DarkWolfe: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 5)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Rhoswyn was beside herself. As the merchant called to his wife and the two of them began hunting in the rear of the stall for the expensive material, Rhoswyn went to Troy and hissed at him.

  “Six pieces of silver?” she said through her teeth. “Are ye mad, laddie? That money would feed Sibbald’s for a month!”

  He grinned at her. “Shut your mouth, woman. I told you I wanted you well-dressed.”

  Her eyes widened, both in humor and in outrage. “Ye’ll regret sayin’ that tae me. I dunna take such words from any man.”

  He grabbed her, whipping her into his arms and planting a delicious kiss on her sweet lips. That lust he felt for her compelled him to kiss her again, listening to her gasp as he pulled away.

  “You’ll take it from me and you’ll like it,” he breathed. “Do you understand?”

  Rhoswyn swallowed, struggling to catch her breath as she was pressed up against him. “Aye.”

  “Aye who?”

  A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. “Aye, laddie.”

  That wasn’t the answer he was looking for but he couldn’t remain stern enough to tell her so. She was toying with him; he could see it in her eyes and it inflamed his desire for her like nothing else.

  “Cheeky wench,” he hissed. Releasing her, he turned her around so that she was facing the merchant again and slapped her lightly on the rump. “Buy something else beautiful. That is a command.”

  Rhoswyn didn’t argue with him; she simply turned and grinned at him, feeling such warmth and attraction to the man. Any man who would give her commands and slap her on the arse was someone to be appreciated, she thought. No one had ever dared do it. But Troy had.

  And she loved it.

  “As ye wish, m’laird,” she said. “I’ll spend yer money and more besides.”

  “Now, I did not say that.”

  She giggled. “’Tis too late,” she said, moving towards the merchant and his wife as they came at her with their arms laden with beautiful material. “I shall select the most costly piece they have.”

  Troy simply shook his head at her, grinning, watching her as she went over to the merchants and began rifling through their products. He saw her looking at something glittery and blue, holding it up to the light, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the expression on her face. She looked so… happy. She was happy, and so was he.

  In fact, it took Troy a moment to realize that he hadn’t been this wildly happy in years. Sheer, unadulterated joy that made him want to take Rhoswyn in his arms and kiss her until she fainted, which for her would probably never happen. She was tough and she was strong, and he loved that about her.

  But he loved it when she submitted to him, too. Just a little.

  Is this what it meant to be happy again? Was that why he could only think distantly of Helene, as if she were a warm memory and nothing more? Rhoswyn scorched him like the fires of hell, a blaze in his belly that was only quenched when he took her to his bed and had his way with her long, strong body.

  God help him, he never knew it could be like this again, this strength of happiness again. He married a woman who kicked him in the groin and hit him in the face when they’d first met. Instead of letting that set the tone for the marriage, he’d had to be more understanding and more forgiving than he’d ever been in his life, but it took him a moment to realize that those two qualities were something Helene had always tried to impress upon him. Be forgiving, she used to say. A gracious man is a great man. But he’d ignored that advice until now.

  Was it Helene’s influence that had made him a better man for Rhoswyn?

  He wondered.

  Lost in thought, he turned for the front of the stall, mulling over the recent events in his life that had brought him to this moment. He was just coming out of the stall and catching a view of Audric before he abruptly caught sight of four de Troiu soldiers who were right at the mouth of the stall. In fact, he’d nearly run into them.

  Now, he was exactly where he didn’t want to be.

  As part of the de Wolfe empire, Troy always wore very specific armor – a mail coat that went to his knees, a black de Wolfe tunic over that, and then a breast plate, of the latest military protection at that time, that essentially covered his chest. There was newer technology in armor being developed all of the time and William made sure that he and his sons were on the cutting edge of it. But the breast plate had something to identify Troy as being part of the House of de Wolfe, and that was a stylized engraving of a wolf’s head on the upper left portion of the breast plate. It was a badge. Even if one didn’t recognize him or his colors, most men of the north recognized the wolf’s head.

