Page 9 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

But some of that defiance was beginning to wear down.

“Carlton, I am going to answer your question with one of my own,” he said. “If your son had lived to adulthood and you lost him in an ambush, by men you’d been fighting for a very long time, would you not have thoughts of vengeance? Think carefully before answering.”

Carlton paused, seeing his question turned against him. “I would be enraged, of course,” he said. “I would be grieved. But my anger would be directed at the men themselves, not their offspring.”

“You do not believe taking the life of one of their children would be a reckoning?”

“I do not.”

William’s jaw flexed. “This is war , Carlton,” he said, his voice significantly more threatening.

“If you are not willing to do what is necessary in order to gain victory, in order to protect those you love, then you should become a cleric. Better still, put on a dress and become a woman, because you are not worthy of the manhood you hold so dearly.”

The words were sharp, biting, and insulting. Even William’s sons were surprised at the viciousness of them, but in the same breath, they didn’t disagree with him. A man had to do what he had to do in order to protect his family. But that also brought up something that could be considered sinister.

You do not believe taking the life of one of their children would be a reckoning?

Carlton hadn’t missed it. In fact, he stiffened in his seat, assuming he was going to have to make good on this threat to prevent de Wolfe from taking, and possibly murdering, the infant.

“Then you intend to take the child,” he said quietly.

William had fury in his eyes. “Worse than that,” he said.

“I intend to flush the Welsh out of her veins. I intend that she should become English, with English thoughts and hopes and dreams and loves. I intend that she should never know her Welsh heritage because that, in and of itself, is punishment enough for those who did unspeakable things to James. It is punishment for all they fought for, and killed for, because in the end, their progeny will have no knowledge of who they really are. They will be absorbed by the English and made English. And for a Welsh prince, death for his child would be preferable. But I will not give the child death. I will give them life, and in doing so, James’ death was not in vain.

That baby in your wife’s arms will become the blood of England. ”

That impassioned speech had Scott, Troy, and Patrick leaning closer to their father, listening with great interest. “What do you mean, Papa?” Scott asked. “She is going to an English priory. Is that not enough?”

“Nay.” William looked at his sons, the flame of vengeance in his eyes.

“It is not enough. In a priory, she will wither away, known only to God. I intend that her blood shall mingle with English blood, that she shall become a woman who breeds many children, all of them English, and in doing so, Llywelyn’s legacy is sealed.

He will be the forefather to an entire army of English knights.

That, dear lads, is a reckoning. They took my son.

I will give them too many to count, sons with Welsh royal blood that will fight their own countrymen. And that will be my ultimate revenge.”

It was one of the best plans for vengeance any of them had ever heard.

More than that, it made perfect sense. Llywelyn’s daughter could breed a host of English sons who would, in turn, fight against their countrymen.

Fight against Llywelyn’s birthright, all in the name of James de Wolfe.

His death had triggered Llywelyn’s ultimate fate.

To be bred out of existence, using his own daughter.

“You had planned this all along,” Scott said, a glimmer of approval in his eye. “Why did you not tell us?”

“Why did you not trust me?” William countered. “You have known me your whole lives. Have you ever known me to condone the outright murder of children?”

The three of them had to shake their heads. “Nay, Papa,” Patrick said quietly. “I feel ashamed that I did not trust you in this matter. Forgive me. It’s simply that James’ death seemed to drive you to the point of madness.”

“It did,” William said. “I will admit that it did, but in that madness was clarity. I knew what I had to do. And if those idiots Paris and Kieran had given it more thought, they would have figured it out, too. With friends such as those, I do not need enemies.”

That drew a grin from the sons, mostly because they knew he wasn’t serious.

But there was a part of him that was hurt because those closest to him had thought the worst. Truthfully, he could have told them of his plans, but he hadn’t.

Those plans of vengeance were private, part of his grieving process.

He was only willing to share them now because he had little choice.

The time had come to make those plans a reality.

“Atty, you will do something for me,” he said.

“Anything, Papa.”

William’s expression was intense. “You will go into the countryside. Find a farmer or a servant with a child the same age and sex as Llywelyn’s infant.

