Page 45 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Two Weeks Later

T he chamber was dark and warm, with the only light and heat coming from the hearth.

The little hearth worked quite well and the fires in it tended to be big and blazing, so much so that the entire wall above the hearth was blackened with soot.

Even the bottom of the bed was blackened with soot in spite of the fact that they’d moved it as far away from the hearth as they could without actually moving it out of the room.

That meant that the bed was right by the door, so when she walked in, he saw her immediately.

He must have started, or otherwise moved, because she approached the bed with her hand up in a soothing gesture.

“Be at ease, lad,” she said in a thick Scots accent. “I’m here tae check her wounds.”

He relaxed when he realized who it was. “Lady Warenton,” he said. “I am grateful for your attention yet again.”

Jordan’s gaze lingered on the big knight for a moment before she bent over and began to carefully pull away the bandages. The firelight wasn’t enough to really see the wounds in great detail, but at least she didn’t smell them anymore.

That was something.

“I’ve tended many battle wounds in my time,” she said, peeling back the first bandage. “I’ve seen worse than yers, though yer wound wasn’t nearly so bad as the poison that infected it afterward. Still, it seems tae have gone away.”

“Thanks to you,” Tyrus said. “Will I recover?”

“I believe ye will,” Jordan said, peeling back the second bandage. “But that is why we must talk.”

“What about?”

“This life ye lead.”

“What about it?”

She stopped with the bandages and looked at him. “I dinna heal ye simply so ye could run back tae Canterbury and tell him what ye know about Cambria,” she said. “This ends now or I’ll make it so ye’ll never rise from this bed again.”

Tyrus believed her. This small, old woman had so deftly taken on the wounds he’d received from the double-bolt shot to his torso because she was the only one at Folkingham who would touch him.

Everyone else was focused on Liam and Kyle, but she wasn’t.

She’d spent days and nights with him, tending the wounds, flushing them out with wine when they became infected and forcing him to drink a brew made from rotten bread.

Whatever she did had killed the poison in the wounds, which were now healing, and Tyrus was the first one to say that he owed her everything.

He sighed heavily.

“I’ve never owed a debt of gratitude to anyone in my entire life,” he said, turning his head away as she began to poke at the healing wounds. “I am a man with no debts, no loyalties.”

“Untrue,” she said. “Ye’re loyal tae me now for saving yer life. I could have let ye die, but I dinna. I healed ye.”

“Why?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, focused on the wounds. “Because ye’re someone’s son,” she said softly. “I did this for yer mother, lad. Tell me about her.”

He looked at her then. “ My mother?”

“Aye.”

“There is not much to tell except that I had one.”

“Is she still alive?”

“Nay.”

“Did ye love her?”

He sighed again and averted his gaze. “She simply gave birth to me,” he said.

“She gave birth and then she died. My father, dedicated to service for the king, gave me over to the servants to raise, only I was passed from one to another to another. I was put into situations that no child should be put in. When I had reached about five years of age, my father sent me to foster at Fotheringhay Castle, where I was educated, beaten, and abused. But I rose above it and became the knight I am today. Why do you ask?”

By that time, Jordan had stopped fussing with the bandages and was looking at him seriously. “I was told about ye,” she said quietly. “How ye were an Executioner Knight, only ye were too heartless, even for them. Now I understand why.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He regretted what he’d said already.

There were reasons why Tyrus le Mon was the way he was, and that wasn’t something he divulged to many.

But he’d divulged it to Lady Warenton because she asked.

As she’d said, she’d saved his life, so he reasoned that she deserved to know something about the man she’d saved.

Even though he probably wasn’t worth the effort.

“I have never failed in a mission,” he finally said. “My upbringing has made me who I am. If that sounds harsh, then I suppose it is to you. But not to me.”

“It sounds harsh, but it also sounds lonely.”

“There is safety in solitude.”

“Why do ye say that?”

“Because you cannot be hurt if you are alone.”

