Page 5 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Six Days Later

Near Folkingham, England

H e’d been saddled with the baby.

A big, stinky baby.

But he had absolutely no recourse because he’d been ordered to mind the child on the journey from Wales, and a squire did not disobey his master. Not ever. If Liam Herringthorpe wanted to become a knight himself someday, as was expected of him, he had to be obedient no matter what the circumstance.

No matter how much the baby stank.

But it was a complicated situation. His master, Sir Carlton de Royans, and another knight by the name of Colm de Lara had been given orders from Sir Paris de Norville of Northwood Castle to take the infant to Sempringham Priory in Lincolnshire.

It was all very confusing but, from what Liam understood, the orders came directly from the king himself.

The baby, a little girl, belonged to one of the Welsh princes who had been so recently subdued, so the king wanted the child taken to a priory and hidden away for the rest of her life, under English protection.

It had all seemed so secretive and so hurried.

There were other children involved, taken by other knights, but de Norville seemed to be rushing Carlton and Colm a great deal.

There was already a wet nurse for the infant, an older Welsh woman, and it was that woman who had come along with them as they hurriedly made their way out of Wales.

There were twenty of them in total, including several heavily armed soldiers, with Liam and another old soldier driving the wagon containing the woman and baby while everyone else seemed to be nervously watching the landscape as if waiting for something to happen.

Nothing had.

Not yet, anyway.

But something was in the air.

As Liam sat in the wagon seat, watching the landscape just like everyone else, a scout on horseback came thundering up the column, heading for Carlton and Colm at the head of the line.

As Liam watched, the scout had a spirited conversation with Carlton, gesturing toward the west. When the conversation concluded, Carlton sent the man back the way he’d come while he reined his warhorse around and came back to the wagon.

“We will be making our stop at Folkingham,” he said. “It is nearly nightfall as it is.”

Liam, being young and certain he knew everything there was to know, spoke quickly. “Is there trouble, my lord?” he said. “Should I retrieve my weapon?”

Carlton de Royans was a kind man. He was well liked, part of the de Royans family of Netherghyll Castle in the north.

His great-uncle, Juston de Royans, had played an important role with Henry II and Richard I, so the family had prestige and wealth along with their strong political connections.

Folkingham Castle was his, through his wife, a de Beaumont, and Sempringham Priory was part of his property.

That was why he was in charge of the infant and her fate.

It was his job to hide her away forever.

“Nay,” he said in answer to Liam’s question. “There is no need for you to fight. We shall arrive at Folkingham shortly and my wife will make us all welcome. We will be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Liam wanted to know, turning to look off toward the west where the scout had gone. “Are you sure there is no trouble?”

Carlton shook his head. “No trouble,” he said. “We shall be home shortly.”

Liam watched him ride away, frowning. “He is not telling the truth,” he muttered. “He appears concerned.”

The old soldier, who had served Carlton’s father-in-law for many years, glanced at the young and excitable squire. “He should be,” he said, chewing on a piece of dried grass that had been hanging from his lips since the morning. “It’s quite possible we are being followed.”

That only made Liam strain to look more than he already was. “By whom?”

“The animal who tracks with greater stealth than a man.”

Liam looked at him. “What animal?”

“A wolf.”

That made no sense to Liam. “A wolf is following us?” he said incredulously. “How do you know? Who has said so?”

The old soldier fixed him in the eye. “Lad, if you are to be a knight, then you must learn to open your ears,” he said. “Why do you think we left Wales in such a hurry?”

Liam had no idea. “I do not know,” he said. “I suppose to take this baby away.”

The old soldier nodded as if Liam had just said something important. “Exactly,” he said. “We are taking this baby away to keep her safe.”

“Safe from whom?”

“From a man who would use her in vengeance for his own son’s death,” the old man said, snapping his fingers.

“Just like that, the Wolfe would take her hostage and call it justice. We had to get her away before he could, and now he is following us. It is imperative that de Royans get her to that priory before the Wolfe catches up to us.”

