WolfeBite (De Wolfe Pack Generations #10)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Year of Our Lord 1330

Farringdon House, London

“T here is a plot to murder Edward and place Mortimer and Isabella’s child upon the throne.”

The words hung in the air, the impact of which resonated like an explosion. But the truth was that they’d heard the rumor before. The winds of gossip, true or not, blew heavily in the highest halls of England as the young king, Edward III, grappled for the throne with his mother’s lover, Roger Mortimer.

But these words were different. They were spoken to a chamber full of the greatest spies in the land—men known as the Executioner Knights—and they had more of a grip on what was actually happening as the maelstrom of politics threatened the very foundation they believed in. Therefore, these words were not simply conjecture.

Now, the rumors were transformed into reality.

There is a plot to murder Edward!

“And you are certain of this?” An enormous man with piercing blue eyes and a mane of full, dark hair spoke. “There is no doubt in your mind?”

“None,” replied a man who was a third-generation Executioner Knight. Gideon of Loxbeare was one of the very best, like his father and his father before him, and he did not speak empty words. “Lest you forget, Leo, that my family is still allied with Mortimer. I heard this from his own lips not a fortnight ago after the man had too much to drink. He is convinced that Isabella is pregnant, and he intends to put his own son upon the throne.”

Sir Leonidas de Wolfe stared at Gideon a moment longer before letting out a long, deep sigh of regret. Turning away, he let his gaze fell on the other men in the chamber, men who were in various stages of acceptance and outrage over the news.

Tate de Lara.

Stephen of Pembury.

Kenneth St. Hever.

Men who had been more involved in the situation between Edward III and Roger Mortimer than anyone else in England, Leonidas included.

Now, they were facing a crisis of historic proportions.

“So you have gathered us in de Lohr’s London home, the very heart of the Executioner Knights’ lair, to give us this terrible news,” Leonidas muttered. Then he turned to face Gideon. “While you and your underworld brethren have been keeping this country from tearing itself apart, Tate and Stephen and Kenneth and I have been trying to keep Edward and his wife from falling victim to Mortimer’s greed. We work in concert with you.”

Gideon nodded patiently. “I know.”

“ We keep this monarchy alive.”

“I know ,” Gideon stressed. “Leo, I realize this is not what you wanted to hear, but now that I have heard it from Mortimer’s own lips, we can at least form a plan to keep Edward from his grasp.”

Leonidas snorted softly. “Plan, indeed,” he said. “Because it is worse than you think, Gideon.”

“How?”

Leonidas glanced at Tate and Stephen and Kenneth before continuing. They were men who had been in the trenches ever since the issue between Edward II and Roger Mortimer arose. Highly trained veterans who tended to act as a group more than individuals. Everyone knew that de Lara and St. Hever and Pembury were an inseparable trio. From Tate’s level head to Kenneth’s quiet strength to Pembury’s willingness to be the first man into a fight and the last man out, they were a formidable line that stood between the monarchy and death.

They were honor personified.

“There was a time when the knights you see before you kept our young king out of the reach of his mother and her lover,” Leonidas finally said. “We could not help his father, God rest his soul, so we had to focus on the son who is now the king. A young king who is trying to rule this country with the help of many advisors and allies, Marcus de Lohr included. The Earl of Ludlow, like his father and his father before him, have been in command of the Executioner Knights since William Marshal’s sons passed on the responsibility to the House of de Lohr. Farringdon House used to be a Marshal property, in fact.”

“What is your point?”

Leonidas’ gaze was intense. “The point is that the names may change, but the core of what we do remains the same,” he said in a low voice. “Men like William Marshal and Christopher de Lohr and others formed this foundation. We are merely continuing what they started. I was recruited by Marcus de Lohr for the Executioner Knights because he wanted a de Wolfe. He wanted me . I am a knight from a family of knights, grandson of the greatest knight England has ever seen in William de Wolfe. When I tell you there is trouble more than you know, it is because I know what I am talking about because I am not one to sound an alarm when there is no need. There is great need, Gideon.”

“Then what is it?”

“Edward’s wife, Phillipa, is pregnant with their firstborn.”

Gideon, who was a man trained to keep his composure, couldn’t help the brief flash of shock that crossed his face. “My God,” he breathed. “Mortimer must not know. He’s not made mention of it.”