Jordan collected the dirty bandages and set them aside, picking up a small container of wine that she’d brought. “I’m sorry ye had a difficult upbringing,” she said. “I’m sorry ye’ve resorted tae an outlook on the world tae protect yerself.”

“I am not protecting myself,” he said. “I simply do not like other people.”

She chuckled, but it was not from humor. It was from irony. “Given what ye do, I’m sure there aren’t many who are fond of ye,” she said. “But it comes tae this—I saved yer life and ye owe me something for it. Would ye agree with that?”

He looked at her. “I would.”

“Do ye believe in honor?”

“It may come as a surprise to you that I do.”

“Do ye believe that ye have honor?”

“It is all I have. I honor my word, my bonds, my agreements.”

“Then if ye believe that ye owe me for yer life, the price ye pay is yer silence in the matter of Gwenllian of Wales,” she said quietly.

“If ye dunna honor yer word, and ye tell anyone about it, I have more connections than ye’ll ever know.

I’ll make sure ye’re discredited from the top of Scotland tae the bottom of England and beyond.

I’ll make sure everyone who matters knows that ye’re not tae be trusted.

I’ll run yer reputation intae the ground, lad. Believe me when I say this.”

His gaze upon her was steady. “Not strangely, I have been lying here wondering what I was going to do from now on,” he said. “You may be surprised to know that I have already made the decision not to speak of Lady Cambria.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you were going to use my wounds against me,” he said. “I am not na?ve, Lady Warenton. I knew this was coming.”

She eyed him before she began to use the wine in her hand to cleanse the scabbed-over wounds, which were healing nicely now that the infection was gone. “Then we have a bargain,” she said. “And since ye’ve been wondering how ye’re tae make a living after this, I’ve news for ye on that front.”

He frowned. “What news?”

She was concentrating on the scabs as she spoke.

“Ye’re a good knight,” she said. “I saw the fight from the keep, when ye and Liam went tae battle. My son, Scott, thinks ye have an excellent sword. He wants ye for Berwick Castle. Trouble with the clans, lad. I’m going tae send ye tae Berwick Castle tae help. ”

He just stared at her. “Berwick?” he repeated. “But… I cannot. I have a contract with the Archbishop of Canterbury at the moment. I am going to have to figure out what to tell the man if I cannot tell him what I have discovered.”

“I have already taken care of that,” Jordan said.

“I happen tae know a few priests. My husband and I are patrons of a few churches. I’ve already sent word tae the priest I’m closest to, a man at Kelso who will do anything I want and not ask questions.

I’ve sent Scott’s son, Jeremy, tae ask the priest tae send the archbishop a missive, from ye, stating that yer investigation has taken ye far tae the north.

That ye’re chasing clues and ye dunna know when ye’ll return, but tae have faith that ye will, someday.

That will keep the man from sending anyone else if he knows ye’re still hunting the truth.

He’ll simply have tae wait for ye tae return. ”

“And I never will.”

“Nay, ye never will.”

That explained quite a bit and, quite honestly, Tyrus wasn’t surprised that she was that thorough.

A woman like Lady Warenton had been around a very long time and understood the political game.

She understood how it all worked and he had to respect that.

But there were other things that weren’t clear to him at the moment.

“So you want me at Berwick,” he said. “That castle belongs to Cassius’ father.”

“It does.”

“And Cassius does not mind if the man he tried to kill serves his father?”

Jordan shrugged. “Another thing ye’ll have tae keep silent on is the fact Cassius knew of Cambria’s rumor,” she said. “Ye saw him at Folkingham. Ye knew he came back tae warn everyone. And he only injured ye so ye’d not kill Liam, not because he had a personal vendetta.”

“I assumed,” Tyrus said. “Is he still here?”

Jordan shook her head. “He’s returned tae Edward now,” she said. “He has no objection tae ye serving his father so long as ye do it well and keep the secrets.”

That explained Cassius. The man had gone back to serve Edward as if nothing had happened and, frankly, Tyrus didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t sworn to Edward, nor did he have any real respect for the man. But there was one more thing he was curious over.

“And Herringthorpe?” he said. “ Did he survive?”

