Page 28 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Folkingham Castle

H e was on the approach.

That was the word from the sentries at the gatehouse because they had a bird’s-eye view of the countryside and could see the approach of the Herringthorpe escort.

The scarlet-and-black banners were snapping in the breeze, clearly visible.

Cambria was excited, of course, but given the conversation she’d had with her mother a couple of hours earlier, she was still startled. Still overwhelmed.

Very much confused.

She needed to see Liam.

Her mother had told her not to say anything to him, but if he already knew her secret, she wasn’t sure why she wasn’t supposed to tell him that she’d been told.

She found that she was eager to discuss it with him, to know what he knew in case her mother had left anything out.

In case he had a different perspective. All she knew was that the news wasn’t anything she’d ever imagined, and certainly not what she’d ever expected, and it was having an effect on her.

Truthfully, she was terrified.

She was also in denial. There was no possibility she was who her mother said she was…

was there ? Surely the woman was mistaken.

Perhaps she’d heard someone fantasize about Cambria’s true identity and taken it to heart.

Whatever the case, Cambria couldn’t believe she was truly a lost Welsh princess. There had to be another explanation.

Perhaps Liam could provide it.

She was out of her wedding dress at this point, donning a pale blue silk with a deep neckline and a wispy white shift underneath.

The color of the dress was the same color of her eyes and she’d had it made especially for this moment, for greeting her husband-to-be.

They hadn’t seen one another in nearly a year, and even that meeting had been brief because Liam was delivering messages from his father, whom he’d just started to serve.

He’d left his position at Castle Questing and gone to serve War Herringthorpe as a garrison commander.

And that had been it. A short moment in time she’d been left with.

Until now.

Now, he had come for her.

Cambria took one last look in the bronze mirror.

Her hair was unbound, down to her buttocks, but a ribbon pulled it away from her face.

She was wearing a silver-and-blue sapphire necklace her father had given her when she’d turned eighteen years of age, with matching earrings that dangled from her earlobes.

On her lips she wore beeswax with finely crushed rose petals in it that gave it a faint red color, positively stunning with her coloring.

She looked every inch the daughter of a warlord, proud and perfect and…

She also looked every inch a Welsh princess.

A surge of confusion pulsed through her again and she turned away from the mirror, heading out to the bailey, where they were preparing for the arrival of the betrothed.

Liam had been to Folkingham many times, but in this instance, it was in a different capacity and everyone knew it.

There were smiles all around as everyone waited for what was known to be an impatient bridegroom.

Rumors traveled quickly around the castle.

When Cambria appeared at the keep entry, she could see the grinning.

Attention was upon her. Slightly embarrassed that everyone was thinking the same thing, which was the fact that Liam would soon be able to legally bed their young mistress, Cambria tried not to pay any attention to the smirks from soldiers and servants alike.

She tried to retain at least some of her dignity.

“There you are,” Carlton said as he came up behind her. “I did not see you walk past my solar.”

Cambria glanced at her father. “Aye,” she said. “Here I am. Being laughed at.”

Carlton had no idea what she meant until she gestured to a couple of soldiers at the base of the stairs and how they were grinning.

“They are happy for you,” he said, shrugging. “They are not laughing at you.”

Cambria cast him a long look. “They are laughing because you delayed this marriage as long as you could until War Herringthorpe threatened you,” she said.

“Now, Liam and his family are about to charge in through the gatehouse and snatch me away. They are laughing because they know what is going to happen as soon as Liam and I are married.”

Carlton wasn’t following her train of thought. “And what is that?”

Cambria threw a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen yard where her dogs were. “That we will behave like dogs in season.”

Carlton nearly choked in response. “Hell’s Fire, lass,” he said, coughing. “You should not say things like that.”

Cambria fought off a grin. “I could have said that he’ll mount me like—”

Carlton roared, interrupting her. “Shut your lips!” he said, putting his hands to his ears. “You will not say things like that in front of your father!”

That had Cambria laughing. She looped one of her arms affectionately around his elbow. “Apologies,” she said. “But had you not delayed so long, Liam would not be so eager and everyone would not be laughing.”