Leonidas lifted his dark brows. “The child is due in the summer,” he said. “She is about midway through the pregnancy, but you can see the danger. If Mortimer knows she is pregnant…”

“Then that puts a price on her head as well,” Gideon finished for him. “And Phillipa is a daughter of Holland, so her death would bring the wrath of the Holy Roman Empire on a scale that might tear this country to shreds.”

Leonidas tapped himself on the head. “Now you understand,” he said. “We have allowed Edward and Phillipa relative freedom at Woodstock Palace because Mortimer remains either at his properties or in London. He hasn’t paid a tremendous amount of attention to Phillipa, but he has to Edward. And the fear is that Isabella will be unable to truly prevent Mortimer from eliminating her son if he is determined to, but now… now we have the next heir to the English throne to be concerned with.”

“My concern is for Edward,” Tate spoke up. “I mean no disrespect to Phillipa or the child she carries, but my concerned has always been for Edward. I do not want him to end up like his father.”

All eyes turned to the big man with black hair and blue eyes. He had a special concern in this situation and they all knew it. Sir Tate de Lara had the distinction of being a royal bastard, the firstborn son of Edward I, the result of young Prince Edward having a liaison with a Welsh princess many years ago. Tate’s Welsh name was Tatilian, given to him by his mother, but his father gave the infant over to the House of de Lara to raise, great marcher lords, and Tatilian became Tate. He was the man who should have been king, but instead, he’d been forced to watch his half-brother assume the throne—and now, he was charged with protecting his nephew. As the Earl of Carlisle, he wielded much power in England.

Therefore, when Tate spoke, they all listened.

“Then Edward must be removed from Woodstock,” Leonidas said. “I know you hid Edward from Mortimer while his father was still alive, but it is my sense that he must, once again, go into hiding. Phillipa most especially now that there is an impending child that could quash whatever plans Mortimer has for his own offspring.”

Tate couldn’t disagree. “We did not have to worry about Phillipa a few years ago when Edward traveled with us, disguised as my squire,” he said, indicating Kenneth and Stephen. “It was easy to keep his identity concealed. But he married, and now we must contend with a young queen who is carrying the next king.”

Leonidas nodded. “Edward is not going to like this, but I believe he and his wife should be separated,” he said. “It will be much more difficult for Mortimer to get his hands on both of them if they are not together.”

“Agreed,” Tate said. “We have been discussing this possibility ever since we learned of Phillipa’s condition, but now it has come time to act. If Mortimer finds out, and he will at some point, then both Edward and Phillipa will be in great danger.”

Leonidas knew that. This was the moment they’d been anticipating for quite some time, ever since Edward had been crowned king and married his very young wife. They were both children, really, children who had been thrust into a world of greedy and dangerous men. They had powerful warlords around them, but the problem was that Roger Mortimer did, too. He and Isabella had been acting regents for Edward, but the boy was becoming a man. He didn’t want regents any longer.

And Roger Mortimer knew it.

“Then I would suggest you take Edward to Carlisle Castle immediately and keep him there,” Leonidas said. “I will take Phillipa to Ashendon. The place is impenetrable.”

“But for how long?” Gideon wanted to know. “So you separate them and take them to safety, but for how long? When does this all end, Leo?”

Leonidas looked at a man he’d worked with for years, a man who had asked a very valid question. When did it all end?

“When we rid ourselves of Mortimer,” he muttered. “That is something Edward has been speaking of. Roger Mortimer will not willingly give up his power. Now he speaks of supplanting Edward with a child that Isabella is allegedly carrying. This ends when Mortimer has been neutralized.”

“But that is Edward’s decision,” Tate said quietly. “This is his fight. We have made enough decisions for him throughout his life, decisions that he was forced to go along with, and we have just made another one in separating him from his wife. Let the decision to rid himself of Mortimer be Edward’s. He is the king. Let him be one.”

Leonidas knew that, but it was difficult to see a fourteen-year-old boy as a king sometimes. Leonidas had stepchildren Edward’s age, so it was difficult to see the young boy as a man able to assume the mantle of king.

“He is a king who must share his kingdom with a power-hungry bastard,” he muttered. “And Phillipa—she was only just crowned queen even though she has been Edward’s wife for two years. Isabella was loath to surrender her crown to the young woman.”

