Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  William glanced at his wife as she stood in the doorway of his massive solar. Illuminated by the soft light, she looked far younger than her sixty-odd years. “So you have come to scold me?” he asked, somewhat defensively.

  “I have come tae warn ye. She’ll not be taken easily.”

  William already knew that. He tried to keep his patience with his wife but he couldn’t stomach the “I told you so” attitude. “Then what do you suggest?” he nearly demanded.

  The Lady Jordan Scott de Wolfe gazed steadily at her husband of nearly forty years. She knew what he was thinking, just as he knew what she was thinking. There wasn’t much they thought differently on, although Penelope had been one of those things. William had indulged the girl’s interest in knights and weapons whereas Jordan had tried to dissuade her, knowing how difficult it would be for her once she grew older. She would be an oddity in a man’s world. It would seem that Jordan had been increasingly correct, as the current situation now exemplified. They were in for trouble.

  Stepping into the solar, Jordan glanced at the rich and comfortable surroundings. Planted in the heart of Castle Questing, a massive fortress that crouched upon the lines of the Scottish border like a lion waiting to feed upon the unwitting souls of the Scots, the solar was a room that had seen more of its share of triumph and tragedy. The cold stone walls themselves reeked of power and warfare, as the lair of The Wolfe weaved its own web of intrigue and mystery.

  “Dunna search for her,” Jordan said quietly, pulling her wrap more tightly around her slender shoulders against the chill of the room. “She is smart enough tae hide from ye. A trap is the best thing for Penelope.”

  William was intrigued. “A trap?”

  Jordan nodded her head, gazing at the knights in the room; a few were her sons, a few were sons of other elderly knights that had been with her husband since he had been a young warrior. She gazed at the handsome faces of her sons; Scott, blond and brawny, and his twin Troy, who was dark like his father. Her gaze fell upon Patrick, her third son and the biggest and most powerful of them all, and then to Edward and Thomas, strapping men who were seasoned even at their young age. Five sons of the mighty Wolfe, all of them distinguished warriors in their own right, but the sixth son was missing. James had been killed in Wales the year before and the agony was still very fresh when she gazed at her boys. She imagined the missing one who had been tall and blond with an impish grin. Struggling against the familiar grief, her gaze returned to her husband.

  “Aye,” she said finally. “Ye must lure her out if ye have any chance of capturing her.”

  “How shall we lure her?”

  Jordan shrugged, a twinkle in her soft green eyes. “’Tis ye who are the military genius, English,” she said. “I shall leave that up tae ye.”

  William twisted his lips irritably at her but the truth was that he was trying not to grin. “You are no help at all, woman,” he growled.

  “Ye didna marry me tae help ye. Ye married me tae breed a host of strong sons and tell ye when ye are wrong.”

  William’s smile broke through. “I shall beat you severely for being so insolent.”

  Jordan snorted, glancing at her boys, who were also grinning. As she turned for the door, the panel to the chamber suddenly slammed shut hard enough to rattle the expensive plate armor that was stacked up over the massive hearth. The very shelves shook. They all heard something slam up against the door, a second blow, and William, puzzled, made his way to the door and lifted the old iron latch. It was jammed. Curious, he shook the door as if attempting to open it.

  “Who shut this door?” he yelled, pounding a fist against it. “Who is there?”

  There was a brief pause. “I shall not let you out until we come to an agreement, Father!”

  It was a decidedly feminine voice and they all recognized it in an instant. Frustrated, though not surprised, William looked at his wife.

  “Penelope,” he hissed. “Did you put her up to this?”

  Jordan’s expression was innocent. “Now, why would I do that?”

  He pointed a finger at her. “Because you have been against my decision from the beginning,” he accused. “You’ve not supported me one bit!”

  Jordan was trying not to crack a smile. “Yer mad, English,” she dismissed him. “Ye know she’s a clever lass. Mayhap ye shouldna have piled most of yer knights intae one room. Now she has ye trapped, all of ye.”

  William scowled at her; he wasn’t the scowling type but his wife had pushed his hand. He snapped his big fingers at the eleven knights in the room. “Edward, Thomas,” he hissed at the younger, thinner, and more agile sons. “Climb out through the window and get around to the corridor where she is. Do not let her get away from you, do you understand?”

  The young knights were nodding even as they swiftly moved for the long lancet windows that overlooked the bailey. The other knights followed them and began helping them strip off the heavy armor so they could move more freely.

  “’Tis a two-story drop to the bailey, Father,” Scott reminded his father.

  William waived him off tersely. “Then use the tapestry near the hearth as a rope,” he said. “If the rest of you can fit through the windows, then go with them.”

  The knights were on the move as William returned his attention to the door. “Penelope?” he called sweetly, hoping she hadn’t heard the commands being issued inside the room. “Penelope, my love? Please open the door. I promise we shall speak with reason and wisdom on the matter. Penelope, do you hear me?”

  “Father!” Edward called; his body was halfway out of the window but he refused to go any further. He was pointing down into the darkened bailey. “Father, Penelope is down there with a broadsword!”

