WolfeSword: de Wolfe Pack Generations Read online

  William de Wolfe went on to become the Earl of Warenton and his seat of Castle Questing was one of the greatest in the north. He and his Scottish bride, Jordan Scott, had eight children, including five sons, all of whom had procreated prodigiously. Cassius was the second son of William’s third son, Patrick de Wolfe, who was also the Earl of Berwick. De Wolfe knights were in high demand, including from the king himself, and it had been quite by chance that Cassius had been offered the role of Lord Protector to King Edward when his eldest brother had passed on the position.

  That had been three years ago and Cassius had found himself in a world that was leaps and bounds more complicated and dangerous than anything he’d ever experienced to date. As the king’s personal bodyguard, he went where Edward went, and for an active and battle-seasoned king, Cassius had found himself in some hairy situations.

  Three years of politics, battle, and being on his guard every day and every night.

  And now… this.

  This was some well-deserved time away from Edward to return home to see his family. Cassius hadn’t been home since he’d accepted the prestigious position and he’d performed so well that it was with great reluctance that Edward allowed him to return home to visit. Cassius’ reason for wanting to return home was very simple – he wanted to see his grandmother.

  That was the truth.

  Of course, he wanted to see his parents, too, but his grandmother was more time sensitive. In her ninth decade, the Dowager Countess of Warenton, Lady Jordan, was very precious to her family, and very precious to Cassius. The woman wasn’t going to live forever. Edward understood that, and since he and his father owed a great deal to the House of de Wolfe, he’d permitted Cassius to return home for a short time.

  Cassius couldn’t wait to get there.

  However, on his way home, he was stopping in Doncaster on the king’s official business which included a visit to the Duke of Doncaster, Vincent Rossington de Ryes. Edward was seeking financial support from Doncaster, or Old Cuffy as he was known, a man who was wildly rich from not only his English lands but his French lands as well, and Edward was always looking for financial support. Cassius happened to be a very good emissary, so he sent the man to flatter the duke, reiterate the king’s affection for him, and then beg for money.

  That was the gist of it.

  Cassius couldn’t wait to get it over with.

  After a swift journey north from London, Cassius, his dog, and his men found themselves in Doncaster. The truth was that Cassius was so valuable to Edward that the man had sent two of his elite knights along with him to ensure Cassius made it home safely. Rhori and Bose came from some of the finest families England had to offer and also happened to be Cassius’ best friends, so here they were, traveling as a trio, in a leisure situation.

  Therefore, the festivities around them were alluring.

  Perhaps coming to Doncaster was a good thing, after all.

  With Bose chewing the last of the cinnamon sweet, the trio entered the center of town. Now, the full glory of the festivities were upon them and it seemed as if the whole of Doncaster was enjoying the merriment. There was laughing and music and food, and gaily colored banners flying in the breeze.

  The entire village was undulating in mass celebration.

  Cassius reined his horse to a halt.

  “We seemed to have arrived on a day of days,” he said. As a couple passed near, both man and woman in garlands, he grabbed the man by the neck. “You, there! What is this celebration?”

  The man was forced to pause. Not that he had a choice with an enormous hand around his neck. Worse still, there was an enormous gray dog with a head as large as a pig’s standing up against him. The dog’s hand-sized paws were on his shoulders.

  Nay, he had no choice.

  “’Tis the Lords of Misrule,” the man said fearfully. “’Tis the first of April, my lord. The Lords of Misrule command this day with their fun and mischief.”

  Cassius let go of the man and looked around. He noted that there were several men running about, each wearing a jester’s cap and red tunic.

  Now, it was starting to make some sense.

  “Ah,” he said, waving the man on as he turned to Rhori and Bose. “The Lords of Misrule rule the day, then. This should be interesting.”

  The celebration of the Lords of Misrule wasn’t an unusual celebration, in fact. It was a day of pranks and mischief and frivolity, and they could hear screams as young women were pinched or poked, or even boldly kissed. Those in the jester’s caps were doing a good deal of teasing and pranking as dancing and laughter went on around them.