“Isabella had no choice,” Tate said. “But that does not mean she is no longer the queen. She sees herself as the only true queen.”

Leonidas grunted. “And Mortimer sees himself as the king,” he said. “What a pair.”

“A pair we have been dealing with for years,” Kenneth spoke up. He was usually the silent type, but in the company of men he was close to, he tended to be more confident to voice his opinions. “We know their tactics. We have the advantage. But we will not keep the advantage if we do not move the young queen out of Woodstock and into hiding. Leo, I can go with you to Ashendon. Tate and Stephen can take Edward on to Carlisle dressed as me. Edward is tall enough to wear my clothing—and what does not fit him, we can stuff with cloth because I am considerably bulkier than he is.”

That brought snorts of laughter from Stephen, who tended to be the most comically inclined out of the trio. “You have the build of a bull, Ken,” he said.

Kenneth, born without a keen sense of humor, cocked a blond eyebrow at his closest friend. “And you have the wit of an ass, so I would be cautious when making light of others,” he said, watching Tate and Leonidas grin. “As I was saying—let anyone who sees Tate and Stephen think the third knight is me. That will help Edward move freely until he reaches Carlisle. Meanwhile, I will go with Leo to Ashendon with the young queen. She’ll need the protection.”

Tate lifted his dark eyebrows in a knowing expression. “Do not forget that she has her own protection,” he said. “That Frenchwoman she keeps with her, the one she tells everyone is her lady-in-waiting.”

Leonidas rolled his eyes. “That woman is no more a lady-in-waiting than I am,” he said. “She may look like a flower, but she stings like a wasp. I saw her break a servant’s hand once when the man touched the queen’s sleeve. She did it so quickly that it was over before anyone could draw a sword.”

Tate nodded as he headed over to a table upon which sat a half-filled pitcher of wine and a few dirty cups. “I remember,” he said. “But the servant should have known better.”

“The man was trying to hand the queen a kerchief, Tate.”

“Imagine if he hadn’t been? Imagine if he’d been raising a dagger?”

Leonidas shrugged, conceding the point. “That woman is fearsome, in any case,” he said. “She only came about a year ago, when her father became aware of the trouble with Mortimer and Isabella. I’ve not had much contact with her, but Marcus de Lohr told me she was Blackchurch trained.”

That brought the men in the chamber to a halt. Even Gideon, who had been converging on Tate for some of that stale wine.

“Blackchurch?” Gideon repeated. “ Who is this woman we are speaking of?”

Leonidas found the most comfortable chair in the chamber and sat wearily. The chair itself was cold and dusty, near the dark and ashy hearth, but it was the first time he’d sat down all day. “A woman who is Phillipa’s constant companion,” he said. “She told everyone that she was her lady-in-waiting, and she still stays to the story, but the reality is much different. The woman is a personal guard and, from what I’ve seen, lives up to the Blackchurch reputation.”

“You’re Blackchurch trained, are you not?” Gideon asked.

Leonidas nodded. “Me, and Tate, and Ken,” he said. Then he grinned at Stephen. “Pembury’s father would not let him train at Blackchurch, fearful that the only Pembury son might hurt himself somehow. You know how nasty and dangerous Blackchurch is.”

That was true, in fact, though they’d meant it as a taunt against Stephen. The Blackchurch Guild was the premier knight training school in England, if not the world. Fully fledged knights, farm boys, and more were allowed to apply for Blackchurch’s training. Men and women alike. A man’s background didn’t matter at Blackchurch. If he, or she, was tough enough to get through the initiation, then they were accepted into the training, but one failure on the part of the recruit at any point during the time of their years-long training would see them expelled. That was the high standard set by the Lords of Exmoor, the family who controlled Blackchurch. It was a standard that made Blackchurch graduates the very best warriors in the known world.

And Queen Phillipa had one by her side.

Soon, she would have two.

“I can still train at Blackchurch should I so decide,” Stephen said with a hint of defensiveness. “But why? I’ve been a knight for twenty years. What more could they possibly teach me?”

Leonidas chuckled softly. “You would be surprised.”

As Stephen shrugged, Tate brought Leonidas a cup of the flat wine. “Stephen doesn’t need the training,” he said. “He’s better than most who come out of the guild, me included. Speaking of Blackchurch, don’t you have a brother going through the training now?”

