WolfeBite (De Wolfe Pack Generations #10)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ashendon Castle

S he felt as if she’d been here for years.

In truth, it had only been several days since their arrival at Ashendon Castle, but it seemed as if so much had happened since they set foot on the grounds that time seemed to lose all meaning. Since the day after they had arrived, Christelle and Phillipa had found a purpose at the enormous castle with its soaring walls and a veritable army of servants, servants who had been living in fear of Lady Maria and the stick she evidently liked to carry around to threaten people with.

They’d learned a lot of things about Lady Maria in the few days that they’d been there.

None of them good.

The woman was, in fact, still in the vault. No one had said much about what was to be done with her, so she hadn’t been a topic of conversation. But what had been a topic of conversation was the fact that now Ashendon had a young chatelaine in Catherine who hadn’t necessarily had a lot of experience in the role, and before Christelle could say a word about it, Phillipa volunteered the both of them to help the young woman with job.

And with that, they became part of Ashendon’s functions.

Phillipa may have been a queen, and she may have had more servants than some countries had population, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to run a household. She knew exactly how to do it and put that skill to work, starting from the bottom—literally. The first thing she and Christelle did was inventory the stores in the great vaults down below the keep. There seemed to be a good deal of dried foodstuffs, like beans and peas, but not anything remotely fresh. The cold locker that usually held meat was empty. Discussions with the cook revealed that Lady Maria would purchase good pieces of meat from a butcher in the town, but then she would divide it up and sell off pieces of it, leaving usually just the bones and scraps for the cook to work with.

There was more monkey business going on with the stores as well.

According to the cook, an old woman who had served generations of the de Cottingham family, the supplies at Ashendon had always been extensive. Lady Juliette, and her predecessors, had been frugal with money but also quite astute when it came to making sure there was enough food for an entire castle. Juliette had ensured the stores of Ashendon were well supplied, but when Lady Maria assumed the mantle of chatelaine, the good stores seemed to disappear. According to the cook, Lady Maria would take the good stores down to the river where the ships were docking and sell them for quite a bit of money. The cog crews were always glad to get a hold of decent supplies, and Lady Maria had readily supplied them.

More tales of Lady Maria unfolded as the days went by, stories of her not only selling the stores and the books in Leonidas’ solar, but she also trying to sell a couple of Leonidas’ fine horses until Dayne stopped her. It seemed that the woman tried to sell anything that wasn’t nailed down, pocketing the money, which was found after a thorough search of her bedchamber. She’d managed to remove a stone in the wall and stuff her ill-gotten gains behind it, so Leonidas was able to get back all of the money she’d stolen from him. But he turned that money back over to Christelle and Phillipa, who summoned merchants from the town to place orders for things that they needed.

The stores began to fill up again.

With a big meal every evening that contained good meat and vegetables and bread, the men were happier. So were the children, who were allowed to sit with Leonidas and his men at the dais as long as they behaved. Catherine had taken over governess duties in the wake of Lady Maria’s absence, and given that she loved her brother and sister, she’d done an excellent job so far. The children seemed happy and were definitely well fed, but three nights in a row, Georgiana had shown up to supper with her pet chicken that she insisted eat with her. Given the guilt Leonidas had felt for the Lady Maria debacle, he had allowed it.

Tonight, Christelle found herself staring across the table at a chicken.

It was a small white chicken with black spots and black eyes, and Georgiana treated it like a living baby. She put it on the bench next to her and put bread down for it to peck at, which the chicken did contentedly. It never tried to run. But tonight, it got up on the table, twice, and when it tried to eat Christelle’s bread, she waved a hand at it and it flapped its wings, scattering back to Georgiana.

All the while, Phillipa thought it was the sweetest thing in the world.

Christelle thought it was just a chicken.

Even now, she tried not to feel disgusted as the chicken jumped back onto the table and started eating from Georgiana’s plate. Peck, peck, peck . Christelle finally had to look away, looking to Phillipa, who was beaming as she watched the delighted little girl and her pet fowl. Elsewhere in the hall, men were drinking and singing, and the enormous hearth with the carved stone mantel was burping smoke into the chamber that collected near the ceiling in a blue haze. There was chatter, and laughter, and the smell of the boiled beef that they had procured from a local farmer. After the harrowing journey to Ashendon, even Christelle had to admit that it all seemed rather… normal.

Calm.

Just another evening at the Earl of Hull’s castle.

Thoughts of Leonidas had her looking down the table to where he was sitting with his brother and his cousins and Kenneth, who had just come in from securing the gatehouse for the night. The knights had divided up the duties to include Kenneth and even Leonidas now that Phillipa was in residence, so they were all involved in the security of the castle. Also included in that security were two senior sergeants, men who had served de Cottingham for years faithfully. They were also clued in to Phillipa’s presence, though the army, as a whole, wasn’t. Leonidas thought it better that way. There would be less chance of Phillipa’s location getting out, possibly to people who had connections to Mortimer.

The less people who knew, the better.

With the sergeants outside on the walls as the feast went on, the knights were inside the hall, huddled in a group, undoubtedly speaking of things that affected the country. Christelle would have liked to have been included in such a conversation, given her role in Phillipa’s protection, but she didn’t want to ask and wouldn’t insert herself. Her true purpose at Phillipa’s side was information gathering for the French, so anything she could get from Leonidas and the knights would make its way back to her father.

Already, she was certain he’d received the missive she’d sent him when they passed through London. Soon, she’d send him another missive to let him know that she and Phillipa had arrived safely. Given that they were in a port town, there would be no shortage of men willing to take a message across the sea to France for the right price. She considered herself fortunate for that.

But something else was eating at her these days, too.

