Page 10 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Scott, mouth full, nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “Do you have someone in mind already?”

William didn’t answer for a moment. “I believe I do.”

“Who?”

He gestured over to the hearth, where Liam was just sitting down again.

Scott and Troy and Patrick turned to look at the area, seeing the infant and women and soldiers and a squire.

Colm de Lara, who was unmarried, hadn’t come into the hall, but had rather remained outside on business.

Therefore, other than the soldiers, the only male in that area was the squire.

When Scott realized who his father meant, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Herringthorpe?” he asked.

“Why not?”

Scott didn’t argue. He was too surprised to do so. He looked at his brothers to see their astonishment as well. Carlton didn’t miss their expressions, but he didn’t think much of them.

“His father is a great knight,” Carlton said. “War is one of the best in England. His lineage isn’t particularly outstanding, but it is solid. However, given the fact that the infant is dual royal blood, as you have mentioned, mayhap a more prestigious husband would be appropriate.”

William cast a knowing glance at his sons before answering.

“Carlton, there is something you should know about Liam Herringthorpe,” he said.

“What I tell you will never be repeated. Only a select few know, but since we are about to share a deeply serious secret, I will trust you with this one, as well.”

Carlton listened seriously. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “What is it?”

“Liam is my grandson.”

That brought a distinct reaction of surprise from Carlton. “Your grandson ?” he repeated. “But… War is not married to one of your daughters. He married your wife’s cousin.”

William shook his head. “War is my son,” William said quietly.

“A result of a liaison between myself and his mother many years ago. I was denied her hand in marriage and she, in fact, married Edmund Herringthorpe, who raised War as his own. That is why War bears the Herringthorpe name—to honor the man who raised him and also because to bear the de Wolfe name would be to announce to the world that his mother was unchaste. It is better that he not use the name for all involved, but know that Liam is unaware of my relationship to him. I wish to keep it that way.”

Carlton realized he was being trusted with a very big secret. “He will not hear it from my lips,” he assured William. “But it explains his skill. He has de Wolfe blood.”

William grunted in agreement. “My bloodlines go back to the conquest of England,” he said.

“My father was the Earl of Wolverhampton, a title that has passed to my eldest brother, and I hold the Earldom of Warenton. War’s mother was a de Gray, from the great northern family, so War’s, and Liam’s, bloodlines are old and noble.

He would make a perfect match for a de Royans daughter. ”

Carlton took the hint. Odd how he could already see hope for the future of his family now that he had a daughter to raise, a daughter who would marry a Herringthorpe and carry on the bloodlines through sons that would be of royal Welsh blood and noble English blood.

They would be descended from England’s greatest knight.

Suddenly, he began to feel optimistic about the entire situation.

The man before him was the reason. Carlton had been fearing him for the past six days and now…

now, he didn’t fear him at all. William de Wolfe was the reason his life was about to change.

Certainly, it was a risky undertaking, but he could hear Fair Lydia as she spoke to the baby.

He could hear the joy in his wife’s voice.

Was Warenton’s suggestion worth the risk?

Hearing his wife’s happiness, it was.

It truly was.

“It seems strange,” he mused, his gaze distant.

“Ever since leaving Wales, I have been apprehensive of your appearance. I knew I carried what you wanted. When I saw Atty in the bailey, I was certain that I was in for a battle, one I probably would not survive. I’ve been sitting here in conversation with you, anticipating my future or lack thereof. ”

William turned for the food that Fair Lydia had brought him, food that had since grown cold. “One should never anticipate one’s future until the day is done and the battle over,” he said as he picked up a piece of bread. “Nothing is ever certain.”

Carlton’s focus moved to his wife, now going through infant clothing that a servant had brought her while her mother held the child.

“Until I entered this hall, I believed my bloodlines would end with me,” he said.

“I had grown resigned to that fate. But your appearance here has changed that. I will have an offspring to carry on the de Royans legacy.”

