” When Titus indicated the negative, Arsenius furrowed his brow and whistled. “Commiserations. But, from what Senara tells me, we had an advance start on you and Rosenwyn, not that I make sport of the situation, as the wait almost killed me.”

  “You believe you tell me something I know not?” When he recalled the lonely eventides spent in the stable, as he pleasured himself, Titus snorted. “My hand may never be the same.”

  “But I wager the work is satisfactory, now.” Arsenius grinned. “Ah, my Senara is an ingénue of incomparable spirit.”

  “Rivaled only by my Rosenwyn, I suspect.” In that moment, his lady glanced at him, and familiar warmth filled his senses. “It is good to be married, is it not?”

  “Better than I ever presumed.” Arsenius came alert. “He said something. Did you hear him?”

  “He cooed.” Father chucked Arsenius on the chin, and he rushed to his son. “He is too young to speak, and you should enjoy this time of peace, as once he begins talking, it is doubtful he will ever stop.”

  “Is that the way of it?” Titus moved to the windows overlooking the bailey. “Because you always encouraged me.”

  “I never said I was a smart man.” Papa speared his fingers through Titus’s hair. “Now, when am I to be a grandfather?”

  “Well, not yet.” Huffing a breath, Titus shuffled his feet, because no matter how old he grew, his father still had a way of making his son feel like a gadling. “But I assure you it is not for lack of trying, and it will happen, sooner than later, I hope.”

  “Will you stop taunting him, as we cannot predict such delicacies of life.” Mama elbowed Papa in the ribs. “My son, ignore your father, as he forgets his manners. And you should return to your chamber, as Rosenwyn requires your presence.”

  “But she is right—” It was then he noted her absence, and he scanned the solar. “Is something wrong? Is she ill?”

  “Nay.” Mama patted his cheek. “But you should go to her.”

  Titus nodded once and exited the solar. The corridor to his accommodation cut a path through the gallery, and he dipped his chin in insouciant salute to De Wolfes, past and present. Continuing down the hall, he navigated the home in which he grew up and reflected on all that had changed, since the boy became a man. Indeed, he was a different person, and he had Rosenwyn to thank for that. At the door to his room, the same one in which he spent his tender years, he paused to knock. Instead, he shoved open the panel.

  “Hello.” At the corner of the footboard, Rosenwyn loomed.

  “Sweetheart.” After securing the latch, he walked straight into her outstretched arms. “Are you unwell, my dear? Shall I summon the physic?”

  “Nay.” As she hugged him about the waist, she perched on her toes and bestowed upon him a tempting kiss. “I just wanted to—”

  A chorus of cheers echoed through the castle, and Titus peered over his shoulder. “What is that?”

  “I believe your mother shared my secret.” His wife giggled. “I suspected she would not be able to contain herself, but that is understandable, given the importance.”

  “Rosenwyn, I am confused.” When she trailed her tongue along the curve of his jaw, he groaned. “And now I am aroused.”

  “Then what say we celebrate the joyous occasion?” She gave him her back, and he loosened her laces. “After all, we will have little time to ourselves, once our new addition arrives.”

  “What are you talking about?” Then he surmised the motive behind her seduction. “My dear, is this about Petroc?” Titus rested fists on hips. “I told you, he performs an adequate service for Arsenius and Senara, and my cousin arranges a marriage, with a young woman from a good family. There is no reason to interfere in his life, as I am assured he is happy. Can you not fathom wherefore he does not wish to reside at Tharnham, when it was once his to inherit?”

  “My foolish love.” She dropped her gown and faced him. “This has naught to do with my brother, and I am happy for him, as he is content in his current station, and that is all I ever wanted. But you really do not know, do you? And your mother guessed ere we dined, last eventide.”

  “Guessed—what?” Another clamor interrupted his thought. “What do they herald?”

  “The announcement of the next De Wolfe.” Rosenwyn smiled. “Is it not wonderful?”

  “You mean Arsenius and Senara expect another babe, already?” When his bride burst into laughter, Titus scratched his head. And then it hit him. “You mean, us?”

  She simply nodded.

  “Oh, my sweet girl.” Dropping to his knees, Titus bowed his head and wept. “It is the answer to my prayers, but I am left to consider whether or not I am sufficient to the task, as it is an extraordinary responsibility to sire a child.”

  “My love, prithee, do not cry, as this is glorious news, and I would mark the event, with you.” Rosenwyn tipped his chin and kissed away his tears, and he wrapped his arms about her hips. “And you will teach our son to hunt, to manage the estate, to respect women, and to honor the De Wolfe legacy.”

  “In that I will not fail.” Standing, he lifted her in his embrace.

  “Of course, not.” She pressed her lips to his, as he carried her to bed. “But most important of all, you will teach him to be a great man, just like his father.”

  A NOTE FROM BARBARA DEVLIN

  Dear Reader,

  This book is a companion to the previous installment in the Heirs of Titus De Wolfe series. Tall, Dark & De Wolfe is told in the same timeline as The Big Bad De Wolfe (BBD). I never planned to tell the younger Titus’s story, but so many of you contacted me after I published BBD that Kat told me I had to write the book. You may notice some overlapping dialogue in the first two scenes, which are rewritten from Titus’s POV, because portions of those scenes occurred in BBD, so they had to match in this story. As for the length, I often receive complaints that my Kindle World titles are too short. You may not realize it, but Amazon contracts the Kindle World titles written for specific launches. Amazon determines the length and date of the release and then pays upfront money. While I would love to write longer De Wolfe tales, I am bound by the terms of the contract I sign with Amazon. In any case, I hope you enjoy my latest book, involving those loveable warrior knights, the De Wolfes.

  Enjoy,

  ~Barb

  ABOUT BARBARA DEVLIN

  USA Today Bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, DE that forever changed her life. The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a personal favorite. Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature flawed heroes who may know
how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage. And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero, before they find their happily ever after. Barbara earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.

  Connect with Barbara Devlin at BarbaraDevlin.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter, The Knightly News. And you can find a complete list of books on Barbara’s Amazon Author Page.

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  Twitter: @barbara_devlin