WolfeHeart: de Wolfe Pack Generations, page 2
Kyloe Castle:
Seat of the Earl of Northumbria, Thomas de Wolfe
• Christoph Hage, second
Roxburgh Castle (Wolfe’s Claw – unofficially)*
Large royal-held castle near Kelso, formerly manned by knights from Northwood, but awarded to the House of de Wolfe by royal decree for meritorious service to the crown. Volatile location, often attacked by Scots, and is manned by both royal and de Wolfe troops.
• Blayth (James) de Wolfe, Lord Sydenham, commander
• Axel Hage, second
*Note: Because of the extreme volatile location and nature of this garrison, Blayth (James) de Wolfe was given the title Lord Sydenham and the Sydenham Barony, a small but strategic barony between Wark Castle and the town of Kelso.
Northwood Castle:
Massive border castle, very important and strategic. Belonging to the Earls of Teviot. Not part of the de Wolfe empire, but strongly allied to de Wolfe by marriage and blood. The Earl of Teviot is John Adrian de Longley, Adam de Longley’s eldest son. Adrian’s mother is Cayetana Fernanda Teresita Silva y Fausto de Longley, Princess of Aragon.
• Hector de Norville, captain of the guard
• Atreus de Norville, second
Edenburn Tower (House of de Norville):
Smaller tower on the southern end of de Wolfe properties belonging to the House of de Norville. Owned and commanded by Alec Hage, Lord Bowmont.
Castle Canaan (Kendal):
The Earl of Warenton’s southernmost holding, not directly related to the Scottish border but a source of additional troops if needed. Inherited the property when he married the widow of Castle Canaan.
• Stephan du Rennic, commander
Seven Gates Castle (Kendal):
• Seat of Edward de Wolfe’s Barony – Kentmere in Kendal that adjoins brother Scott’s lands at Castle Canaan
• Isleworth House, Surrey
De Wolfe Pack Generations
The grandsons of William de Wolfe are referred to as “The de Wolfe Cubs”. There are more than forty of them, both biological and adopted, and each young man is sworn to his powerful and rich legacy. When each grandson comes of age and is knighted, he tattoos the de Wolfe standard onto some part of his body. It is a rite of passage and it is that mark that links these young men together more than blood.
More than brotherhood.
It is the de Wolfe birthright.
The de Wolfe Pack standard is meant to be worn with honor, with pride, and with resilience, for there is no more recognizable standard in Medieval England. To shame the Pack is to have the tattoo removed, never to be regained.
This is their world.
Welcome to the Cub Generation.
De Wolfe Motto: Fortis in arduis
Strength in times of trouble
PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1300
Mordrington Manor
Scottish Borders
He’d come for a meal and maybe a sexual favor.
But that’s not what he was facing.
This was his damned property and all he could see where dirty, grizzled Scots in the courtyard, sitting around a giant fire they’d created right in the middle of it. They’d dug up the cobblestones in the courtyard that had been so carefully laid down last year to keep the mud and erosion at bay and they’d built a bloody big fire right in the middle of it.
Bastards.
He was going to get rid of them once and for all.
This was his property, after all. Mordrington Manor had been left to Roget de Sauque by his wife’s father, a rich and producing manor with fat, brown sheep who multiplied in copious amounts in the springtime. He’d moved his mistress into it when she was pregnant with their first worthless bastard and since that time, she’d given birth to a second worthless bastard. Stupid sons because they took after her side of the family. The only reason Roget kept her around was because she was clever in bed and she did anything he wanted, something his wife wouldn’t do.
Fenella Foulden Hume was the perfect whore.
But with her came her useless family of inbred Scots and he knew it was her brother’s men he saw sitting around the bonfire in the courtyard. The longer he looked at them, the angrier he became.
