WolfeLord: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  And that was part of the problem.

  Atticus, being the youngest of his children, was so incredibly spoiled that the boy had difficulty not having his way in all things.

  Like a wooden sword fight.

  “Poppy gave me my sword,” Atticus said, holding up the weapon. “He has been teaching me to use it. Why can I not go to foster with Andrew, Papa? I will learn much more if I can foster with him.”

  It was a question Will had heard before but he was distracted by shouting on the walls. At Carlisle Castle, perhaps the largest and most fought-over castle on the English-Scottish border, the soldiers on the walls were always vigilant, all night and all day. There was never one moment when they were not stationed atop the red-stoned walls, watching the magnificent greet landscape for any signs that the Scots were back to try and regain the castle.

  It was an extraordinarily active castle, but Will had been the garrison commander long enough to know when his men were worried and when they were not. The castle sat right on the edge of the town of Carlisle and the soldiers had evidently sighted a merchant caravan moving along the main road through town, something that had their interest. The castle itself was a mass of concentric walls, berms, moats, gatehouses, and drawbridges, nearly impossible to penetrate. It had become that way because every time the Scots held it, they fortified it, and when the English took it, they fortified it a little more.

  There was probably no safer castle in all of England.

  Which was why Will kept his family here – at least, his youngest son and his wife, Lily. So far, they had one daughter and two sons, and Lily was current pregnant with their fourth child. Life was good, Will was content, and the truth was that he didn’t want to send Atticus away just yet. Athena and Andrew, his older children, were fostering quite far to the south at Ramsbury Castle, seat of the Duke of Savernake, but he wanted them back in the north where their family was in power, so soon, they would be heading to Bamburgh Castle.

  And little Atticus might just go with them.

  But not yet.

  Will put an enormous hand on Atticus’ head.

  “You will go to foster soon enough,” he said. “Don’t you like living here with me and Mama?”

  Atticus nodded his little red head. Then, he shook it. “I want to go with Andrew.”

  Will shrugged, realizing the lure of a brother was greater than the lure of a father. At least, at the moment. He was about to reply, but Atticus caught sight of a knight coming through the inner gatehouse and he took off running.

  “Marcellus!” the boy called. “Marcellus, will you fight me?”

  Marcellus de Shera grinned at the eager little boy. Tall and handsome, with auburn hair and flashing green eyes, quiet and obedient Marcellus was a favorite of the women in Carlisle.

  “Alas, Master Atticus, I cannot,” he said regretfully.

  “Why not?” the child demanded.

  Marcellus pointed to Will. “Because your father has entrusted me with duties that I must fulfill,” he said. “Mayhap I will fight you later, before sup.”

  Atticus wasn’t too terribly pleased, but he didn’t argue. He saw his nemesis again, walking towards the stable yard because as a page, he also had duties to attend to, and he ran after him.

  Will watched him go.

  “I am either going to have to send him to foster with his brother so he has someone to play with or I shall have to bring some more children to Carlisle,” he said. “He cannot keep commandeering my knights for playmates.”

  Marcellus smiled. “He’s a good lad,” he said. “I really don’t mind. Except when he insists that he win and I must fall to the ground and die a dramatic death.”

  Will snorted. “The more dramatic, the better.”

  “Your son has bloodlust when it comes to a fallen enemy.”

  Will continued to laugh softly. “He gets it honestly,” he said. “All of the de Wolfes have that particular trait.”

  “Speaking of de Wolfe,” Marcellus said. “When are you planning on departing for Castle Questing and will any of us be going with you for your grandfather’s celebration?”

  He meant him or the other two knights who served at Carlisle, Sir Hermes de Norville and Sir Ronan de Wolfe. Ronan was Will’s younger cousin, a young man with unearthly brilliance as a warrior. At eighteen years of age, he had already been knighted earlier in the year by his grandfather, the Earl of Warenton, because he was just that good. His first assignment had been Carlisle Castle, stationed with his older cousin in command. Somewhat quiet and introspective, but an utterly fearless warrior, Will considered himself fortunate to have young Ronan in his stable of knights.