William nodded. “One that will mingle with de Wolfe bloodlines,” he said quietly, putting butter on his bread. “This is a great night for us, Carlton. But promise me something.”

Carlton looked at him. “What is your wish, my lord?”

William was about to take a bite of his bread but paused. “Raise the child well,” he said quietly. “Do not spoil her overly. Raise her to be grateful and loving. And when she marries Liam, ask her… ask her to name her firstborn son James.”

Carlton smiled faintly. “And her second shall be called Auston.”

William’s lips flickered with a smile. “Hopefully she will agree.”

“Hopefully.”

A plan was born.

Later that night, and thanks to the priest at St. Mary’s church in the village of Folkingham, Patrick and Troy didn’t have much trouble finding a family with a multitude of children and a female child that was about a year older than Llywelyn’s daughter.

As Patrick explained to the priest, and then to the parents, Edward was granting some families what amounted to a sponsorship, sending one child to a convent to be educated for a life subservient to God.

Scott added that Edward was trying to show his piety to the church in doing so, which made sense because Edward had never had a good relationship with the church.

The man was desperately in need of some forgiveness.

Given that explanation, the family was more than willing to accept the offer.

Of course, a girl child was far less valuable than a male child, and they already had nine girls, so they relinquished their toddler without much of a discussion.

She even looked a little like Llywelyn’s daughter, with dark brown hair and green eyes.

Patrick never mentioned where, exactly, the child was going, or even his family name, but he identified himself as a royal knight and the family was most accepting.

Even more accepting when he gave them two pounds sterling for both the child and their silence.

If they spoke of the transaction, he explained, it would somewhat nullify Edward’s action—a man did not boast about being pious. Humility was key.

At dawn the next day, a child was delivered, as expected, to Sempringham Priory.

But it wasn’t such a simple case as far as secrecy was concerned.

The silence of the parents of the child they procured wasn’t their only concern.

The escort from Wales, and the wet nurse, knew about the child.

The men from the escort didn’t care about the infant now that they were home, but the wet nurse was a different story.

Fair Lydia wasn’t lactating, but the child was old enough for goat’s milk, so they didn’t need the wet nurse any longer.

Short of killing the woman to keep her quiet on what she might or might not have seen with regard to the infant, they had to figure out a way to get rid of her.

That opportunity came in the form of Patrick, Troy, and Scott, who took the wet nurse into Boston, next to the sea, and purchased passage for her back to Wales.

They gave her money, bought her a few lovely things, and put her on a cog that was headed for Portsmouth, Plymouth, Cardiff, and eventually Dublin.

The woman would return home, to her family, and given that Scott could speak Welsh because his wife was Welsh, she returned with a warning that if she ever spoke of the infant she had been in charge of, the English would return and wipe out her entire family.

It was a harsh threat, but necessary.

In truth, as far as the wet nurse was concerned, Llywelyn’s infant did indeed make it to the priory, as she’d never seen the second child.

Furthermore, she had been separated from Llywelyn’s infant almost the moment they reached Folkingham.

For all she knew, the infant had reached her destination, but Scott couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t suspicious otherwise.

Therefore, he did what was needed.

In the days following the deception, Sempringham Priory discovered that the child delivered to them was healthy and strong, liked goat’s milk, and went by the name of Wencilian.

That was how her arrival was recorded. Back at Folkingham Castle, news got around that Lord Carlton had returned from battle with an orphaned child, a gift to his wife to ease her loss of her own infant a year prior.

Fair Lydia couldn’t have been more in love with the child, who grew up spoiled and sweet, indulged by her mother and moderately disciplined by her father.

Though the girl knew she had been adopted as an orphan, her father had been vague about exactly where she’d come from.

Somewhere west, he’d said. That the fairies had brought her was another explanation.

Or he’d found her in the center of a flowerbed and brought her home.

Whatever the reason, it had never really mattered to her.

The infant once known as Gwenllian had a wonderful life, after all.