  Cassius looked at his men.

  “Well?” he said. “We could spend an hour or two here eating and drinking before moving on to Old Cuffy of Edenthorpe Castle. It seems as if there is plenty to go around.”

  Rhori’s blue eyes glimmered. “What you mean to say is that you want to spend an hour or two here eating and drinking.”

  Cassius flashed that seductive smile that had every woman between the ages of eighteen and eighty falling at his feet. “Well and why not?” said the man whose male beauty made him something of a celebrity among the nobility of England. “It has been a long time since we’ve engaged in such leisure. We deserve it.”

  Rhori laughed softly. “As you wish,” he said, throwing a leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground. “Come along, my Adonis. Let us go find some women to fawn over you.”

  And fawn, they did. After they took the horses over to the livery and left the dog there to guard both the horses and their possessions, the famous knight that was Cassius de Wolfe entered the crowd and, predictably, the women gravitated towards him. Cassius had a head full of dark, curly hair, pale blue eyes, and a square jaw. He was built like a god, as Rhori had suggested, with broad shoulders, enormous arms, and a narrow waist. But it was his smile that could melt even the hardest heart – big, bright, and devilish. He smiled, women swooned, and all was right in the world.

  And he attracted the opposite sex like flies to honey.

  The king would laugh at the way Cassius drew women to him. Edward would joke that all the women were concerned with when he traveled or held court was that Cassius de Wolfe was somewhere in his midst. The king was quite certain he would be trampled to death someday by women anxious to get a glimpse of Cassius, an ignoble death to a noble monarch. But the truth was that Cassius had the skill to match all of that beauty, which is why Edward kept the man close.

  Now that they were in the midst of a festival with many maidens, Rhori and Bose were hoping for Cassius’ leavings. He would probably select one lass to keep company with, leaving a horde of disappointed women just looking for a broad shoulder to cry on. There were tables set out with food and drink in the town center, and the knights collected cups of a free frothy ale even though a better, more flavorful one could be bought for a pence or two.

  Unwilling to spend their money if they didn’t have to, however, they took the free stuff, wandering to the food tables where bread and cheese and all manner of pies were laid out – fruit pies, meat pies, pies made into the shape of chickens. Each man collected a couple of the pies and wolfed them down as a dance commenced in the middle of the square. It was a big, open area, now filled with hundreds of revelers. A large group of minstrels played a lively tune as women were lifted into the air by their strong partners, spun around to the sounds of their delighted screams.

  Cassius had just finished his second pie when a lovely lass with flowers wound into her blonde hair grasped him by the arm.

  “Come!” she said happily, pulling him towards the festivities. “Dance with me, my lord!”

  Cassius’ lips curled into that lazy, sexy smile. “Me?” he said. “I am not much for dancing.”

  The girl was pretty and she knew it. She batted her eyes at him. “Please?” she begged. “It would only take a moment and would make me so very happy.”

  Cassius was a pushover. Plus, she was lovely, so it was no hardship to
dance with her. He shrugged weakly and she took that as consent, pulling him into the dancing crowd as Rhori and Bose were abducted by maidens for the very same purpose. Soon, all of them were dancing gaily, lifting their partners into the air and listening to them squeal.

  It was delightful.

  The dance seemed to go on for quite some time, enough to work Cassius into a sweat. It was exertion, that was true, but it was mostly the fact that he was wearing chain mail and heavy tunics. He was dressed for travel, including weapons, and leaping around to music had him sweating beneath the warm sun. When the music slowed into a more genteel dance, he tried to beg off, but his pretty partner wouldn’t let him. She kept a tight grip on him, forcing him into a sweet but somewhat intimate dance.

  “I’ve not even asked your name, my lord,” she said as they looped their arms and turned to the music. “Forgive me for being so rude.”

  Cassius’ pale eyes twinkled. “I’ve not asked you yours, either,” he said. “I am Cassius de Wolfe.”