  And then, there was Hermes.

  Hermes de Norville was about eight years older than Ronan, so still a young man in the grand scheme of things, but a more aggressive, cunning, wily, and intelligent warrior had never existed. Hermes and his older brother, Atreus, were very close in age and legends within the family for their fight-first-ask-questions-later behavior. The two of them together were like kindling and a spark, so their grandfathers, who were also Will’s grandfathers, thought it best to separate the pair when they were knighted lest they kill each other at some point.

  Therefore, Will had been saddled with Hermes, whom he was actually quite glad to have even if the man did make him want to tear his hair out at times. But he knew there was no way he was going to keep Ronan or Hermes from the celebratory feast at Castle Questing.

  “I assumed that all three of my knights would want to go with me,” he said after a moment, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Besides – my grandfather is their grandfather, too, and it is William de Wolfe’s celebration of the day of his day of birth and nearly every household on the border has been invited, including those with eligible young women.”

  “Excellent, my lord.”

  Will cocked an eyebrow. “Are you hearing me, Marcellus? I said eligible women. Something we do not seem to have enough of around here.”

  Marcellus grinned, holding up a hand. “You know I already have someone who occupies my heart and my mind,” he said. “But Ronan and Hermes do not. They need eligible women more than I do.”

  “Sure they do.”

  Marcellus started to laugh. “Truly, my lord, I am not looking for a bride,” he said. “But Hermes, in particular, says he must marry soon or his father will disown him.”

  Will’s eyes glimmered with mirth. “That is probably true,” he said. “Uncle Hector thinks that marriage will settle him down, but the rest of us have our doubts.”

  “As do I.”

  Will chuckled. “But let us speak of you,” he said. “You speak of this lady who has your heart, but when can we expect you to bring her to Carlisle and marry her? My wife would like another companion.”

  Marcellus’ smile faded a little. “Who can say?” he said evasively. “Now, may I tell your cousins that they are indeed going to Castle Questing?”

  He was deliberately changing the subject, as he always did when it came to the enigmatic lady he spoke of on rare occasions. Will was well aware of the woman that Marcellus professed to have a fondness for and he had been for years, only Marcellus had never divulged her name and no one had ever seen her.

  It was a big mystery, much as Marcellus himself was.

  Marcellus was a de Lohr knight who had come north with Will when he and Lily had taken possession of Carlisle a few years ago, gifted to Will from Chris de Lohr, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester and Lily’s father. Marcellus’ grandfather, Leeton, had served the House of de Lohr many years ago, so he was a legacy knight and a very good one. Will considered him a friend, even if the man did keep to himself. He was a private man. Even so, Will had come to the conclusion that the phantom bride was a figment of the Marcellus’ imagination.

  But he’d never tell him to his face.

  “Tell them we leave the day after tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll travel with a heavily armed escort and leave most of the army here at Carlisle. We’ll lea
ve one of the senior sergeants in command – I think Woodrow Decker is a good choice.”

  “He would be mine, as well.”

  “Then see to it,” Will said. “And you will have the big carriage prepared for my wife and son. Atticus will want to ride with the knights, but he will not, so make sure the carriage is prepared for a six-year-old lad who will be bored to tears for the duration of the journey.”

  With a smirk, Marcellus headed off.

  Will watched him go, looking forward to seeing his father and grandfather in the next few days. It had been a while since he’d seen them both, or the rest of his extended family for that matter, so he was happy to be going. But he knew someone who wouldn’t be.

  His wife.

  Taking a deep breath, he headed towards the keep.

  *

  “What do you think of this? Do you think the earl will like it?”

  A young woman with gorgeous auburn hair held a piece of blue fabric against her body, showing it off to the woman seated in a cushioned chair.