Jordan nodded. “Survived and thrived,” she said. “He had a bit of the poison like ye did, but it dinna last for long. He’s already up and walking. At least as much as Bria will let him, but he’s recovering.”

Tyrus was somewhat relieved to hear it. He was convinced he’d killed Liam, but maybe not all that surprised to hear he hadn’t.

“He was the best man I’ve ever fought,” he said.

“You do understand that there was nothing personal against him. It was only because he interfered with what I’d been tasked to do. ”

Jordan nodded. “I understand it,” she said.

“After the fight was over and everyone was calm again, they understood, too. Even Cassius, who was the first one tae point it out. No one here is yer enemy, lad, at least not yet. But ye’re in possession of knowledge that canna make it tae the archbishop or the king.

So we’re going tae keep ye close. Ye’re going tae Berwick and serve with distinction or ye’ll have tae answer tae me. ”

Tyrus was thinking that the dowager was more intimidating than anyone he’d ever served before. It wasn’t her size or strength or skill in battle, because she didn’t have any. But the woman had a mere presence that could melt steel.

He found that fascinating.

“Incredible,” he finally said. “Your show of mercy is… incredible.”

“I know,” Jordan said. “And ye’ll remember that mercy should the urge tae speak of what ye know comes tae ye. Ye’ll never be shown mercy again if ye do.”

“I am well aware of that,” he said quietly. “It’s simply that I’ve never been one to show mercy. And now it has been shown to me and I am puzzled.”

“Then mayhap ye understand it better than ye did before.”

“Mayhap,” he said. “But this position at Berwick… I haven’t had a legitimate position in years.”

“Ye have one now.”

Tyrus could only shake his head in awe. The last position he’d had was serving with the Executioner Knights and the House of de Lohr, but when they exiled him from the spy coven, he’d been without any income, anywhere to go, and anyone to answer to.

He’d been alone. It was true that he’d found business as an independent, as he had for the Archbishop of Canterbury, but given that he was now indebted to Lady Warenton, the fact that an actual position had come out of this—with the de Wolfe empire, no less—was truly astounding to him.

He’d come to the north to get to the bottom of a mystery and wound up being tasked to serve at a powerful castle.

Truth be told, he was up for the challenge.

“If that is what you wish,” he said. “I’ve never battled the clans before. Can I expect them to be as shrewd as you?”

Her lips twitched with a smile. “No one is as shrewd as me.”

“I would sincerely believe that.”

Before he could reply, another figure entered the chamber and Tyrus found himself looking at the young woman whom Liam had once introduced to him as Bria.

He hadn’t seen her since the day he met her, but here she was, in the flesh.

She flashed him a smile before handing Jordan neat rolls of bandaging.

“Here, Matha,” she said. “Do you need more than that?”

Jordan peered at the wounds. “Nay,” she said. “That’ll be sufficient.”

As the woman turned to leave, Tyrus stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “You there, lass. You’re not Bria.”

She smiled broadly. “Nay, I am not.”

“Who are you, then?”

“A de Wolfe.”

She wasn’t going to tell him, but she was smirking about it. Things like that usually annoyed him, but he could see that she was being playful, not nasty. Endearing, even. Whatever it was, it was just this side of sweet.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Whoever you are, your deception was clever.”

“Did you believe it?”

“I did.”

She laughed. “Then I am going to make an excellent spy!”

With that, she skipped out, leaving Jordan grinning and Tyrus grunting. “Please do not let her become a spy,” he said softly. “Even if she’s not entirely serious, discourage her. It is no life for someone like that.”

Jordan began unrolling the bandages. “Ye think not?” she said. “I canna agree with ye. She fooled ye. She can fool anyone.”

Tyrus sighed heavily. “Are all of the de Wolfe women like this?”

“Like what?”

“Lovely tyrants?”

Jordan snorted. “Aye, lad,” she said. “Every one of us. And don’t ye forget it.”

He wouldn’t.

For as long as Tyrus le Mon lived, he wouldn’t.