Page 6 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

“Y ou should take the child straight to the priory. Why bring her to the castle?”

The question came from Colm de Lara. He was riding point for the escort, now joined by Carlton, as they slogged toward the castle along the impossibly muddy road.

Both knights had pale-colored warhorses, animals that were now brown from the neck down because of all of the muck.

It was flying everywhere because they were moving quickly.

Carlton heard the question, his gaze on the gray-stoned walls in the distance.

“Because the priory is still about five miles to the east,” he said. “The sun is setting and a storm is approaching. If we do not get this child to warmth and safety, there will be no child to deliver to the priory, and that will not bode well for you or for me.”

Colm looked off toward the east, instinctively, as if to see the priory that was their ultimate destination. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “She will not be completely safe until she is within those old walls.”

“Agreed.”

A pause. “Do you truly think Warenton is following us?” Colm asked.

Carlton’s gaze was fixed on his home, as if he could look at nothing else.

“I do not know,” he said. “We were not part of the ambush at Llandeilo, but the stories I heard… tragic at best. Men lose sons all the time, but the men who witnessed the death of Warenton’s son said that he took it very hard.

He tried to carry his son out of the fighting, but he could not.

They were swarmed with Welsh, and Warenton’s surviving sons had to pull the old man free or risk his own death.

They had to leave their brother behind.”

Colm didn’t seem particularly sympathetic.

“The man acts as if he has been the only father in history to have lost a son in battle,” he said, lifting a hand in surrender when he saw the frown on Carlton’s face.

“I do not mean to be cruel. And I like Warenton enough. He is a decent man. But he will have to come to terms with this, and taking his grief out on children is beneath him.”

“He will not take it out on the children,” Carlton said. “But de Norville seemed to think that quickly removing them from Warenton’s reach might remove any temptation.”

Colm shook his head. “This may not have anything to do with vengeance for his son and instead be more of a swipe at the king,” he muttered.

“You know that Edward and Warenton have never seen eye to eye. It’s Edward’s fault, I will admit, but Warenton could be threatening to take the Welsh children hostage himself in order to take control away from Edward. It would be a volatile political move.”

Carlton couldn’t disagree. “Mayhap,” he said.

“But Edward knows how much support Warenton has. All the man has to do is lift a hand and half of England will rush to his side. The Scots, too, because his wife is Scots. And the Welsh would more than happily rush to Warenton’s side because of his ties to them also.

As I said, taking the babe to the priory tomorrow will be safer for us all. ”

Colm simply shook his head because the entire situation was delicate. Delicate and dangerous. The sooner they delivered the child to Sempringham, the better.

The last half-mile to Folkingham seemed to take forever.

The rain had begun to fall by the time they reached the gatehouse, which was strangely open.

Both portcullises were lifted. Assuming it was because the gate guards had seen their party approaching, Carlton and Colm didn’t have any hesitation in entering.

The entire party charged into the rather large bailey of Folkingham, which was a motte and bailey fortress.

That meant that walls surrounded a big ward with a hall and outbuildings and stables, and then toward the northern side of it was a man-made mound with a large, square keep built atop it.

There was a small moat around the mound, more like a mud puddle, and a wall with a barbican that protected the stairs into the keep.

Folkingham was a complicated structure and a crowded bailey in places as a result, but to Carlton, he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

He was home.

But there was someone else at his home, too.

Behind them, the portcullis slammed shut.

They all heard it, a squeaking sound followed by a loud boom as the wood and iron grate fell into place behind the last men from Carlton’s escort.

In fact, the men bringing up the rear had barely come through.

Frowning, Carlton thought it was just a bit of clumsiness from the gate guards, so he didn’t really give it much thought beyond that.

He dismounted his horse, wiping rain from his eyes, when he heard Colm’s quiet voice.

“Carlton,” the man muttered. “Look ahead of you.”

Carlton had to blink his eyes again to clear them of rain. He finally pulled his helm off because it was dripping from the crown. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at a familiar knight heading in his direction, a man he thought he’d left behind in Wales.