Roget had entered through the front of the manor, with its giant oak and iron door, so fortified that a hundred men couldn’t pull it down. That led to the great hall with the courtyard in the center of the manse’s complex. It was surrounded by living quarters, kitchens, and a chapel, among other things. It was also protected by a wall walk on the second story, with battlements overlooking the hostile countryside.
He headed to this wall walk because he could get a full view of the Scots camping in his courtyard, eating his food and drinking his wine. He didn’t know where Fenella was and, at the moment, he didn’t care. He was enraged that she was housing her brother and his reiver brethren.
Aye, he knew exactly who they were.
What they were.
Taking the stairs to the gallery above the great hall, he emerged from a doorway on the gallery wall and out onto the wall walk. From this perch, he could see everything perfectly. The first thing he realized was that there must have been more of them than he suspected because the smell of human habitation was more powerful than the smoke that was filling the night sky. It smelled like a barnyard and given the beauty of the manse, that was a tragedy. Mordrington was a truly beautiful example of a country manse with gardens and a bucolic moat, but now it was filled with reivers.
Outlaws.
In truth, he’d always suspected that was the case, as far as a couple of years back when it seemed that Fenella’s brother, Baldwin “Win” Foulden, had come for a visit with his friends and never left. Rumor had it that they were attacking small farms and villages in the area, and anything of value, from Berwick to Coldstream. Massive castles like Northwood and Questing came out to do battle with them, chasing them back into Scotland.
But Win’s group of cutthroats was only a piece of a larger group who comprised a band of Scottish and English outlaws who liked to call themselves Na Bràithrean, or The Brothers. The Brothers had been responsible for a good deal of death and destruction along that stretch of the borders and as Roget looked around his property, he could see horses and sheep that he didn’t remember buying. There were even black cattle in the fields to the south; he’d seen them coming in. Those didn’t belong to him. The smelly courtyard was filled with barrels and possessions shoved into corners, possessions stolen from others.
His pretty, elegant manse had become a den of thieves.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed this before on his frequent trips to visit Fenella. He’d seen it but he’d ignored it for the most part because, usually, Win and his reivers kept their activities out of his sight. He didn’t care about what he couldn’t see, but over the past few months, they hadn’t been so careful in hiding their ill-gotten gains. When he told Fenella that he wanted Win and his cohorts gone, she would simply smile, untie his breeches, and put her mouth on his manhood. The woman could suck the shine off steel. Then he’d forget about his anger until the next time.
But there wasn’t going to be a next time.
As Roget stood on the wall walk overlooking the smoky courtyard, he could see three young women huddled in a corner, dressed in what looked like bed clothes. They were dirty, weeping, and frightened. Having heard about a raid against the small village of Hutton two days ago, Roget suspected who they were.
Spoils.
If the larger castles along the border heard about this, Mordrington would be destroyed. They couldn’t stand against the Earls of Teviot, Warenton, Northumbria, and Berwick, the dominate warlords in the area, who would undoubtedly come to wipe them out.
The Earl of Teviot had just inherited the title from his father, a young earl named John Adrian de Longley, who had spent most of his years in Edward I’s court. He was a fierce warlord and nothing to be trifled with. The Earl of Warenton was an older man who had inherited his title upon the passing of his father four years ago. Scott de Wolfe was the new earl, but he’d been in the north his entire life and was feared as much as his father, the great William de Wolfe, ever was.
The Earl of Northumbria was also a son of William de Wolfe, having married into the de Vauden family and inheriting the title from the heiress. He commanded one of the largest armies in the north. Then, there was the Earl of Berwick – the third son of William de Wolfe had been granted the title before his father’s death. He was a man known as “Nighthawk” for distinguishing himself for many years along the border.
Patrick de Wolfe held Berwick and a few other properties along the coast and, along with several of his brothers, secured a massive portion of the north of England and a section of the borders of Scotland as well. They were enormously powerful and, fortunately, Roget was considered an ally and a vassal to Berwick, but that wouldn’t last if the Brothers de Wolfe discovered he was harboring reivers.