If it is a family with many mouths to feed, mayhap they would be willing to give you the infant for a price.

Assure them that the child will not be harmed or abused in any way.

That is crucial because it is true. Our purpose is not nefarious, but to give the child a life of piety and devotion at Sempringham Priory as a nun. Am I making myself clear?”

Patrick nodded. “Aye,” he said, but he was puzzled. “But what about Llywelyn’s child? There will be two of them going to Sempringham?”

William shook his head as he looked at Carlton.

“Your wife will never relinquish that child, so do not force her,” he said.

“Raise her as your own. Give her an English name and raise her as an English noblewoman, and when she comes of age, she will be married to a knight and give birth to his sons. And that is how Llywelyn’s legacy is erased from this earth.

The infant Atty secures will go to Sempringham as Gwenllian of Wales.

Edward will be satisfied, but most importantly, so will I. ”

Carlton’s eyes were wide. “You want me to keep the infant?” he said, incredulous. “But… but I cannot. I answer to Edward!”

“Deny me and I shall burn your castle to the ground and tell Edward you turned against him,” William said in a savage move.

“I will tell him that you tried to betray him and murder Llywelyn’s child.

Believe me, I can emerge from this situation as the man who protected a kingdom, so do as you are told.

Raise the infant but never tell anyone who she really is.

Not even your wife. When you die, the secret of Gwenllian dies with you. Do you understand?”

Carlton swallowed. Hard. He knew that de Wolfe meant every word.

He looked at Scott and Troy and Patrick to see their reactions, realizing they very much mirrored his own.

Truth be told, William’s solution was brilliant in the sense that his vengeance would be everlasting.

The murder of a child of royal blood would end the bloodlines immediately, a fleeting victory and nothing more.

But breeding Llywelyn’s bloodlines into the English, diluting them until they were no more, would make that vengeance last forever, with each successive generation.

It was far more humiliating than a single death.

“Aye, my lord,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good,” William said, the rage in his eyes cooling now that there would be no argument about it.

“Atty, get about your business. We should deliver the child to the priory tomorrow, so you must move quickly. My suggestion would be that you go into the village to the west, to the church, and ask the priest if he knows of any families with children. If he wants to know why, you’ll have to give him an excuse, but make it good.

We do not want the priest suspecting anything. You can proceed from there.”

Patrick nodded. “I will,” he said. “May I eat first?”

“Quickly.”

“I will go with him,” Troy said. “The fewer who know about this, the better.”

As William agreed, Carlton spoke up. “Speaking of those who know about the infant, you are aware that Colm de Lara knows,” he said. “So does my squire, Liam Herringthorpe. They will not speak of it, of course, but you should be aware.”

William’s gaze seemed to move to the far end of the hall again, where Fair Lydia and her mother were now dealing with a fussy infant and the wet nurse was being deployed.

But also on that side of the room were several wet soldiers from the de Royans’ escort and one sopping squire.

The lad was seated next to the hearth, eating something out of a bowl.

William’s focus lingered on the lad.

“Liam,” he muttered thoughtfully. “He must be thirteen or fourteen years of age now.”

“He is,” Carlton said.

“What kind of a man is he turning out to be?”

Carlton turned to look at the young man seated on the warm stone. “A fine one,” he said. “He’s strong, bright, does well with his studies, and can swing a sword as well as I can. I understand he is going to Questing in a couple of years.”

“He is.”

“You will be getting one of the best young prospects I have ever seen, my lord,” Carlton said. “Even at his young age, it is obvious.”

As William sat there and pondered that assessment, Patrick summoned food and a veritable feast was brought to the table.

Boiled beef and carrots, bread and butter, and other dishes were presented and the de Wolfe sons tucked into them.

But William didn’t—he was still watching Liam as the boy finished whatever was in his bowl and went on the hunt for more.

Watching the lad had given him an idea.

“Scott,” he said softly, “the man that Llywelyn’s daughter marries must come from an excellent family. We are speaking of dual royal bloodlines, after all. It would have to be a good family.”