  The de Troiu soldiers were no different.

  They recognized the wolf’s head immediately, before they even saw Troy’s face, and the four of them pulled into a suspicious group, scrutinizing Troy as a powerful and important knight from the House of de Wolfe. As soon as they started doing that, Troy turned to Audric.

  “Quickly,” he hissed. “Find my soldiers. Send them to me now.”

  Startled, and the slightest bit frightened, Audric scattered away, completely ignored by the de Troiu soldiers. Troy tried to move away, too, but as he knew, the soldiers were on to him. Old rivalries came out.

  “De Wolfe,” one man snarled. Then, he spit on the ground. “That is what I think of de Wolfe.”

  Troy didn’t reply; he simply stared at them. They were mere soldiers and he wasn’t going to get into a verbal debate with them. They were beneath him.

  “Be on your way,” he said evenly. “I have no personal quarrel with you but that will change if you do not move on.”

  The man didn’t like being challenged. “And who are you?” he demanded. When one of his colleagues tugged on him and pointed out that he was a knight, the man brushed him off. “So you’re a knight; who is to care? You’re alone, knight. Where is your army?”

  Troy cocked an eyebrow. “I do not think you wish to find that out. It will not go well for you.”

  The soldier’s colleague was increasingly trying to pull him away while the other two soldiers were simply standing there, watching. One big mouth was doing the talking for all four of them.

  “Is that a threat?” the soldier said. “You high and mighty de Wolfes like to give orders to the rest of us, but I won’t listen to you. Whatever you defend, knight, has been stolen from others. Old William de Wolfe is a thief and if you serve him, you are a fool!”

  Troy still didn’t rise to the challenge, although one more taunt and his temper would be unleashed. He could feel it beginning to rise. “Be on your way,” he said again. “I have no time for you rabble.”

  Now, three of the soldiers were tugging on the fourth, who seemed to want to get into a fight. But the fourth soldier wouldn’t move; he was an older man, perhaps even as old as William, and there was much hatred in his heart for de Wolfe. Troy could see that simply by looking at him.

  “And that whore of a wife that old William has,” he hissed. “Do you know her? She has taunted many a man on the border with her wicked ways. If that offends you, then do not be angry with me. I’m just the messenger to deliver such news. But surely you have heard it from others.”

  Now, they were speaking of Troy’s mother and his hackles went up. They could taunt him and even taunt his father, but the moment the soldier brought Jordan into the conversation, Troy found himself rising to the situation. He put his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, sheathed against his left leg.

  “I would not say another word if I were you, vermin,” he growled. “You are a dead man already, only you do not know it yet.”

  Because the knight put his hand on his sword, the three companions instantly drew their weapons, terrified they were about to enter into a losing battle. But Troy couldn’t see the fear on their faces; he was staring down the man who had just insulted his mother. Before he could tell them for the last time to move on, a figure suddenly appeared between him and the four soldiers.

  �
�Are ye stupid, all of ye?” It was Rhoswyn and she was flashing a rather large dirk in her right hand, shiny-new and clearly something she’d picked up in the merchant shop. “Are ye so full of English ignorance that ye seek tae take on a knight who can dispatch all of ye without effort? If ye want tae save yer own lives, then get out of here. Get out of here before ye rouse his anger!”

  She was spitting mad, flashing the dirk in their faces. The men were backing away because a woman who was clearly mad was threatening them. All but the antagonist of the group; he had backed off but he didn’t move away completely. His venom turned to Rhoswyn.

  “And what’s this?” he demanded. “Another de Wolfe whore? Do they have women fighting for them now? ’Tis a man without ballocks that lets a woman do his fighting for him.”

  Rhoswyn’s eyes narrowed. “Spoken by a man who doesna understand the depths of his own worthlessness.”

  The three de Troiu soldiers looked at her in shock. It was an excellent insult and more than one of them looked as if he was verging on a grin. Before Troy could pull Rhoswyn out of the way, their aggressive comrade snarled at her.