  He twirled the girl and when she came around, their eyes met once more. “De Wolfe?” she repeated. “I have heard that name.”

  “My family is rather large.”

  “In Yorkshire, mayhap?”

  “Northumberland.”

  She nodded in understanding as he twirled her again. When she came back around, their eyes met again.

  “My name is Amata de Branton,” she said. “My father’s cousin is the Duke of Doncaster, and if my father knew I was being so bold, I would be in for a row. Therefore, if you meet him, do not tell him that I forced you to dance with me.”

  He grinned. “Who is your father?”

  “Hugh de Branton of Silverdale,” she said.

  “Doncaster’s cousin?”

  “Aye,” she said, looking him over and noticing that he was wearing the crimson standard with three golden lions. “And you serve the royal household.”

  “Aye,” he said, not going into detail. “I am here to see the duke before I continue on home. I have not been home in three years.”

  “I see,” she said. “Do you serve in London, then?”

  She wasn’t going to let him off so easily. She was curious, this one. Cassius nodded. “I do,” he said. “But I do not wish to speak of my service at the moment. It is the first time I have had time away in three years, so all I wish to think of is frivolity and food and more dancing.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, or at least she respected his wishes. For the moment, anyway. They danced the rest of the dance speaking on trivial things, like her younger sister who was bound for the convent. Amata didn’t approve of her sister taking her vows and was very clear on that, evidently thinking that it was because her sister was too round or too plain or too something. Listening to her talk, Cassius could see how shallow the woman was, which made her far less pretty in his eyes.

  In fact, he was growing rather bored with her pettiness, so he began to look around for Rhori and Bose, already thinking of an excuse to leave Amata. Before he could make his move, however, fools with their foolish caps and red tunics invaded the dance, pinching the women and making them scream. They were causing quite an uproar and Cassius could see them approaching.

  In fact, they were looking at him.

  Not that it was difficult to see him. Not only was he excruciatingly handsome, but he was also at least a head taller than any man there. Height ran in his family, as his father was an extremely tall man, so Cassius had inherited those long bones. As the fools drew near, they suddenly let up a cry and completely disrupted the dance.

  The music stopped.

  “We have found them!” one man with missing teeth cried, pointing to Cassius. “We have found the King and Queen of Misrule!”

  The crowd gave up a cheer, wanting to know who it was, and Cassius found himself swept away by the Lords of Misrule and their happy, drunken minions. He was armed and usually didn’t take being pushed around very well, but he realized this was a festive occasion and those doing the pushing weren’t doing it aggressively. So what if he was being grabbed by some very happy men and a few women? Someone even pinched his arse but when he turned to see who had done such a thing, all he could see were happy male faces. They were all grinning at him.

  He wasn’t going to ask who pinched him.

  Cheeky bastards…

  “The king and queen, the king and queen!” the group shouted, funneling them over to the northern end of the town square where a platform had been raised. There were people upon it, and a table laden with food, but Cassius didn’t think anything of it until the fool that had him by the arm came to a halt.

  “Your grace!” the fool shouted. “We have our king and queen. Will you not crown them, your grace?”

  That’s when Cassius realized he may have allowed himself to be put into an embarrassing situation. As soon as the fool addressed someone as “your grace”, he immediately turned to the platform. That kind of address went beyond any baron, viscount, or even earl. It went higher still. He’d seen the Duke of Doncaster several times in London, so he knew the man on sight. Much to his chagrin, the elderly man sitting at the table on the platform was, indeed, the Duke of Doncaster.

  Old Cuffy in the flesh.

  Cassius pulled himself away from the fools, and from Amata, and made his way to the stairs leading up to the platform. When he and the duke made eye contact, he came to a halt and bowed respectfully.

  “Your grace,” he said. “I did not know you were at this festival, else I would have sought you as soon as I arrived. You will accept my deepest apologies for not greeting you sooner.”

