DarkWolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “As ye wish,” he said, moving for the chamber door. “I’ll leave ye be. Shall I send ye sup?”

  “Nay.”

  “A drink, mayhap?”

  “Nay.”

  Keith reached the door and paused, his gaze lingering on his daughter. “Does he know ye’ve come here?”

  She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I took me horse and left. I dinna tell him.”

  “Surely he’ll figure it out,” he said. “What do I tell him when he comes for ye?”

  Rhoswyn looked at him, angrily. “He willna come for me,” she said. “He told me he dinna need me. But if he comes… if he comes, tell him I willna go back with him. I willna live with a man who is ashamed of me.”

  With that, she turned away, her soft weeping to continue. It angered Keith because he’d raised his daughter to be strong, to know that tears were a sign of weakness. Perhaps the marriage to de Wolfe had made her weak somehow, even in the short amount of time they’d been together. He hated that she seemed weak.

  That wasn’t his daughter.

  He was starting to regret his demand of a de Wolfe marriage; perhaps this was all his fault. He’d wanted an alliance too badly to think of the effect it would have on his child. He’d expected many things of that marriage, but Rhoswyn falling in love with her husband hadn’t been among them. It would have been much better had she not. Aye, he regretted his decision immensely now.

  Come the morrow, he’d travel to Jedburgh to speak to the priests about an annulment.

  Perhaps that would be best, after all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “What has he done tae her?”

  It was a soft question from Dunsmore to Artis as the brothers sat in the lord’s hall of Sibbald’s. It was dark but for the fire in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls as the sun was nearly down outside. It was a lightless, haunting room as the brothers gathered around the single long feasting table.

  “He must have beaten the woman senseless,” Artis rumbled. He had a cup of liquor in his hand, the biting and strong liquor that a local beer wife made from mashed barley and rye. It could get a man drunk quickly and Artis was very fond of it. “Why else would Rhosie come runnin’ back tae Sibbald’s? She’s been beaten beyond reason.”

  Dunsmore was furious to hear that. They’d all been listening to Rhoswyn’s weeping and Keith’s soft pleas since the woman returned almost two hours earlier, an event that had upset the whole of Sibbald’s Hold. Rhoswyn Kerr was the strongest woman any of them knew and for her to run from the English, it was a certainty that something terrible had happened.

  Something had to be done about it.

  “Remember when she married him?” Dunsmore asked. “Remember how we said we had tae help her? For the sake of all of us, we had tae rid her of her Sassenach husband? Do ye recall?”

  Artis waved at his brother irritably. “I remember,” he said. “I’m not a dullard, ye know. I remember exactly what we said.”

  “Well?”

  “Well – we’ll have tae talk tae Rhosie when she gets hold of herself and ask her what she wants tae do,” he said. “Mayhap she wants tae kill the man herself. If she does, then we’ll help her.”

  “And if she doesna?”

  “Then we’ll do it anyway. Our plans havena changed, Dunnie. If we want tae keep what we have, then the Sassenach has tae be eliminated. He represents those Sassenach grandsons for Keith that will take away our fortune.”

  Dunsmore nodded, already hating those grandsons that hadn’t even yet been born. “’Twill be a pleasure,” he growled. “Any man who would…”

  Footsteps stopped their conversation. They could hear them echoing in the stone stairwell, the one that led to the upper chambers of the tower where Rhoswyn was. Keith had been up there with her ever since her return, so Artis and Dunsmore assumed it was their Uncle Keith.

  They were right.

  Keith grunted with exhaustion as he came into the hall, heading for the table where his nephews were sitting, perhaps waiting for news of Rhoswyn. At least, that was what Keith assumed. The entire fortress was presumably waiting for word about Rhoswyn and her unexpected return. Keith made his way across the darkened room and sat heavily on the bench next to Artis.

  “Pour me some of yer liquid fire, Artie,” he said, referring to Artis’ favorite drink. As his nephew poured, Keith ran his hand through his dirty hair in a weary gesture. “I dunna know what tae say about yer cousin, lads. She returned home, but not for the reasons I thought she would.”

