Page 4 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Kieran closed his eyes, shaking his head in resignation at his unruly wife’s behavior.

“You should have never told her what happened, Kevin,” he said to his son.

“That was your fault. You told your mother what Ranulf did to James and she made it her personal mission to release the lad. After she did so, she then lay in wait for Ranulf, and when he was unaware, she knocked him down and whacked the soles of his feet with a club. The man could not walk for a week.”

Kevin chuckled at the memory of his mother, the most aggressive Scot in the bunch, going after a knight twice her size to punish him for what he’d done to her cousin’s son.

In fact, Paris’ wife, Caladora, was also a cousin to Jordan and Jemma.

That made them all kin and very protective of one another.

Even one another’s children. That was how Jemma saw it, anyway, when she beat the soles of Ranulf’s feet and broke one of his toes in the process.

But that was the beauty of family—they defended one another. They grieved for one another.

But no one grieved more deeply than a parent.

As much as the memory of James and Kevin was a much-needed moment of relief among the churning waters of war and mourning, it also brought about its own pain.

When the laughter died down, the pain returned, and every time William looked at Kevin, he could feel grief anew because the man reminded him so much of James. It brought joy and it brought pain.

Grief was ironic that way.

“Jemma was the only person who ever got the upper hand with Ranulf,” William said after a moment, his good mood fading. “But in answer to your question, Kevin, I am weary. Very weary. But you more than anyone understand that I cannot rest now. There are things I must do.”

The mood abruptly went from the warmth of fond memories to the cold reality at hand.

William wouldn’t let the ambience veer too far away from the situation, his loss, and the brutal truths of war.

They would try and he’d inevitably bring them back around again, but his latest statement had their concern.

Given the wars were now essentially over, at least for the time being, the focus was shifting.

They were the victors, and to the victors went the spoils of war. In this case, the prisoners.

And that was troubling.

“ What must you do, William?” Kieran asked. “Kevin, go about your duties. I will speak with William alone.”

Kevin didn’t argue. He knew the situation for what it was, and when his father used that tone, it was time to clear out.

Silently, he departed, heading over to the encampment, as Kieran moved his horse up on William’s other side.

Now, the man was flanked by Paris and Kieran and they weren’t going to let him do anything he might regret.

At the culmination of months of battle, this was a fragile moment for them all.

“William, I realize you have a good many conflicting feelings at this moment, but I hope you know that you can share those with us,” Kieran said quietly.

“We loved James, too. Every sword stroke, every Welsh death, has had his name on it since that day at Llandeilo. Mayhap if you were to speak of this moment and what it means to you, it might make us all feel… more at peace.”

William looked at him. “I will never be at peace,” he said. “What peace do you speak of, Kieran? You still have your sons. I have lost one of mine. There is no peace.”

“I do not have all of my sons,” Kieran said in a low voice. “If anyone understands your grief, I do.”

That was true. Kieran had lost his second-eldest son, Christian, in the Levant only a few short years earlier.

The tall, blond Hage son who had been so loved had followed his duty and set out to the king’s call, but it had been a call that cost him his life.

William was fully aware that Kieran hadn’t yet recovered from that, only the man was more in control of himself when it came to his grief.

William simply wasn’t.

“I do not mean to diminish yours, Kieran,” he said in a show of compassion. “We all miss Christian. But he did not die in your arms as James died in mine. You did not hold your son as he breathed his last, helpless to do anything at all. You cannot know how that eats at me.”

Kieran’s jaw flexed faintly. “Nay, I did not hold him,” he said. “I was not there at all. My son died alone, without me by his side, and I did not find out until almost a year later. Just because I was not there at the moment of his death does not mean I did not feel it as much as you feel James’.”

William sighed sharply. “Christian did not die in a bloody Welsh ambush, but in war,” he said with some passion. “He chose to be there, Kieran. He knew what the risks were.”

“And James did not know what the risks were when he came to Wales with an army to do battle against the Welsh princes?”

Paris intervened before the argument could grow out of control.

“William, far be it from me to tell you how to feel, because I understand and approve of your rage against the Welsh,” he said.

“You know I do and so does Kieran. But comparing his death to Christian’s is beneath you.

Your grief is no greater than Kieran’s. It is simply fresher. ”

William knew that. Deep down, he did. As he hung his head, Paris leaned into him and lowered his voice.

“I have killed in James’ name and have taken delight in it,” he continued.

“But we are not your enemy, and for the past six months, you have been treating us as if we are, as if we have no stake in this situation whatsoever, and that flies in the face of a friendship we have had for over fifty years. Do you think so little of us that you would discount the fact that I was James’ godfather and Kieran’s daughter was married to him?

Do you think we do not have feelings in this matter, too? ”

Paris had never treated William the way Kieran did.

Kieran was usually calmer, with more patience, but Paris was brutally honest and not one to shy away from an argument—but in a delicate situation like this, sometimes his manner wasn’t overly welcome.

In fact, Kieran held his breath as William processed what Paris had said.

His reaction wasn’t long in coming.

“I never said you do not have feelings in the matter,” he said.

“And your support of James, of my vengeance, has been appreciated more than you know. I am not a man given to vengeance. You know this. My motivation against an enemy has never been emotional because, as we know, emotions are deadly. My motivation against any enemy is one of quiet duty. But that Welsh ambush six months ago made my motivation in Wales personal, and I cannot help that. Christ, Paris, I’ve not even told James’ own mother about his death.

I could not do that in a missive. She is continuing her life at Castle Questing, unaware that she has lost a son.