  William and Jordan rushed to the windows, as did the other knights. They could see the young woman down in the darkness of the bailey, dressed in mail and pieces of armor that had been custom-fitted to her body. In her hand was a very sharp broadsword. When she saw all of the faces looking down at her, she assumed a defensive stance.

  “Come down here, all of you,” she challenged. “You shall be very sorry.”

  William sighed heavily and looked at his wife. “Now what?” he asked. He threw a hand in the direction of the solar door. “She has us trapped in here.”

  “That is because ye made it easy for her,” Jordan scolded softly. “Did ye not think she would take advantage of it?”

  “She would with her mother advising her.”

  “Then that would make me a better military commander than ye.”

  William couldn’t decide whether to laugh or spank her. “You’re so smart,” he said sarcastically. “Now what do we do?”

  Jordan couldn’t help but grin; a small but scrappy woman had twelve very big men trapped in a little room and was holding them hostage. It was a fairly comical situation and very damaging to the male pride. Jordan was very proud of her little girl.

  “Mayhap ye should tell her that she doesna have tae marry the warlord ye’ve pledged her tae,” she said casually. “Mayhap then she shall let ye out. She doesna want tae marry the man and unless ye wish tae remain her hostage the rest of yer life, then I would suggest yet negotiate with her.”

  William’s frustration was mounting at his taunting wife. With an angry sigh, he pushed Troy out of the way so he could get closer to the lancet window.

  “Penelope?” he called down to her. “Penelope, my sweet, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Will you do this, please?”

  Penelope had not moved from her defensive stance. “I have already heard you, Father. You know my thoughts on the matter. I will not let you out of that room until you promise me I do not have to go to Wales.”

  By now, most of Castle Questing was alerted to what was going on; there was too much shouting on the east side of the keep to maintain the secrecy of the situation. The Lady Penelope had her father and most of his senior knights trapped in her father’s solar and a shouting match was going on; Penelope in the
bailey and her father with his head out of the window two stories above. Men were starting to come around to see what all of the yelling was about, including William’s second in command, Sir Kieran Hage.

  Kieran, as old as he was, still drew the night watch every night. The massive knight with the piercing brown eyes still guarded the dark. He was on the wall, watching the happening and coming to see what had occurred; in fact, his own three sons were in that solar; Alec, Kevin, and Christian. He knew this was a particularly painful moment for Kevin, in fact, being in love with Penelope as he was. He knew the man was in the solar, cheering her on. Resist, Penelope! Resist with all your might!

  But that didn’t erase the fact that there was a standoff going on. As Kieran swiftly made his way off the wall, William proceeded to reason with a very angry young lady.

  “Penelope,” he began, “you understand a knight’s heart. You understand what it is to fight and die for what you believe in. You understand what makes England what it is and how important loyalty and allegiance are to the king. You also understand that peace is made in many ways and the least violent method is through negotiations and treaties and contracts. That being said, I know you understand how much of an honor it is that King Edward has asked that you become his emissary for peace.”

  Even in the darkness, they could see Penelope’s scowl, which was an unfortunate expression on her exquisite face.

  “I am not to be an emissary for peace,” she countered firmly. “The king has had a time of it in Wales and he seeks to make me a sacrifice to the biggest Welsh warlord of all by marrying me to the man.”

  “He is trying to make an alliance.”

  “He is trying to make me the sacrificial lamb!”

  William was struggling to remain calm. “I know you are not that dense,” he said. “You know who Bhrodi de Shera is; the man still holds the hereditary title of King of Anglesey, for Christ’s sake. He descends from Welsh royalty on his mother’s side and on his father’s side, he holds the title of Earl of Coventry. He is both Welsh and English, my love, but Edward wishes to appeal to his English blood by marrying the daughter of a great English warlord to him. It will ally our two families, Penelope, and it will guarantee Edward control of Northern Wales. After that disastrous defeat at Llandeilo last year when we lost your brother and then the terrible defeat at Moel-y-don a few months ago, the king is tired of losing so many men. He is hoping you can save lives by marrying the man who holds most of Northern Wales in his grasp. Can you not understand this?”

  By now, Penelope had calmed somewhat but she was still clearly unhappy. “You put too much of a burden upon me, Father,” she said. “You make it seem as if I do not marry the man, then I will be responsible for all of the English deaths that will result in continued warfare. I am not to blame; it is the king. His greed kills men.”

  “Silence,” William hissed at her. “You cannot judge the fortunes of the king. It is his right to expand his holdings and you are, by law, sworn to do his bidding. What is the difference if he sends you to Wales to fight or to marry a warlord to secure peace? Either way, you are doing his bidding. If you are a knight, as you have so often sworn you are, then you have no choice. You must do as you are told.”

  Penelope was losing ground. “I would rather fight than marry a man I would be bound to for life.”

  William went for the kill. “Fine,” he said as if agreeing to her terms. “Then the next time there are battles in Wales, your brothers will go and fight. We’ve already lost James, but mayhap that will just be the beginning. It would be a true tragedy to see more of your brothers die in a battle you could have just as easily prevented. They will do their duty and fight for the king; will you do your duty and marry for peace so they will not have to die?”