He had to get them out before they ruined everything.
He could no longer ignore the obvious.
“You men,” he boomed down to them. “Shut your lips and listen to me! Shut them, I say! Quiet!”
The soft drone of conversation died down as men turned to him, pale and bearded faces through the blue haze of smoke. Roget frowned at the lot of them as a few stood up, looking up at him unhappily.
“If you do not know who I am, then you should,” he bellowed. “I am Roget de Sauque and this is my property. I do not want you here. Take your ill-gotten gains and get out. If you do not do this in the next hour, I will rouse my army and bring them here to physically remove you. Am I making myself clear?”
The Scots simply looked at him. Then, they looked at each other, shrugging. Roget could see that there was no sense of urgency to move. Clearly, they didn’t care what he said because he’d let it go on for so long that they didn’t take him seriously. As he prepared to shout again, a woman suddenly appeared on the wall walk.
“My love?” she said timidly. “What is the matter? Why do ye shout?”
Roget turned to look at Fenella. She had been a beauty only a few years ago, but childbirth and age had crept upon her quickly, turning her body into soft mush and putting lines on her face. She used to be quite lush, with full lips and curly, auburn hair, but now she just looked… hard.
Hard, as if life had been unkind to her.
“Get your brother and his devils out of here,” he said. “I have tolerated his presence far too long. They have turned this manse into a pig sty. Worse still, they are raiding and killing, bringing abducted women here to abuse. Did you know that?”
He was pointing to the frightened women down below. As they watched, a big Scots walked up to one of them, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her off while she screamed for mercy. Roget turned to Fenella with dark, angry eyes.
“Murderous garbage,” he growled. “I have overlooked it because every time I have brought it up to you, you have distracted me with your whore’s tongue. That’s all you are, Fenella. A whore. An ugly, disgusting whore. I want you out, too. Go with your brother and live in whatever filth he provides for you, for I am finished.”
Fenella looked at him, hurt and distressed. “Ye dunna mean it,” she said. “Ye’re simply weary. Come inside and let me…”
She reached out to grasp him, but he rudely brushed her off. “I mean every word,” he said. “Pack what you can carry and get out. And take those two worthless lads with you, too.”
She gasped in shock. “But they are yer sons!”
Roget shrugged. “They may be, and they may not be,” he said. “Do not think I don’t know about the other men you’ve taken to your bed since you came to live here. I know; I have heard the rumors. You bestow your sexual favors on them for a price, so there is no guarantee either boy is my son. But because I am a man of honor, I have provided you and them with a place to live. But you have taken advantage of that. You have let your brother do as he pleases and use my property for his nefarious activities. He will leave and so will you. I will not tell you again. I will bring my army here and move you out by force.”
Fenella was stiff with anger, with concern, but she knew better than to fight with him. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to kick her out and it wouldn’t be the last because she fully intended to remain.
She knew how to change his mind.
Sauntering up to him, she reached out, putting a gentle hand on his crotch. “Ye’re overwrought, my love,” she said seductively. “Let me bring ye peace and calm. Let me…”
He shoved her away, roughly, and she ended up smacking her hand into the banister of the wall walk. It was wood, just like the walk itself, but it was hard and unforgiving, and she yelped in pain.
“You’ll not use your whore’s tricks on me,” Roget growled. “I told you to get out.”
Fenella used the next weapon in her arsenal. She began to weep loudly. “How could ye be so cruel?” she sobbed. “How could ye hurt me? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Roget was so angry that his lips were turning white. Abruptly, he pushed past her, heading back into the gallery that lined the second floor of the hall. Fenella’s tears stopped instantly as she ran to the door, watching him move towards the steps that led down into the great hall. It was clear to her that he was leaving, presumably to summon his army. Roget had been angry before but not like this. She’d always been able to calm him down, but today… today, he acted as if he meant every word.
Fenella’s attention turned to the smelly, smoky courtyard.
“Win!” she cried. “He mustna leave!”