Leonidas sipped on the awful wine. “My youngest brother, Pallas,” he said. “He’s two years into the program and hasn’t failed yet, so there is hope for the big dolt. My father thinks so, anyway.”

Tate sat down opposite Leonidas. “And how does your father fare these days?” he asked. “The great Edward de Wolfe. He has been a source of great guidance to me, more times than I can count.”

Leonidas smiled faintly, thinking of the man he looked up to most in the world. “He is doing very well, thank you for asking,” he said. “In fact, all of his siblings are doing well.”

“Are they all alive, still?”

“Still,” Leonidas said. “My oldest uncles, Scott and Troy, have seen more than eighty summers. In fact, the eldest five siblings have all seen eighty summers and more, but they are still healthy and solid of mind, thankfully. All except Uncle Blayth, that is. He had a severe head injury as a younger man and the damage has become worse as he’s grown older. He does not remember much these days, and I do not think he even knows who his wife is sometimes, but that does not matter. He can still jump on a table and sing a song better than anyone I know.”

Tate smiled. “He is a legend,” he said reverently. “All of your uncles are. Sons of the great William de Wolfe. He has left a great legacy.”

“Aye, he has.”

“Did you ever really know him, Leo?”

Leonidas finished off the last of the wine. “I was only four years of age when he passed away,” he said. “I do not remember him well, truthfully. All I remember is a feeling. He was a very big man and I remember his lifting me up and putting me on his shoulder. I felt as if I was on top of the world when Poppy lifted me up.”

He used the name that all of the de Wolfe grandchildren and great-grandchildren called William, and Tate nodded in understanding. “You have good memories of him, then,” he said, his smile fading. “I have none of my grandfather. I never knew him.”

“But you knew your father.”

“I did,” Tate said. “I do not look like him, as I take after my mother’s Welsh side, but I fight like him. Edward’s blood is in my veins. Mayhap that is why I feel so strongly about preserving our young king. My father would want me to. He would want me to fight at his side, no matter what the cause, but he would not want me to fight his battles for him.”

“Understandable,” Leonidas said, his gaze lingering on Tate as the others joined them with cups of stale wine. “You are an inspiration to us all, you know. The man who should have been king. You live your life with such dignity and honor.”

Tate averted his gaze. It wasn’t necessarily a sensitive subject, because the general consensus was that he would have made a legendary king, greater than any of his ancestors, and that praise tended to embarrass him.

“If I was, then we would not be having this discussion,” Tate said, trying to make light of the subject. “We would not be having these troubles, in fact. Mortimer would be in a cage, there would be no Isabella, and life would be good.”

Leonidas quietly slapped his thigh a couple of times. “Hear, hear,” he said in agreement. “But, unfortunately, there are tribulations we must deal with, so mayhap we should get on with it. Gideon? Is there anything else we should know?”

Gideon had the pitcher of wine in his hand because there were no more cups left. “Nay,” he said. “I will return to the marches and keep watch over Mortimer. But when you hide Edward and Phillipa…”

He left the sentence hanging in the air until Leonidas looked at him. “What is it?”

Gideon sighed heavily. “Hide them well,” he said. “Mortimer is not jesting and he is no fool. If he can get to them, he will.”

Tate was still looking at the ground, slumped back in the chair he was sitting in. “Gideon?”

“Aye, Tate?”

There was a long pause before Tate answered. “If you have the opportunity to dispatch Mortimer, so that no one suspects his death was not an accident, would you take it?”

Gideon’s expression almost became one of amusement. “De Lohr asked me the same question, once.”

“What did you tell him?”

Gideon took that moment to drain what was left in the pitcher and set it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That I am my father, and grandfather’s, son,” he said, dark eyes glimmering. “Of course I would take it. And I would be doing us all a favor.”

With that, he quit the elaborate chamber, the room where Executioner Knights had been meeting for well over one hundred years. The very walls themselves were saturated with intrigue and righteousness, put there by the voices of men who had shaped the course of a nation. At this moment, the men in the chamber, even three and four generations later, were still trying to do the same.

England was a complicated vessel.

“Amen,” Leonidas whispered after a moment. “That he would.”

No one disputed him.

Within the hour, all four of them were riding hard for Oxfordshire and Woodstock Palace.