  “That’s not what your mother said to me when I bedded her last night, lass.”

  Rhoswyn didn’t hesitate even though she could feel Troy grab her arm. “Aye, yer mother,” she said. “I know the wench well. She’s such a filthy chit that when she takes a hot bath, she makes her own gravy.”

  The three soldiers burst out laughing at the surprising insult as their aggressive comrade’s features registered pure outrage. This was no longer a game where he held the upper hand. In fact, the Scots wench had cut him down to size. Him and his mother. He immediately drew his sword.

  “You’ll pay for that, lass,” he growled.

  Rhoswyn had the dirk and she didn’t wait for the man to charge her. Yanking her arm from Troy’s grip, she went right after him, kicking him in the groin much as she had attacked her husband on that first day. When the soldier doubled over from the blow, she rammed the dirk into the back of the man’s neck.

  He was dead before he hit the ground.

  After that, it was bedlam. With Rhoswyn out of control, Troy unsheathed his sword, charging at other three soldiers simply to protect her, but only one held his ground to engage. The other two ran off, screaming for their colleagues, and suddenly the entire village center erupted in a mass of screaming people running for their lives. De Troiu men were rushing towards the merchant’s stall while most of the de Wolfe men came rushing over as well, pulled from where they’d been waiting out their lord.

  The de Wolfe soldiers saw the de Troiu men and the fight ensued. Swords clashed all around the central square of the town where the well was, and the women who had been washing their clothes fled in terror. After Troy dispatched his opponent, leaving the man bleeding out on the dirt, his priority was Rhoswyn.

  She had started this mess and although he knew she was capable in a fight, he didn’t know how capable she was until he saw her fighting with a de Troiu soldier who was nearly twice her size. He was a big man but she didn’t let that stop her. As Troy watched, she ducked under the man’s swipe, fell to her knees, and rammed her dirk into his foot. It went all the way through his shoe, through muscle and bone, and into the dirt on the other side.

  As the man screamed and doubled-over, Rhoswyn withdrew the dirk from his foot and shoved it into his throat. He, too, fell to the ground, mortally wounded by a crazed Scotswoman.

  Troy could hardly believe his eyes. Rhoswyn was good; nay, more than good – she was a smart fighter. But she was in the middle of a battle with men who were wearing protection and all she had on was a woolen cote. No matter how competent in battle she was, that cote wouldn’t protect her from a blade and Troy knew he had to get her out of there. More than that, he simply didn’t want her to fight. He knew she was trained for it, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want his wife fighting. He was terrified she was going to be gored while he watched.

  Pushing through the crowd of men, he came to his wife as she was setting her sights on another English soldier. He grabbed her by the arm before she could get away and dragged her over to the edge of the fighting, back in the direction of the merchant’s stall. The entire time, Rhoswyn struggled against him, finally pulling away from him and turning to him angrily.

  “What did ye do that?” she demanded. “There are more men out there tae fight!”

  Troy thrust a finger into her face. “Not for you,” he said angrily. “Go back into the merchant’s stall and wait for me.”

  Rhoswyn couldn’t understand his anger or his words. “I willna,” she said heatedly. “Those men must be punished!”

  Troy was so furious that he was beginning to sweat. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

  “Listen to me and listen well,” he growled. “When I married you, you became my wife. My wife does not fight my battles. My wife also listens to my wishes and she obeys them. Right now, you are not doing either of those things. You will obey me. Now, get into that merchant stall and wait for me. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Rhoswyn was truly at a loss. She’d been raised a warrior; it was her natural instinct to fight. And now Troy was telling her not to do what came naturally to her. Is this in any way unclear?

  It was all unclear.

  “But… but I can help ye,” she insisted. “Why will ye not let me help ye?”

  He snapped. “I do not want your help. In fact, I did not need you to defend me. Do you have any idea how foolish you made me look in front of those soldiers?”

  Rhoswyn was stricken. “Is that all ye care about?” she asked. “That I made ye look foolish? Those soldiers were goin’ tae kill ye! I couldna stand by and watch that happen!”