  But the woman in the chair waved her hand.

  “It glistens too much,” she said. “We must have fabric that is as masculine and strong as Warenton himself.”

  “But it’s quite lovely.”

  “It’s better suited for a lady,” the woman in the chair stressed. “In fact, I may have you make a dress for me from it. Where did we get that piece of cloth again?”

  The woman with the auburn hair held it up in front of her, looking at it. “Gretna, I think,” she said. “Remember? From the man who pays pirates to bring him goods from the sea?”

  The woman in the chair snorted. “Aye, I remember him,” she said. “The man from Athens? What does he call himself? Kronos or something like it?”

  “Karoly, my lady.”

  Lily de Lohr de Wolfe nodded in remembrance. “The man is a bloody thief,” she said. “He has the pirates steal from the other merchant ships. At least, that is what Will tells me. I don’t care. I like the fabric, so I bought it.”

  The woman with the auburn hair grinned as she carefully set the fabric aside, draping it over the back of a chair. She pulled forth another piece of cloth, a woolen fabric that had been greatly softened by using urine. It made the wool quite lovely to the touch, but she hated touching it. It had been dyed to a beautiful shade of green and she held it up for Lily to inspect.

  “This one?” she asked.

  Lily eyed the wool, leaning forward to finger it but realizing as soon as she touched it that it hadn’t been washed yet. She made a face and wiped her fingers off on a kerchief.

  “It’s lovely, Adie,” she said. “Do you think you can sew a tunic in the next two days? I realize that is very short notice, but I could not decide on a gift until now.”

  Lady Adria de Geld smiled. “I can,” she said. “You know there is no one faster than I at sewing a garment.”

  Lily nodded gratefully. “Even when we were growing up, you were faster than anyone else at Kenilworth,” she said. Then she paused, sitting back in the chair and putting her feet on a small stool that had a pillow upon it. Her hands went to her blossoming belly. “Lady Lancaster liked to take credit for your skill, you know.”

  Adria grinned as she laid out the chosen fabric. “I know.”

  Lily watched the woman fuss with the fabric as her mind traveled back to the glory days of Kenilworth Castle when she and Adria and many other well-bred young women fostered there amongst royalty. The days before she was summoned back to Lioncross Abbey Castle, her father’s seat on the Welsh Marches, and consigned to a much slower life than she would have liked.

  Back in the days when she had first met Will.

  She didn’t consider those particularly joyful days.

  “Do you remember the time we went to Coventry and one of the de Nerra sons got into that terrible fight when another knight tried to speak to me?” she asked. “Lady Lancaster used to laugh at the men who would throw themselves at us. Do you recall?”

  Adria nodded. “I do, indeed,” she said. “Victor de Nerra had a nasty cut on his face as a result. Surely he still bears the scar.”

  “He was a nice lad.”

  “He was.”

  “I wonder what became of him.”

  Adria shrugged. “He’s probably serving the sheriffs of Hampshire,” she said. “I think that is the de Nerra lot in life. At least the ones from Selbourne Castle, where he was born.”

  Lily sighed as she continued to rub her belly. “I think of those days often,” she said. “Days of pageantry and excitement. Do you?”

  Adria could hear the longing in her tone. She had known the lovely Lady Lily for many years, ever since she had gone to foster at Kenilworth Castle at around eleven years of age and fourteen-year-old Lily took her under her wing. Lily was sweet and kind, but ambitious. She had spirit and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, but coming from one of the greatest warring dynasties in England, that wasn’t surprising. She had the de Lohr boldness, something that people attributed to her great-grandmother, a very lovely but bold woman who had turned the English court on its ear back in the day.

  Or, so the stories went.

  But Adria knew something a little different when it came to Lily. They were still the best of friends and always would be, but Lily was the kind of woman who should have been entrenched in court life. She should have married a courtier and spent her time in London. Instead, she’d taken a brief fancy to the young and very handsome Will de Wolfe and before she knew it, she was married to the man and pregnant with her first child. And that had ended Lily’s quest to be both political and powerful.

