Page 8 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

William had never risen to Edward’s level of animosity, though the death of James had forced him into a position of looking for someone to blame.

Deep down, William knew that it wasn’t rational to pin the blame on any individual.

Carlton had been correct—James had been a knight, and inherent to that vocation, death was not only a constant risk, but it was expected.

William had six sons and he cherished each and every one of them for their own virtues, and the pride he had in their accomplishments as men and as warriors was as vast as the heavens.

He adored his sons. And the truth was that he had never expected one of them to die in battle, much less a disgraceful Welsh ambush.

That simply had not been worthy of James and his level of talent.

And perhaps that was William’s biggest problem…

He was not only grieved by it, but he was also insulted by it.

If James had to die, then he deserved a better death.

But the truth was that when death came for him, it didn’t take into consideration how much he was loved or the level of his talent.

It didn’t take into consideration his family or his future.

It simply came for him in the form of a morning star, one that had hit him on the right side of the head and smashed his helm and skull so badly that they couldn’t even get the helmet off him.

The big English knight had been damaged by what was probably a lucky shot, but once he fell to the ground, dozens of Welsh had jumped on him and stabbed him with their dirty swords.

By the time William had got to him, James was literally covered in blood.

And that was the image that was seared into William’s brain.

His bloodied, battered boy.

Of course he’d gone a little mad with it.

Any father would have. So he had spent the past six months swearing vengeance upon the Welsh as if the entire race was responsible for his son’s death.

If he’d stopped to think about it, he would have realized how foolish that was.

So many people tried to tell him that. His dearest friends in the world, Paris and Kieran, had tried to tell him that, but he would not listen.

He had been in a world of his own, a world where grief and rage ruled his very sanity.

He had not been able to separate that level of anxiety from his normally calm and rational demeanor because he’d never had to face that kind of tragedy before.

But now, he did.

He had to face everything.

“Sit down, Carlton,” he finally said. “We will speak like allies, not enemies.”

Carlton wasn’t sure about that in the least, but he did as he was asked.

As he did so, he could see his wife and her mother taking the infant over to the hearth, which was blazing at this hour, and begin to gently remove the child’s wet clothing.

In the heat of the hearth, the baby was stripped and dried.

Lovely, wholesome things were happening over by the hearth, and the more Carlton observed, the more he knew he had to put a stop to it.

“My lord, if you please, mayhap our conversation can wait,” he said. “I must separate my wife from that child if we have any hope of taking her to Sempringham on the morrow.”

William held up a hand. “Sit,” he commanded softly. “Having nine offspring of my own, I know something about women and children. You are not going to get that child away from her. You know that.”

Carlton sighed heavily. “The longer I let this go on, the more difficult it will be.”

There was some happy squealing going on over by the hearth, and they both looked over to see Fair Lydia’s mother holding the naked baby up in the air, drying her little bottom in the heat of the fire. The baby was grinning, a happy little thing.

“My youngest daughter is married to a Welshman,” William said. “He is one of the finest men I have ever known.”

Carlton looked at him. “Yet you fought his countrymen?”

William nodded. “I did,” he said. “As you did. We were asked by our king to do so and we did. But Bhrodi remained on Anglesey, where he lives with my daughter and their children, and he did not get involved in any battles that I was participating in. He deliberately stayed out of them, and if I knew he was part of a battle, I would have withdrew my men. You see, I like my son-in-law a great deal. I would never lift a weapon to him. And Bhrodi was allied with Llywelyn ap Gruffudd.”

“Have you ever met the man?”

William nodded. “I did, on more than one occasion,” he said. “Carlton, I’ve been fighting wars for as long as you’ve been alive. There aren’t many great warlords that I do not know or have known. I’ve lost friends in battle. I’ve lost mentors. But I have never lost a son.”

Carlton fell quiet for a moment before answering. “I was not there when James was killed, but I knew him,” he said. “I knew him as a knight of skill.”

“He was very skilled.”

“He was also a great entertainer,” Carlton continued. “Many a time I remember him singing bawdy songs for the men and keeping them happy. He brought joy.”