The tallest man he’d ever seen in his life.

Patrick de Wolfe was coming for him.

“Christ,” he breathed. “What is he doing here?”

Colm couldn’t even answer him. They were all afraid of Patrick de Wolfe, a mountain of a man with a long arm and an even longer sword.

No Welshman had ever survived against Patrick de Wolfe’s long reach, and skill, and Carlton dared to glance around to see if there were any other de Wolfe knights around.

A casual glance behind him showed that there were a few at the gatehouse.

That was why the gate had slammed shut so abruptly.

They were trapping him inside his own bailey.

The realization roused his anger. By the time Carlton turned around, Patrick was almost upon him.

“Before you chastise me, know that I am acting under orders,” he said before Patrick could speak. “My orders come from Edward and you know it.”

Patrick came to a halt. “I do,” he said. “How does the child fare?”

“Well enough,” Carlton said. “But we must get her out of this rain.”

Patrick motioned toward the hall. “Bring her,” he said. “My father wants to see her.”

Carlton’s eyes widened. “Warenton is here ?”

Patrick nodded. “He is,” he said. Seeing Carlton’s shock, he elaborated. “We covered more ground than you did because we did not have the burden of a wagon, but even so, we only arrived here this morning. Your wife has been most hospitable.”

The mention of Fair Lydia had Carlton’s heart lurching. “My dearest,” he murmured. “Where is she?”

“In the hall.”

Carlton didn’t say anything for a moment, his focus on the hall that had been built against the wall with a steeply pitched roof. There was smoke escaping from the chimney and warm light emitting from the windows, but the allure of it belied the fear of what was inside.

De Wolfe.

“Patrick,” he said evenly, “you are welcome at my home. We are allies. But you will understand why I ask this question.”

“What question?”

“You’ve not done anything to my wife, have you?”

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “Why would we?” he said. “Carlton, we’ve not come to harm you or your wife, nor would we ever. I hope you know that.”

Carlton let out a heavy sigh, one that conveyed his relief. “Did you tell her why you’ve come?”

“Nay. She knows nothing.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I think you know why.”

At this point, Colm had already fetched the child, who came forward in the arms of the nurse as the tall, blond squire tried to keep the rain off them both. Carlton held out a hand to keep them from going any further.

“I do know why,” he said to Patrick. “But I want to hear it from you. I am under the king’s orders and, as he is my liege, I intend to carry them out. If you’ve come to take the child, know that I will have to fight you. She is intended for Sempringham.”

Patrick simply shook his head. “Get her inside,” he said quietly. “No one is fighting for anything right now. But my father wants to see her. And he wants to talk to you.”

Carlton rolled his eyes, but he motioned Colm and the wet nurse and the infant forward. As they started to move, with the squire still trying to keep them dry, Carlton and Patrick began to follow.

“Atty, you know I would kill or die for your father, but this situation cannot go too far,” Carlton said with soft urgency, using Patrick’s childhood nickname.

Little Patrick de Wolfe had had a speech impediment and couldn’t say his own name, so his family and friends used the name “Atty” to this day.

“He cannot take the infant hostage. Paris de Norville thinks so, too, or I would not have been ordered to take the child out of Wales so swiftly.”

Patrick nodded. “I know,” he said quietly.

“We agree with Paris, but you should know that my father nearly throttled him when he found out what Paris did. Kieran, too. Scott and I convinced him to come to Folkingham because that was where you were taking the infant. It also got him away from Paris and Kieran. There’s nothing as ridiculous or dangerous as an old-man fight, and that was what we were facing. My father wanted to kill them both.”

“Does he intend to take her?”

“I do not know. And that is the truth.”

They’d reached the hall by this time. Carlton could see the other de Wolfe sons, Scott and Troy, right inside the door. Carlton grabbed the arm of the wet nurse before she could venture into the hall because of the precious cargo she was holding. Instead, Carlton took the baby himself.

If Warenton wanted her, then he would have to fight him for her.

Cautiously, he entered the hall.