  Adria was quite certain that Lily had never gotten over it.

  “I would not say that I think of them often,” she said after a moment. “I do from time to time. I suppose I remember our friends more than I do anyone else, the girls we became close to. But… nothing more.”

  Lily looked at her, then. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “How careless of me. I did not mean to bring back such things as you would probably rather forget.”

  Adria knew what she meant. She glanced at her, smiling weakly. “There is nothing to forgive and there is nothing to forget,” she said. “I do not think of Gerard any longer, at least not in that way.”

  “Then the pain has gone?”

  Adria didn’t really want so speak of the knight she’d been so fond of, the young man she had planned to spend her life with. A freak accident had ended her dreams and his life. It had happened in one of the many tournaments that the Earl of Lancaster had hosted. The day itself had been such a normal day and a normal circumstance, and Gerard de Gil had performed well in his very first tournament since being knighted. But shards from a broken lance had pierced his neck brutally, even through the mail he wore, and it had taken him three days to die.

  Three long, horrific days.

  Adria had spent every moment by his side, tending to the man who had slowly died, his life trickling away like sands through the hourglass. After that, she couldn’t bear even thinking of becoming romantic with someone. At twenty years and five, she was something of a spinster.

  But it was better than having her heart crushed again.

  “The pain is never gone, I suppose,” she said upon reflection. “But it has dulled. Sometimes, I cannot even remember his face clearly and that saddens me. Do you remember him?”

  Lily shrugged. “I remember that he had curly blond hair and a loud laugh,” she said. Then, she smiled. “I remember he liked to tell ridiculous jokes.”

  That brought a soft giggle from Adria. “They were ridiculous, weren’t they?”

  Lily laughed softly. “Awful,” she agreed. “I do not mean to push you, sweetling, but do you think time enough has passed that you should want to marry now? You know that Hermes has had his eye on you for some time. He comes from a fine family.”

  Adria cast her a long look. “Hermes de Norville is about as ready for marriage as a wild stallion is ready to be tamed,” she said.
“Even if he was ready, I would not consider him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he is rash and reckless,” she said. “I do not think we would make a good match, for we have nothing in common to share. Shall I go on?”

  Lily shook her head as she lay her head back against the chair. “Nay,” she said. “He is quite rash and reckless. You could tame the wild stallion, you know.”

  “I don’t have a big enough whip.”

  Lily burst out laughing just as there came a knock at the chamber door. She turned to the panel in time to see Will stepping into the chamber. He looked at his wife curiously.

  “What are you laughing about?” he asked.

  Lily pointed to Adria. “I am trying to convince Adie to marry Hermes,” she said. “She says that her whip isn’t big enough.”

  Will grinned, looking at his wife’s lady-in-waiting, a woman he’d known almost as long as he’d known Lily. Adria de Geld was a perfect woman if there ever was one, at least in Will’s estimation. Petite, with a glorious cascade of auburn hair that tumbled in curls down her back, she had eyes the color of a spring meadow – a brilliant green that always looked tremulous and dewy. She had a pert nose and a mouth shaped like a cupid’s bow, a rare beauty indeed. Many a man at Carlisle had commented on the glorious appearance of Lady Adria, and a few had even made advances on her, but she had politely but firmly rejected them.

  Hermes de Norville included.

  “Hermes is not nearly good enough for her, so stop trying to make a match,” he said. “In fact, I came to tell you that I am bringing Hermes and Ronan with us to Castle Questing.”

  “What of Marcellus?” Lily asked. “Is he remaining here?”

  Will shook his head. “All three of them are coming,” he said. “Things are quiet at the moment, so I feel confident enough leaving the majority of the army under the command of the senior sergeants. It will do the knights good to get away and feast with their friends for a few days.”