William glanced at him. “Aye, he did,” he said. “Though he would sing those bawdy songs at weddings and draw the wrath of his mother.”

Carlton grinned. “I would believe that,” he said. But his smile soon faded. “My lord, may I ask you a question? I do not mean to be disrespectful, but I must ask.”

“You may.”

“Would James expect you to seek vengeance for his death?”

William was precluded from answering as Scott, Troy, and Patrick joined them at the table.

The men sat down, removing gloves, getting comfortable.

There weren’t enough cups for the wine that was on the table, so Scott took his father’s cup and drained it before pouring a measure for Troy and handing it across the table. William frowned at the intrusion.

“If I wanted you to join this conversation, I would have summoned you,” he said to his sons. “Sit elsewhere. It is a large hall.”

They ignored him. In fact, Patrick turned to watch Fair Lydia and her mother as they doted over the infant, who was beginning to get fussy.

“Lady de Royans seems very excited to see the child,” he said. “I confess that my wife would do the same thing.”

“Atty,” William said in a low voice, “you and your brothers sit elsewhere.”

“Wait, please,” Carlton said. “I would like to ask them the same question that I asked you, my lord. They were James’ brothers, after all. They knew him well.”

William didn’t like that idea at all, but Troy spoke up. “What question?” he asked.

Carlton looked at him. “Would your brother, James, have approved of your father’s quest for vengeance in response to his death?”

That brought all three brothers to an immediate halt.

They looked at William, wide-eyed, unwilling to answer the question.

But their hesitation didn’t last long. Patrick and Troy looked at Scott for some reply because, as the eldest, that was his right.

Also, if William was going to become enraged, Scott could be the target rather than all three of them.

So much for camaraderie.

In the face of an angry father, it was every man for himself.

“That is a question with a very personal answer,” Scott finally said diplomatically. “If you are looking for us to condemn our father, we will not.”

“I am not looking for condemnation,” Carlton said.

“As I told your father, I have also lost a son. My only son. But I do not seek to blame anyone. The truth is that your brother was a knight, and death is always a possibility when a man wields a weapon. James died in battle, as a knight, and not because the Welsh knew it was James de Wolfe and targeted him. They targeted him simply because he was English. Battle is risk, and if you do not want to take the risk, then become a priest or a cleric. Do not become a knight.”

Across the table, Patrick sighed faintly. He didn’t seem particularly eager to speak until the silence became uncomfortable.

“If our father had been targeted and murdered, then James would have been the first one to seek vengeance,” he said quietly.

“If I had been targeted and murdered, he would have done the same. But in this ambush, we were all targeted. James died because he happened to catch a morning star to the head. It could have been any one of us.”

Carlton could see that he had some support for his opinion. He wasn’t trying to shame William, but he was trying to make a point. “And if you had been killed by the morning star, would you have expected your father to seek vengeance against the children of those responsible?” he asked.

That was a low blow as far as Patrick was concerned. “Do not suggest my father is anything other than noble in action and deed,” he growled. “You will not like my reaction if you do.”

Carlton wouldn’t be intimidated. “Then why did he come to my home?” he asked. “Why did you all come to my home if it was not to seek vengeance against Llywelyn by somehow targeting his infant daughter?”

He had a point. They were there because they’d followed William and there was no denying it.

Patrick’s manner cooled.

“We came because we would not let our father come alone,” he said honestly.

“As for my expecting vengeance if I had been killed by a morning star, my answer is that I would not have expected it. It happened in battle. I would expect to be mourned and spoken fondly of, but I would not expect my father to seek vengeance using an enemy’s infant. ”

He said what Scott and Troy were thinking.

They all looked at William, who was still watching Fair Lydia and the child.

The woman was positively overjoyed. He’d heard Patrick’s words, but they were words he’d heard before.

He knew how his sons felt about his sense of vengeance, but he’d ignored them.

How he felt about James’ death was his privilege and no one else’s.

He wasn’t going to let them tell him how to feel.