  Penelope held his gaze a moment longer before hanging her head. But as she did so, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. As quick as a cat, she jumped back and lifted her broadsword but she wasn’t fast enough; Kieran had come up behind her and now held her in a great bear hug from behind. Her arms were pinned by his iron grip and she could hardly move.

  “Uncle Kieran!” she grunted, struggling against him. “Let me go!”

  Kieran had her tightly; he was concerned what would happen to him should he lose his grip. Penelope could fight as well as any man.

  “In time,” he said calmly. “Drop the sword.”

  “Nay!”

  “Drop it or you will be very sorry.”

  Penelope began to kick and twist, but Kieran was so big that she truly didn’t have a chance against him. Suddenly, she began to twitch and spasm. Her howls filled the air.

  “Nay!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare do that!”

  Kieran was laughing low in his throat; the fingers of his right hand just happened to be along the left side of her torso, in a seam where the mail gapped, and he tickled her mercilessly as she screamed. The broadsword hit the ground and she began to beg for mercy as up in the keep, the servants had managed to straighten out the damaged door latch that was keeping William and his knights barricaded inside the solar.

  When the door opened, the knights all spilled out except for William. He remained by the window with his wife, watching Kieran tickle Penelope until she was gasping for air. She was captured, that was certain, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last of her rebellion. She was too stubborn for that. He knew the best course of action would be to get her to Wales as soon as possible. There, she would marry the Welsh warlord that was the most powerful man in all of Wales, if not all of England. The man had lands and wealth beyond the wildest dreams. He also had the reputation of the Devil.

  William had known many powerful warlords in his life. He was, in fact, one of the more powerful ones in the north of England; The Wolfe was legendary. But Sir Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera went beyond William’s status. The man had Welsh royalty on his mother’s side and English nobility on his father’s; he fought for the Welsh when it suited him and the English when he felt like it. His loyalty was to himself and no one else.

  It was King Edward’s hope that marrying him to the daughter of a legendary English warlord would secure de Shera’s loyalty to England permanently. Securing the loyalty of the man known throughout the realm as The Serpent, and for very good reason.

  His strike was deadly.

  Chapter Two

  Rhydilian Castle, the Month of May

  Isle of Anglesey, Wales

  “They are on their way.” A big knight with shaggy black hair entered the great hall with his grand announcement. “In fact, they are already in Wales.”

  His statement didn’t seem to have much impact to the occupants. Four pairs of eyes looked up at him from various positions around the great open pit in the center of the hall. The smoke from the fire in the pit was creating a fog of sorts, mostly because of the storm outside. Winds were preventing the smoke from escaping through holes in the thatched roof. Rain trickled down through the roof, hitting the glowing embers with a sharp hiss.

  The mood of the room was dark and somber, as was usual. There hadn’t been any levity in the room in well over two years, ever since “she” had died. No one was allowed to speak her name so she was only referred to as “she”. That was as far as it went, memories of “she” having long since been forced into the shadows. That was how their liege wanted it.

  As the announced words faded into the smoky blackness of the hall, a man seated near the fire with a sword in his hand, carefully sharpening it with a pumice stone, finally responded.

  “How do you know this?” he asked, his voice deep and melodic as he continued to run the stone over the edge of the blade. “Have we received word?”

  The knight with the shaggy hair nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he replied. “Word has come. De Wolfe has accepted Edward’s proposal and is on his way with your bride.”

  The man sharpening the sword came to an unsteady halt. His eyes, the color of emeralds, seemed to flicker, to shift, before returning them to the bla
de. He resumed sharpening.

  “Why would he come?” he asked calmly. “I have not yet accepted Edward’s proposal. Do they think to force me to marry an English woman, then?”

  The shaggy knight eyed the lowered head of his liege; Sir Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera was a cool man in most situations, cooler still when the circumstances grew harried and violent. But the man had been known to have a temper, legendary outbursts that were far and few between yet had been known to have dire if not deadly results. It took a great deal to provoke the man known as The Serpent, but when The Serpent struck, he laid waste to all he touched. Even the men around the fire were watching de Shera, waiting. It was a tense moment as the realization of the words settled.

  “De Wolfe’s messenger is in the bailey,” Ivor ap Bando replied steadily. “I made him wait whilst I informed you of the information he bore. Would you hear him now, my lord?”

  Bhrodi continued to rub the stone on the edge of the blade, coolly, but his brilliant mind was working steadily. They are on their way. He was mildly annoyed, that was true, but there was also curiosity in the mix. A daughter of the legendary Wolfe would soon be upon his doorstep. If he was to ever consider an English bride, it would only be from a family of a great warrior. Edward had known him well; the man was well aware of his enemy’s requirements. He understood his adversary and had acted accordingly. No woman but one from legendary warrior blood would be acceptable. Now, The Wolfe had come to Wales.

  Straight into The Serpent’s lair.

  Bhrodi continued sharpening the blade. “It is a dangerous time to make the journey,” he said, eyeing the razor-sharp steel. “By the full of the moon is not the best time to come to these parts.”

  Ivor nodded. “I realize that, my lord,” he said. “The messenger says they should be here on the morrow. Mayhap you should….”