Liam understood him. Sort of. “The Wolfe?” he said. “You mean Warenton?”

The old soldier nodded. “Now you are starting to comprehend.”

Liam frowned. “He would not punish a baby because he lost his son.”

“Not the baby,” the old soldier said, shaking his head. “Punish the Welsh as a whole. It’s what she represents. Do you know who that baby is?”

“Daughter of Llywelyn?”

“She is,” the old soldier said. “But she is also the granddaughter of King John. She has more royal blood in her than anyone in this country. Maybe even the world. I cannot believe that the Earl of Warenton would actually harm the child, because he is not that sort of man, but he might want to take her into his custody. He might put her in a vault and throw away the key.”

Liam didn’t seem to think the situation was all that critical. “What is the difference if she ends up in a vault or in a priory?” he said. “It is all the same. She loses her freedom either way, and the Welsh lose their princess.”

“True,” the old soldier said. “But if she’s at a priory, no one can harm her. She’s safe. But thrown in a vault, she is vulnerable to anyone who enters that vault.”

“Like Warenton?”

The old soldier nodded faintly. “’Tis a strange situation,” he said.

“The man lost a son six months ago and the babe was born six months ago. It all happened on the same day, I heard. As I said, I don’t believe Warenton would harm the child, but he could hold her hostage indefinitely as punishment to the Welsh for the killing of his son.

Grief makes even good men do strange things. ”

Liam pondered that. He’d only heard good things about William de Wolfe, a man greatly revered and respected by nearly everyone in England.

Like any warlord, he had his share of enemies, but for the most part, men spoke well of him.

In fact, Liam was distantly related to him because his own father, Warwick Herringthorpe, had married a cousin to William de Wolfe’s wife.

Because of that connection, Liam was planning on heading to Castle Questing, Warenton’s seat, in a couple of years to finish his training as a knight.

It was a prestigious post his father had helped him obtain and he had been looking forward to it.

Therefore, the concept that William de Wolfe might be unjust with a helpless baby puzzled him.

He refused to believe it.

“It is Edward who wants this baby sealed up in a priory,” he said. “Warenton is a man of war. He knows that the child is not responsible for his son’s death. He is a better man than that.”

“Who says so?”

“My father.”

The old soldier shrugged. “’Tis true,” he said. “Warenton has a fair and just reputation, but if he wants this baby, he’ll get her. Mark my words.”

He sounded old and suspicious and edgy. Liam wasn’t sure he believed any of it, but it would explain why de Royans and de Lara seemed uneasy.

He didn’t like to think about William de Wolfe being a threat, but then again, the man didn’t get where he was being soft. If he wanted something, he took it.

And that was what had the rest of them concerned.

It wasn’t long before they came upon the road to Folkingham.

Carlton took the lead and urged the escort to move more quickly, along a muddy road that had big holes in it.

The landscape was winter-gray all around them, cold and dead, and in the wagon, the babe had started to cry.

That thin, piercing sound filled the air as they traveled and Liam glanced behind him, into the wagon bed, to see that the wet nurse was trying to feed the infant.

It was almost impossible given how much the wagon was lurching.

A hungry baby with the inability to latch on to the nipple made for a frustrating effort.

There wasn’t anything Liam could do about it.

They had to make it to the castle, which had appeared in the distance.

Lincolnshire was flat, as flat as a plate, and this particular area seemed to be devoid of trees.

There was nothing for a mile in any direction, a dark line in the distance the only indication of growth other than the dead grass upon the ground.

A cold wind began to pick up and Liam didn’t think he much liked Lincolnshire.

He was from the north, on the sea, in fact, and he missed the smell of salt in his nostrils and the cry of gulls overhead.

He’d spent nearly the past year in Wales with the English armies, with de Royans, and now they were finally returning to a castle he didn’t much like.

It didn’t remind him of home.

But here they were.

Little did he know what they were in for.