  Artis handed his uncle the drink. “Why did she come?”

  Keith took a drink of the alcohol, smacking his lips because it was so strong. “It seems that she dinna mind being married tae the Sassenach,” he said. “According tae her, he was patient and kind for the most part, but he canna stomach her need tae fight, which is as natural tae her as breathin’. They had a quarrel and he told her he dinna need her, so she’s come home. Only he doesna know she’s come home, so I suspect he’ll come for her soon enough. A man simply doesna let his wife run home.”

  Artis’ eyes were glittering with the force of that news; he didn’t dare look at his brother. Was it really possible that Rhoswyn’s husband would end up here?

  “Then… then ye believe the Sassenach will come tae Sibbald’s tae claim her?” he asked.

  Keith took another long drink of the strong alcohol. “Aye,” he said. “She ran off and dinna tell the man. If he’s smart, and I’m assumin’ he is, then he’ll know where she’s gone. He’ll come for her.”

  And come right tae his death. Artis was beside himself with glee at the realization. He was coming to think that Rhoswyn’s return home was a most fortuitous event, better than they could have dreamed of.

  “When?” Artis couldn’t help himself from asking.

  Keith shrugged. “Soon, I would think. He’ll need tae claim what belongs tae him and, being a de Wolfe, I doubt he’ll wait.”

  Artis hadn’t heard such good news in a very long time. Truly, it was the perfect situation – they wouldn’t have to go to the Sassenach; he would come to them. They would help Rhoswyn do away with the man who had not only made her miserable, but who represented a shake-up in their clan that would disturb them all.

  God’s Bones, it was a God-given situation and it was difficult for Artis not to show his glee. To cover the smile that threatened, he downed a big gulp of his drink.

  “How does Rhosie feel about it?” he asked casually. “I mean, does she want him tae come? If the man sent her back to Sibbald’s in tears, I canna imagine she’s very happy with the thought of him comin’ for her.”

  Keith didn’t sense anything in his nephews other than sympathy for Rhoswyn’s plight. He couldn’t have known that every piece of information he gave them was being used towards the planned destruction of the de Wolfe son. He knew his nephews to be rash and, at times, foolish, but scheming wasn’t something they usually did. Had he only known that, in this case, they were fearful for their future and what they believed belonged to them, he might have handled them differently.

  But he didn’t know. They were family, after all. And family didn’t scheme against family. But to them, Troy de Wolfe wasn’t family.

  He was the enemy.

  “She says she’s not goin’ back with him,” Keith said, draining the last of the fire water from the cup. “She may change her mind come the morrow but, for now… she canna live with a man who is ashamed of what she is. And mayhap that’s me fault.”

  Artis cocked his head curiously. “Why would ye say that?”

  Keith inhaled slowly, deeply. It was a weary and sad gesture. “Because I turned her intae a warrior and not a fine lady, as her mother wanted,” he said. “Mayhap… mayhap her mother was right all along.”

  Artis put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Ye canna blame yerself,” he said. “Ye did what ye had tae do. Ye made Rhosie a good fighter.”

  “But what about makin’ her a good wife?” Keith looked at
his nephew. Already, he could feel that strong drink pulsing through his veins, magnifying his emotions. “I dinna prepare her for her role in life and now she is sufferin’. ’Tis my fault, all of it.”

  Artis patted the man in a feigned show of comfort. He didn’t understand his uncle’s sadness because, to him, a fine warrior was better than a fine wife any day.

  “Dunna worry, Uncle Keith,” he said. “All will work out the way it should. Rhosie should never have married the Sassenach tae begin with. She should have remained here, with us. She should have remained with the people who accept her for what she is.”

  Keith was quickly growing sad and miserable, realizing that the way he raised his daughter did not do her any justice. The de Wolfe son should have been presented with a wife; instead, he’d married a warrior. That never bothered Keith until this very moment because it occurred to him how ill-prepared Rhoswyn had been going into the marriage. He didn’t know why that had never occurred to him before.

  He’d been a selfish man and an even worse father.