Carlton wasn’t over the fact that his daughter had used the word “mount” in front of him when describing what her betrothed intended to do once he married her, true though it might be.

“I regret nothing,” he said stiffly.

“I know.”

“Shall we go forth and greet Liam together?”

“Please.”

With Cambria grinning at her offended, embarrassed father, the two of them came off the stairs from the keep and headed out into the dusty bailey.

The gatehouse was open, both portcullises lifted, and they could see a party through the opening, approaching from a distance.

As they moved for the gatehouse, a soldier approached Carlton.

“My lord,” he said. “Our scouts have reported another party approaching from the north. They should be here before supper if they remain on this pace.”

Carlton looked at the man, a senior soldier who had been at Folkingham since the days of Fair Lydia’s father. “Who is it?” he asked.

“The Earl of Warenton, my lord,” the soldier said. “The House of de Wolfe is approaching.”

“Ah,” Carlton said in understanding. “Excellent. But no sign of my brother from Netherghyll?”

The soldier shook his head. “Nay, my lord.”

That was disappointing, but not unexpected.

Hamilton de Royans, Baron Cononley, Constable of North Yorkshire and the Northern Dales, was a difficult man to get along with.

Carlton had never gotten on well with his ambitious and arrogant brother, something that had bled over into both of his sons.

Baron Cononley was an inherited title, as the de Royans had held it for well over one hundred years, and Hamilton wore the title like a badge but did little to actually fulfill the requirements.

He was about the prestige, not about the work.

Carlton had pointed that out, once, and that was nearly the last time he’d ever had a meaningful conversation with his brother.

Such were the complex dynamics of a family.

Therefore, he didn’t linger on Hamilton’s lack of response.

Other than Warenton, he was the only other person Carlton had invited to the wedding.

It was to be a very small affair, and that was bred from the fact that Carlton was still trying to protect his daughter after all of these years.

The fewer people who attended and questioned the roots of an adopted woman, the better.

The less chance of someone finding out something that he wanted to keep buried.

“Send riders out to escort Warenton,” he said after a moment. “Meanwhile, we shall greet Herringthorpe.”

The soldier nodded and headed off. That left Carlton and Cambria at the gatehouse, waiting with anticipation for Liam’s arrival.

It wasn’t long in coming.

He was, literally, the first person through the gatehouse, with his father’s escort about a quarter of a mile behind him.

One look at Cambria standing next to her father and he bailed from his warhorse, a gigantic grin plastered all over his face.

He went to Cambria as if Carlton didn’t even exist, drinking in the sight of her beautiful face.

He was a man who had waited a very long time for this moment.

“My lady,” he said, reaching out to take her hand and kiss it most sweetly. “I cannot believe the beauty my eyes are beholding. Is it possible that you have become more heavenly in the time we’ve been apart?”

As Cambria smiled and flushed a bright red, Carlton groaned.

“Christ, Liam,” he muttered. “How long have you rehearsed those words?”

Liam started to laugh. “ Too long, thanks to you, my lord,” he said. “It is your own fault. I have been saving them up for this moment.”

Carlton shook his head and started to move away. “I am going to become ill if I hear one more sickly-sweet platitude come out of your mouth,” he said. “Can you promise me that your father will not use the same greeting on me?”

“I cannot, my lord.”

“Then I will have to throttle him.”

He moved off, leaving Liam and Cambria laughing. When Carlton was far enough away, Liam’s expression softened as he beheld the vision he’d been dreaming of.

“I did not intend to chase him off,” he said. “But I would be lying if I said I was not glad for it. And I meant every word I said to you.”

Cambria smiled shyly. “He has been dreading this,” she said. “I suppose most fathers are reluctant to see their daughters married.”

Liam cocked an eyebrow. “Not all,” he said. “I have sisters, and I am sure there are days when my father would like nothing better than to see them married off and someone else’s burden.”

“Is that how you look at a wife? As a burden?”

Liam shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “Because my wife shall be you, and you could not be a burden if you tried. Have you been well?”

Cambria nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I—”