Do you have any idea how much that tears at me?

That my first words to her when I return home will be of the death of one of her children?

It eats me alive inside until I cannot bear the pain, so if I have shown a lack of grace or understanding when it comes to the Welsh, you will forgive me.

I am grieving for two right now, and it is more than I can bear. ”

Paris knew all of that but it was the first time William had really spoken of it. Reaching out, he put his hand on William’s shoulder, trying to give him some comfort. But on William’s left side, Kieran sighed faintly.

“She knows, William.”

William heard the softly uttered words, turning to look at Kieran in confusion. “What do you mean?” he said. “I have not told her.”

Kieran’s jaw twitched faintly. “Someone else did,” he said, barely audible. He sighed again and lifted his head, looking at William. “We sent some of the heavily wounded back to Castle Questing to recover, and in spite of our instructions for them not to speak of James’ death, someone did.”

William’s confusion turned to horror when he realized what the man was saying. “My God,” he breathed. “How do you know this?”

Kieran looked at him then. “You know I received a missive from my wife last week.”

“I do.”

“She told me that the news of James’ death reached her ears before it reached Jordan,” he said with sorrow.

“It was Jemma who broke the news to her. She had to. Otherwise, Jordan would have heard it through the gossip mill or from a servant, and I know that is not what you want. William, it was inevitable. Men talk. We sent men who had been at Llandeilo back to Castle Questing and it was simply inevitable that someone would talk. And someone did.”

William stared at him. Long ago, he’d lost his left eye in a battle in Wales, ironically, but the gaze in his remaining eye was nothing short of fierce. William de Wolfe could do with one eye what most men couldn’t do with two. He stared at Kieran until he could stare no more.

And then he simply walked away.

Kieran and Paris watched him go with heavy hearts.

“You should have told him sooner,” Paris muttered. “This is going to cause problems, Kieran. It will unnerve him.”

Kieran was watching William as he wandered off toward a grove of trees. “I could not tell him until the battle was over,” he said firmly. “You know this, Paris, and you agreed with me when I first told you what had happened.”

“I know, but—”

“If I had told him before the end of this battle, he might have very well gotten himself killed with the distraction,” Kieran said, cutting him off.

“His focus had to remain on Llywelyn and Dafydd. It could not be divided by the news that his wife had been told about James. He has enough grief without worrying over the fact that he was not the one to tell Jordan about her son’s death. ”

He was right and they both knew it, but Paris waved him off irritably, unwilling to engage him in an argument. It was done and they had to deal with the aftermath.

But what aftermath there would be was anyone’s guess.

“I fear we may have a larger problem,” Paris said.

“What is that?”

“The news that Jordan is aware of James’ death may bring on a fresh wave of grief for William,” Paris said. “That may mean his rage will bloom, and it will turn toward Dafydd and those children more than it already is.”

It was difficult for Kieran to acknowledge that, true though it might be.

“His behavior has been so unpredictable,” he said.

“I had confidence in the William I have fought alongside for over fifty years. I had confidence that he would show compassion and mercy in all situations, but this William… I do not know what he’ll do.

I would like to think I do, but the truth is that I do not. And neither do you.”

Paris was nodding his head, agreeing with him, before he’d finished speaking. “I do not,” he said. “Are there plans for the children already?”

“Aye,” Kieran said. “Edward has been specific. Dafydd is to face a trial and his children are to be separated. The girls will be sent to convents in Lincolnshire and his sons are to be sent to Bristol Castle. But the infant is Llywelyn’s offspring.

Tywysoges yr Ysbrydion a’r Dreigiau is what they call her. ”

“I know,” Paris said. “The Princess of Ghosts and Dragons.”

Kieran nodded. “Edward has specifically chosen Sempringham Priory for her because it is close to Carlton de Royans’ properties,” he said. “He wants her placed near a knight loyal to him, to ensure she remains where she is consigned.”

“So de Royans draws that duty.”

“He does,” Kieran said. “The priory is quite remote and well fortified.”

“So she can be sealed off from the world for the rest of her natural life.”

“Aye.”

Pondering the fate of the infant, Paris gazed off toward the grove of trees that William had disappeared into. “May I make a suggestion?”

“What?”

“Move the children now,” he said quietly. “While William is distracted, move them out. Form escorts and move those children away from this encampment and away from William. If he takes it into his mind to deal with them personally, it will cause more problems than we can fathom.”

“I regret to say that I was thinking the same thing but did not wish to voice it.”

“I have no such restraint,” Paris said. “We must do this for William, to protect him from whatever his grief might dictate. Return to the administrative tent and I will notify the escorts and send them to you, including de Royans. He already knows this is coming, but you can give the final instructions. If we work quickly, we can accomplish this within the hour.”

There was nothing more to say to that. Kieran simply nodded and reined his horse back toward the encampment.

Paris, too, was in motion, heading to the end of the encampment that contained the prisoners.

The last he saw, the children were gathered there, tended to by fearful nurses and guarded by Edward’s royal soldiers.

Henry of England had been dead a scant month and Edward, as the new king, had been able to claim the final victory over Wales.

There had been much change for all of them over the past six months, but one thing neither Paris nor Kieran wanted was for William to do something to displease Edward.

Historically, there had been tension between the pair because Edward had always been threatened by William’s power, so it was imperative to prevent William from interfering with Edward’s Welsh prisoners because of a personal vendetta.

And no one wanted to see William dishonor himself out of grief.

Therefore, they moved quickly.

Time was running out.