  “She said that she was happy with him,” he muttered, rising from the table. “She was happy with him but the man was shamed by her warrior instincts. I’m not sure that’s something she can ever overcome. ’Tis part of her.”

  It seemed to Artis and Dunsmore that he wasn’t looking for an answer to that particular dilemma. He was muttering as he left the table and crossed the floor, heading out to deal with his problems on his own. Only when the man quit the hall did Artis turn to his brother.

  “Ye heard him?” he hissed. “De Wolfe is comin’ here!”

  Dunsmore nodded eagerly. “When he does, we’ll be a-waitin’ for him. Right intae our very own trap!”

  Artis poured himself more alcohol and poured his brother some as well. Collecting his cup, he lifted it to his brother as if to toast their good fortune.

  “Tae family,” he said quietly.

  Dunmore lifted his cup in return. “Tae what belongs tae us.”

  Never were truer words spoken.

  *

  The sun was down by the time Sibbald’s Hold came into view.

  It sat in a small valley amidst rolling green hills, surrounded by smaller farms that dotted the land. There were sheep everywhere; between the three-quarter moon and the remnants of the setting sun, Troy could see the little white dots on the darkening hills. He could smell them, too. Surrounding Sibbald’s enclosure was a large herd, managed by several men and dogs, and he’d had to identify himself before they’d let him pass. Even then, they men followed him all the way to the walled enclosure.

  The enclosure was bathed in a moonlit glow, with spots of golden light coming from the windows of the tower itself. Sibbald’s tower was comprised of a large L-Plan tower, three stories in height. L-Plan towers were usually those that were originally built as a single tower but somewhere over the years, were expanded with a wing that literally made the tower in the shape of the letter “L”.

  Troy had seen a few of these L-Plan towers over Scotland through the years, as the Scots seemed to be fond of adding those additional wings to expand the footprint of the structure and maximize space in the smaller fortresses. But the thick, impenetrable L-Plan tower was nearly the only thing Sibbald’s Hold had – it was in an enclosure with walls that weren’t very tall and, in fact, Troy could look over the top of the walls and see the enclosure within. The place was overrun with dogs, with an entire pack coming out to sniff him and his horse, who didn’t take kindly to the canines.

  Dogs yelped as the horse kicked out and swung its big head, chasing the dogs away. But the moment they entered the bailey, they only went a few steps before coming to a halt because the bailey was so small. The tower was directly in front of them. There was a stable to the east, small outbuildings to the north, and then the massive tower stretched above them.

  Troy couldn’t help but notice that the men who had followed them from outside the walls were now standing behind him. He could feel their suspicion in the darkness. Unwilling to take a silent stance now that he’d arrived, he turned to the men gathered behind him.

  “My name is Troy de Wolfe,” he said. “I am Rhoswyn Kerr’s husband. I am assuming she is here and I have come for her. Bring me Keith Kerr.”

  There was some hissing and shuffling going on. Men were pushing each other in the darkness until someone finally broke off from the pack and ran into the tower. When that happened, Troy dismounted his horse, as did Audric, and the two of them stood in tense silence as they wait for Keith to make an appearance. There was a great deal of tension and unease filling the air around them, for a myriad of reasons.

  “Do ye truly believe she’s come here, m’laird?” Audric muttered, leaning in Troy’s direction. “Those men did not tell ye if she is.”

  Troy was looking up to the big tower. Lights were filtering out from the tiny windows, telling him that there were people, and life, inside.

  “Mayhap they do not know,” he said. “It is possible that she simply slipped in, but if she hasn’t come here, then we must enlist Keith to help search for her. Either way, this was the best place for me to come under the circumstances.”

  Audric shrugged in agreement, but the truth was that he was uncomfortable with the gang of men behind them. He was Scots, and a priest to boot, but Troy was English and a knight. He was a direct threat. He knew Troy must have been uncomfortable, too, but to the man’s credit, he seemed perfectly at ease, even when the Scots began to hiss insults at him.

  “Cù Beurla,” one of the men behind Troy snarled.