Win was standing by the fire, blending in with the other Scotsmen who were crowding the courtyard. He was big and brawny, not an unhandsome man, but wicked to the bone. He looked up, seeing his sister pointing towards the hall, and he grabbed a couple of his men as he rushed into the hall.
At that point, Roget was just coming off the stairs, right in front of him. With Win’s men crowding into the doorway and into the hall, Roget was cut off from the exit. Win stood in front of him, looking at the man as he stood on the bottom stair.
“Ye’re not looking at this the right way, laddie,” he said to Roget. “If we’re here, then no one will bother this place. We’re like an army, protecting it. It makes it safe for my sister to live here.”
Somewhere in the complex, Roget could hear a woman screaming and it distressed him. He may have been a man who kept a mistress, but he wasn’t barbaric. He sighed heavily.
“Get out of my way,” he said.
Win shook his head. “Not until ye see reason,” he said. “We will protect Mordrington. That’s a benefit to ye. Dunna ye see?”
Roget’s gaze began to dart among the crowd of men in the hall. He’d come alone and it was clear that he was coming to regret that decision.
“You are not protecting Mordrington as long as you raid the countryside,” he said. “You bring your booty back here and sooner or later, the bigger warlords of the area like de Wolfe and de Longley are going to figure it out. They’ll come here and they’ll destroy this place.”
Win shook his head. “Why should they?” he said, grinning a gap-toothed smile. “Ye’re an ally, Roget. They’ll never look here.”
Roget simply shook his head. “Let me pass,” he said. “I told my men I would return tonight and if I do not, they’ll come here looking for me, so it is best if you let me leave.”
Win sighed, with regret. “If I let ye leave, ye’ll return with yer army.”
“I will not need to if you leave.”
“We canna leave. We’ve nowhere to go.”
He said it in a way that suggested hazard. Feeling threatened, Roget took a step back, up the stairs.
“This place does not belong to you,” he said, trying to sound brave. “It does not belong to your whore sister, Fenella. It belongs to me and I am telling you to leave. Get out and there is no need to bring my army. Remain and I will have you burned out, if necessary.”
Win scratched his chin, looking at his men. “Burned out, he says,” he said to his men, who were nodding as if intrigued by the suggestion. “The man says he wants tae burn us out. What say ye?”
They started to laugh. The situation almost seemed humorous. But it was a deception; the laughter abruptly faded, and a roar went up among the men. They rushed Roget before he could run back up the stairs, grabbing him by the hair and arms. He was swarmed as they dragged him back out into the courtyard that had been ruined by their habitation. The massive fire was burning in the middle of it and as Roget screamed, they tossed him straight into the fire.
The group of men roared in approval.
On fire, Roget scrambled off the pyre and tried to run, but they pushed him back into it and he fell face-first. At that point, everything ignited, but he still tried to run, only not as forcefully this time. He slithered off the pyre, onto his knees, fully engulfed in flames as he tried to get to his feet. But someone hit him in the belly with a chair from the great hall, a chair that had been dragged out into the courtyard, and Roget fell back onto the pyre, squirming helplessly as the flames consumed him.
It was a heavy, oily smell that began to fill the air as his flesh burned. Win and his men stood back, watching until he stopped moving before carefully pulling him off the pyre. He was burning and smoking, but clearly dead, and they let him burn a little while longer before Win had his men doused him with buckets of water.
By then, Roget was a charred shell, but he was still somewhat recognizable. Fenella, lured by the shouting and screaming and smoke, stood just outside the doorway leading into the hall, seeing what had become of the man who had been her lover for twelve years.
Win caught sight of his sister.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “Ye know I had tae. Ye know what he was going tae do.”
Fenella wasn’t quite sure how she felt; that was clear from the expression on her face. She was shocked and sickened, but not particularly grieved. In fact, once she realized what had happened, she seemed to take a deep breath as if to reconcile herself to it.