  The duke looked at him curiously. “I know you, I think,” he said, noting the royal standard. But more than that, he was noting the enormous knight with the pale blue eyes who was vaguely familiar. “In London, was it?”

  Cassius nodded. “Aye, your grace,” he said. “I am the king’s Lord Protector, Cassius de Wolfe. I accompanied the king on his visit to Edenthorpe two years ago.”

  “I recall.”

  “I have come this time with Edward’s compliments and a message.”

  Vincent Rossington de Ryes, Duke of Doncaster, lit up at the mention of Edward. Perhaps there was some recognition there for Cassius, too, but he seemed to be delighted to hear Edward’s name mentioned. An elderly man in his seventh decade, Old Cuffy was a favorite because of his generosity and wisdom. He was well loved by his vassals and well liked in military circles. He didn’t go to battle like some of the upper crust did, but he could always be counted on for men or material. Edward had a particular fondness for his friend, Old Cuffy.

  And his money.

  “I am honored,” Doncaster said, rising to his feet. “Will you sit with me, Sir Cassius? I should like to hear Edward’s message.”

  Cassius took a few steps towards the table, looking around at all of the people, not only on the platform, but in general. The area was swarming with them.

  “If you please, your grace,” Cassius said. “I would prefer to deliver the king’s message in a more… private setting. It is for your ears only, after all. Will you indulge me?”

  Doncaster was already moving away from the table, nodding his head. “Of course,” he said. “How silly of me. Shall you accompany me to my castle?”

  Cassius nodded. “It would be an honor, your grace,” he said. “Let me collect my men and we will meet you at the castle gate.”

  As people on the platform began to scatter, helping the old duke down the stairs and clearing off the food, Cassius took the other set of stairs and bolted through the crowd, hunting for Rhori and Bose. He finally found them in the distance, over by the ale table, and he quickly headed in that direction.

  Until someone grabbed him by the arm.

  “Where are you going?” It was Amata and she did not look pleased. “You cannot leave now. We are to be crowned the king and queen of the festival!”

  Cassius paused, though he was greatly impatient. “You shall have to find another king,” h
e said. “I have business with Doncaster.”

  He patted her hand and headed off, but she followed, practically running beside him because his strides were so long. “You are going to the Edenthorpe?”

  “I am.”

  He couldn’t see her petulant frown, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have cared. “But when will you return?” she asked.

  “I will not, my lady, though I thank you for the dance and the polite conversation.”

  Amata wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. “You will not find anything of value at Edenthorpe,” she said. “There will be no one to entertain you and you will not have any fun. You must return with me.”

  “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

  Amata picked up her pace and ended up running in front of him, blocking his path. When he looked at her, his impatience now evident, she slid her soft hands onto his arm.

  “You will be back,” she said confidently. “The only thing you are going to find at Doncaster is an old duke and his ugly granddaughter, and you must stay away from her. So – you shall return here, to me, and we shall dance all night.”

  Cassius eyed her curiously. “Why must I stay away from the granddaughter?”

  Amata lifted her eyebrows as if he had asked a stupid question. “Because she bears the marks of a witch, of course,” she said. “You have not heard that of her?”

  “I have not. What marks?”

  Amata leaned into him as if gifting him with information of great importance. “On her face,” she said in a low voice. “She is covered with them. Dacia of Doncaster is her name and she is my cousin, but I pity the lass. To look upon her is to become cursed. You do not want to be cursed, do you?”

  Cassius’ eyes narrowed. “You have looked upon her,” he said. “Have you become cursed?”

  Amata shook her head. “I am her cousin and she loves me,” she declared. “She would not curse me.”

  “Then you should be careful what you say about her. Your accusations are serious.”

  Amata shrugged him off. “Everyone knows it,” she insisted. “Oh, I know how good she is and truth be told, she is very sweet. She tends the poor and ill who cannot afford a physic, and she feeds those who cannot feed themselves, but it is purely in penitence because of the marks she bears.”