  Having a mother who was Scottish, Troy had grown up having Gaelic spoken to him on occasion. He knew the language, so when one of Keith’s men called him an English dog, he was well aware of it. And he barked back.

  “Bi faiceallach cò thu a chanas tu ri cù Sassenach,” he said, loud enough for them to hear. “Tha an cù seo na mhadadh-allaidh agus tha e a ’ruith ann am pasganan.”

  Be careful who you call an English dog. This dog is a wolf and he runs in packs. It was a calm statement of fact and an even calmer threat. After that, they didn’t hear any more disparaging comments directed at Troy. He didn’t even turn around to see the expressions of surprise on the faces of the men behind him when they realized he could understand him. Next to him, he heard the priest hiss.

  “Do ye know the Gàidhlig, then?” Audric asked with some awe. “Ye speak flawlessly.”

  The corner of Troy’s mouth twitched. “I told you that my mother is Scottish,” he said. “She taught us the language when we were quite young. It has come in handy here on the borders.”

  Audric’s gaze lingered on the man. “Ye are a man of many talents, de Wolfe,” he said. “I think I am comin’ tae like ye, just a little.”

  Troy’s grin broke through as he turned to the man. “Just a little? I should think I would be your favorite person in the world by now.”

  Audric snorted but he was prevented from replying as men began to come out of the tower. Several men Troy didn’t recognize until Keith suddenly came into the moonlight. Then, he could see the man clearly. He didn’t even give him a chance to speak before he was walking towards him.

  “Is she here?” he demanded.

  Keith’s expression suggested he wasn’t at all surprised to see Troy. Having just left his nephews in the hall, he’d been standing in the foyer of the tower, mulling over his bad choices with his daughter, when one of his men had come to tell him that Troy de Wolfe had arrived. Oddly enough, he’d felt a surge of satisfaction with the news that Troy had arrived. But satisfaction for what? That he’d been right? That the English was as predictable as he thought he was? But satisfaction also mingled with doubt – so the man had come for Rhoswyn. It was his right, as her husband.

  But did he want to send him away? Keith truly couldn’t decide.

  “Why would ye think that?” he finally asked.

  Troy wasn’t in the mood for an evasive old man. “Because she has run away from me, presumably to retur
n home. Is she, or is she not, here? Because if she is not, then I will not waste my time talking to you. I must go look for her.”

  Keith paused, still debating on how to reply. Truthfully, there was only one thing he could say to the man who seemed rather frantic. He relented.

  “She is here,” he said.

  That brought about a good deal of relief on Troy’s part; Keith could see it. “Is she unharmed?”

  “She is.”

  Keith didn’t seem willing to give out any more information, but Troy had expected more of a response. The man seemed very resistant to Troy and his purpose. With that in mind, Troy handed the reins of his horse over to Audric as he moved closer to Keith.

  “Well?” he said. “Where is she? I must speak with her.”

  Keith looked at the man; he could see the strain on his face, even in the moonlight. Concern, he thought. Or was it fear? Did the man simply want his property returned to him and nothing more? A little tipsy from Artis’ liquid fire alcohol, Keith was in his own world of concern. A mistake he’d made had cost his daughter a great deal and, in truth, he had something to say to de Wolfe about it before he headed to Jedburgh to seek an annulment from the man who was ashamed of his daughter’s warrior instincts. As of this moment, that was still his intention – an annulment. But he wanted to let de Wolfe know why. What he’d done hadn’t been fair to either his daughter or his daughter’s husband. He should have known that marrying a warrior to a warrior would not have been a good match.

  Crooking a finger, Keith pulled Troy away from the gathering of men that had formed behind him. He pulled him across the darkened yard, over towards a big Yew tree that stood nearly in the center of the compound. The heavy branches stood out against the night sky, black outlines of limbs. When they were beneath the tree and away from prying ears, Keith turned to Troy.

  “She came home this afternoon and has only now stopped weepin’,” Keith said, somewhat critically. “She said ye dunna need her any more. She says ye’re ashamed of her for her fightin’ instincts. Ye knew she was a warrior when he married her, de Wolfe. Why should her warrior instincts shame ye?”