  Troy’s anger deepened. “If you believe that, then you have little faith in my abilities as a knight,” he said. “You made us both look like fools, Rhoswyn. You do not seem to understand that I am perfectly capable of settling my own affairs. I do not need another warrior; I need a wife.”

  She cooled dramatically. “I am tryin’ tae be that. But when can a wife not defend the husband she adores?”

  Troy’s head snapped to her, his expression one of shock as well as anger. The husband she adores? Nay, he wasn’t going to believe that. He couldn’t believe that. Now she was lying to him.

  …but, God… what if she wasn’t?

  “What you did has nothing to do with adoration,” he said, his voice hoarse with rage. He simply couldn’t believe she had feelings for him. Adoration, she called it. He couldn’t believe it because, if it was true, then it would make it easier to admit that he might be feeling something for her, as well. It can’t be true! “Furthermore, I do not need your defending, not now and not ever. And I do not need you lying to me about your reasons for your actions. If you cannot be what I need you to be, then mayhap I do not need you at all.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and charged out into the fray, dropping men and fighting off the de Troiu soldiers who were beginning to break up and flee. He had to run because he couldn’t look at her any longer, fearful that the conversation would become more and more heated, perhaps more and more emotional. He just couldn’t do that to Helene. He couldn’t disrespect her memory because, deep down, he wanted to admit that there was something there for Rhoswyn. He was feeling something.

  But she would never know it.

  As Troy used battle to distract himself from the turmoil in his heart, Rhoswyn simply stood there, feeling as if Troy had just taken that big broadsword he used and shoved it right into her guts. She felt as if she’d been cut to shreds by his anger, by the fact that she’d made him feel like a fool.

  By his words, he couldn’t have done more damage to her if he’d tried.

  I do not need you lying to me about your reasons.

  Those were the only words she could hear, cutting into her brain, searing their particular brand of pain into her fragile heart. It wasn’t a lie, any of it. She did adore him; she knew tha
t now. When she’d seen him facing off against four heavily-armed soldiers, visions of his bloodied body flashed through her mind. It would kill her to see him injured, or worse. That was how she knew, at that moment, that she adored him. All of the warmth and attraction she felt for the man had turned into something else, something deeper.

  But Troy didn’t understand that. And if he did, he’d rejected it. He didn’t understand that all she’d wanted to do was to help the man she adored. To him, she’d shamed him. All of the bad meals and slovenly dressing couldn’t embarrass the man, but one thing did – her attempts to fight for him. Finally, she’d done that which she’d feared.

  He was ashamed of her.

  If he didn’t need her, then she would leave. She had to leave. Gutted, and devastated, Rhoswyn dropped the dagger in the mud and made a dash for the livery where her horse was tethered. She was running blindly, so very shattered by Troy’s words.

  Taking her big horse from the livery corral, Rhoswyn tore off through a secondary road south that would take her out of the village and to the countryside beyond. Sibbald’s Hold was only an hour or so away; she knew she could make it by nightfall.

  At that moment, she only had one thing on her mind – going home and forgetting about the three days of her life when she’d been her happiest. For her, it had only been fleeting and the life to be, the one she’d had a taste of, was only something now to be revisited in her dreams. Troy’s words had made it clear that the dream was ended.

  Mayhap I do not need you at all.

  For certain, the dream was over.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been less than an hour after the start of the skirmish Rhoswyn had instigated, an hour that had Troy stewing in his anger with his wife. He’d killed at least three de Troiu soldiers and wounded a few more before they fled in a panic.

  Meanwhile, three of his own soldiers had been wounded so he’d helped one of the sergeants tend to the wounded, one man with a fairly serious gash to his forearm. The merchant who had accumulated such a pile of goods for Rhoswyn was also the one who supplied fine silk thread to sew the wound up. Troy took care of it, as he was a good battlefield medic. He sewed up the man’s arm and purchased the goods for Rhoswyn.