Page 2 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

St. Zosimus was sitting straight in his chair at this point, startled by de Lara’s abrupt show of strength. He was a big man and quite intimidating when he wanted to be, so St. Zosimus held up his hands to ease him.

“Be at peace, my lord,” he said. “Lie back down. You needn’t concern yourself so. I am listening, I swear it.”

Colm let the man push him back down on the bed, mostly because he was too weak to fight him. Sitting up had taken nearly everything out of him. Sweating, and red in the face, he pushed St. Zosimus’ hands away.

“The infant girl, Gwenllian, was in the guardianship of Dafydd when she was captured,” he said.

“I was part of that action. Dafydd was taken away and executed, but the infant and Dafydd’s daughters were taken to Lincolnshire, to remote abbeys, so they could live out the rest of their lives as nuns, guarded by the Gilbertines. But that was not the original plan.”

St. Zosimus’ eyebrows lifted. “It wasn’t?’

Colm shook his head weakly. “Nay,” he said.

“The Earl of Warenton was part of that action, too. He was in command of it. Now, understand that I was not privy to many of the reasons behind this action. I was a mere knight. I simply followed orders. But something was brewing with de Wolfe, something dark. I heard that his orders were to kill the Welsh offspring, but he could not bring himself to do it. The man has too much honor to murder small children, so he sent them to the priories instead. Edward was not entirely pleased with that action, but in the end, he agreed to it. It would look less than generous of him should a king be responsible for the deaths of small girls. De Wolfe understood that, but it took Edward time to realize that de Wolfe did him a favor. When he understood what de Wolfe had done for him, he took credit for sparing their lives. Or so I was told.”

St. Zosimus was listening closely at this point. “And that is what you wish to confess?” he said. “That Warenton is responsible for sparing the children of Llywelyn and Dafydd?”

“Nay,” Colm said, his gaze unnaturally focused on the priest. “That is not it. You do realize that if those girls had married and produced sons, the wars in Wales would never end. They would go on forever.”

“I would imagine so.”

“And if Gwenllian had married and borne sons, she would be the living link between Wales and England,” Colm said, his voice quieting.

“The woman has more royal blood in her than Edward does or Henry did. She is as rare as a unicorn. She could lay claim to both thrones, as could her sons. It would throw England and Wales into decades, if not centuries, of turmoil. There would be no peace.”

St. Zosimus nodded. “Then it was wise of Warenton to send her to a priory,” he said. “I wonder if she is aware of who she truly is?”

Colm was silent for a moment. “She is not,” he said. “And she is not at Sempringham. This I do know because I saw it with my own eyes.”

St. Zosimus’ brow furrowed. “Was she moved? I’d not heard.”

“She never made it there.”

Now, St. Zosimus was starting to catch on that there was something far more to this conversation. Now, a hint of something had come into the light, and he looked at Colm most curiously.

“How do you know this?” he asked.

Colm sighed heavily. “Because I was told, by my lord, that the decision had been made to take the child to Sempringham,” he muttered.

“But instead of being taken to the priory, she was given over to my lord to live as his daughter while another infant was sent to Sempringham. Gwenllian of Wales is alive and well and living as an Englishwoman. She was a beautiful baby, with black hair and blue eyes, and she grew into a beautiful woman. She is twenty years of age this year and, more than likely, already married. And if she is married, then children are a distinct possibility. Sons, that is. Sons that, in turn, may be told of their royal blood and encouraged to embrace their unique royal heritage.”

St. Zosimus’ mouth was hanging open. “Did de Wolfe know about this?”

“Of course he did,” Colm said. “He arranged all of it.”

That was even more shocking. “He did this knowing what the cost would be if she bred sons?”

“Sons that will fight Edward and Edward’s progeny for their birthright,” Colm said. “We all knew what the cost would be.”

St. Zosimus sat in his chair, dumbfounded by what he was hearing. “The betrayal you spoke of,” he mumbled as the revelation hit him. “De Wolfe knows of the Welsh princess’s identity and living arrangements. He knows what she can do to the Crown.”

Colm could see that the man was understanding the situation.

“De Wolfe was loyal to Henry, but Edward is another matter,” he said.

“Edward was always threatened by the power William de Wolfe held in the north, in particular because he had voiced his sympathy for Simon de Montfort, and the relationship between the two was tenuous at best. Worse still, de Wolfe and his family have no use for Edward’s son, who will be king someday.

Scott de Wolfe is the current Earl of Warenton and he is very much his father’s son.

He was part of the decision, too, and I’m sure the House of de Wolfe would like nothing better than for Gwenllian’s sons to rebel against Edward and his offspring, destroying their reign. Mayhap they are even hoping for it.”

“You think de Wolfe planned this from the start?”

“I believe he did.”

“He wants a civil war?”

“I do not know his reasons other than he and Edward have never gotten on,” Colm said.

“I only know what happened, not the motivation behind it. But it is my guess that de Wolfe wants a stable England and does not feel that Edward, nor his son, can provide that. If I am being truthful, then I will say that I agree with him. Edward is a ruthless man and his son is a fool. Mayhap de Wolfe was hoping that nature would simply take its course.”

“That may be entirely possible.”

“But there is something else.”

“What?”

“Two of William de Wolfe’s children married into the nobility of Wales,” Colm said. “He has several half-Welsh grandchildren. Once, Henry nearly destroyed his youngest daughter’s husband, the hereditary King of Anglesey. It is quite possible that this is all revenge for that attempt.”

St. Zosimus shook his head in disbelief. “Do you think that is true?”

“As I said, I do not know the reasons behind the action,” Colm said. “But anything is possible.”

St. Zosimus sighed heavily as he pondered it all. “My God,” he muttered. “It seems fantastic.”

“I know, but I assure you that it is all true.”

“I believe you,” St. Zosimus said. “But Gwenllian… She is living as a nobleman’s daughter?”

“She is.”

“Will you tell me where?”

Colm didn’t say anything right away. The only sound in the chamber was of the gently crackling hearth, with the silence growing progressively more oppressive. St. Zosimus waited with increasing impatience, needing to know what more there was to this tale. And it was a wild tale at that.

“My lord?” he finally said.

Colm’s eyes were closed, indicative of his exhaustion now that he’d spent so much energy speaking on something he’d never told anyone.

Not even his wife. But he was one of the very few who knew the truth.

He couldn’t take it to his grave because if he did and Gwenllian did indeed produce sons, the deaths of those killed in the battles that would undoubtedly come would be on him because he knew everything.

And he hadn’t told the truth.

He’d been wrestling with the dilemma for twenty years.

“Only a handful of us knew the truth,” he finally said. “Four or five at the most. Three that knew are dead.”

“Who is that?”

“William de Wolfe and his closest friends, Paris de Norville, Lord Bowmont, and Sir Kieran Hage,” Colm murmured. His strength was fading. “I was the fourth. There is a fifth.”

“Who is that?”

“The knight who raised Gwenllian as his daughter.”

“What is his name?”

There was the question. Colm had told St. Zosimus his deepest secret for a reason, but now that the priest had asked for the last key piece of information, he was oddly hesitant.

He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he’d be betraying a man he’d once served with, a man he considered a friend.

He knew St. Zosimus was going to take this revelation straight to the king.

He knew that meant his friend, the one who had raised Gwenllian as his own, would be in a good deal of trouble.

But the reality was that the man had done something he should not have, knowing full well the consequences.

Betray his friend?

Or betray his country?

Colm made the only choice he could.

He told him.