The very reason why she’d come.

That was something she hadn’t counted on—liking the people she had been sent to spy on. She’d been with Phillipa for three years, and in spite of her role at the woman’s side, she loved the queen like a little sister. Phillipa was kind and compassionate, without a nasty bone in her body, and Christelle loved the childlike innocence about her. An innocence that was threatened by the very world she ruled over, and most especially by the woman who was her protector. Christelle would protect Phillipa to the death, but on the other hand, she’d been feeding her father and the French information about Phillipa and Edward since she’d assumed the position. Phillipa knew that Christelle wrote to her father often and thought it was sweet that she was so fond of her father, but she’d never once questioned the contents of the missives, luckily for Christelle. But her feelings on the situation were creating a dilemma, now more than ever.

Deep down, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be part of something that might potentially hurt Phillipa.

“Christy?” Phillipa addressed her, snapping her out of her train of thought. “What would you say about going to the fish market tomorrow morning and selecting some fine fish for the evening meal? Mayhap even eels if we can find them. I do so love jellied eels.”

Christelle looked at her, a smile on her lips. “You love anything,” she said, teasing her. “Or, I should clarify, the child you carry loves anything. He is making great demands of you, your grace.”

Phillipa laughed as Georgiana, bored with her meal and her chicken, climbed under the table and emerged on Phillipa’s lap. The queen pulled the child onto her thighs and hugged her tightly.

“Children are a joy,” she said, her head against Georgiana’s. “Where is Catherine, by the way? She has not joined us.”

Christelle sipped the last of her wine. “She said that her head was aching and she would take her meal in her chamber,” she said. “I do like her. She’s a fine young lady.”

Phillipa nodded firmly. “She is,” she said. Then she looked at Georgiana as the child yawned. “And I think another fine young lady must go to bed. It is getting late.”

Georgiana whined. “Not yet,” she said. “I’m not tired!”

One of the great joys Phillipa had experienced over the past few days was the privilege of putting Georgiana and Gabriel to bed. Catherine had afforded her the honor and Phillipa had taken to it eagerly. Now, with Catherine presumably down for the evening, Phillipa was delighted to be able to put the twins to bed herself.

“I think that you are very tired,” Phillipa said, standing up with the little girl in her arms. “I think we should all go to bed. Don’t you?”

Christelle stood up next to her, moving to grab Gabriel as the boy tried to put the end of a spoon up his nose. Phillipa was carrying Georgiana away, but the child was demanding her pet chicken, so Christelle was forced to snag the fowl. With the chicken in one hand and Gabriel in the other, she followed Phillipa from the great hall and into the keep beyond.

Truthfully, Christelle didn’t have the same maternal instinct that Phillipa did, so she left the queen to put the children to bed, standing outside the door as Phillipa told them an old story about two children who were lost in the woods and saved by a woodsman before the wolf could eat them. Christelle leaned against the wall, listening to Phillipa’s soft voice and the occasional voice of Georgiana or Gabriel. It seemed like they had endless questions, these children who had been so emotionally abused over the past year. They were coming to realize that they were safe and cherished again, in large part due to Phillipa and Leonidas. Christelle wished she were so adept with children, but she simply wasn’t. She’d never had the opportunity.

And she probably never would.

Once the little ones were asleep, Phillipa decided to follow their example. Christelle made sure Phillipa got to bed, and once the fire was banked and the tapers blown out, she was contemplating seeking her own bed but found that she simply wasn’t tired enough. Phillipa was safe and secure, but Christelle didn’t want to spend the evening standing guard outside her door, so she made her way out of the keep and into the bailey. She could watch the entry door from almost any point in the ward, as there was only one way in and one way out.

With one eye on that door, she made her way up to the wall.

The sea was off to the east and she could see it from where she stood, the moonlight rippling on the water. She could smell the salt and the mildew, as grass sometimes smelled when it was constantly wet. Even so, it was a lovely evening, if a bit cold, and she breathed the air in deeply.

“I thought I saw you come up here,” came a voice from the nearby stair tower. “Where is the queen?”

Christelle knew that voice and it was an effort not to feel joy at it. Leonidas emerged from the stairwell as she casually glanced in his direction.

But it was a struggle.

“Sleeping,” she said, turning back to the sea view. “The woman is wearing herself out managing her chatelaine duties and the children. She is exhausted.”

Leonidas came to stand next to her, leaning on the parapet and looking down the wall to check for danger. “I have told her not to exert herself,” he said. “Edward will not be pleased if she works herself into illness.”

“She will not do that,” Christelle said. “She is more concerned for the child she carries than anything, but she is exhausting herself.”

“She seems happy.”

“She is loving it.”

Leonidas looked at her. “And you disapprove?”

Christelle hesitated. “I suppose not,” she said after a moment. “She really is very happy when she is being useful. Has your daughter always had that stupid chicken?”

He looked at her, sharply. “ Stupid chicken?”

She broke down into soft laughter. “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s simply that where I come from, we do not consider chickens dinner guests. Dinner , aye. But not dinner guests.”

He grinned, flashing those big teeth. “To tell you the truth, the chicken is new,” he said. “She did not have it when I left here a year ago.”

“She is sleeping with it now.”

“So I have been told.”

“I can remove it if you wish.”

Leonidas shook his head. “Let her have the chicken if it pleases her,” he said. “She’s had so little joy in her life, at least over the past couple of years. A chicken is a small price to pay for her happiness.”

“You are very understanding,” Christelle said. “I am not entirely sure my own father would have let me take a chicken to bed.”

Leonidas glanced at her. “Did you have to endure your mother’s death and then an abusive nurse afterward?” he said. “Because that is what she has had to endure. If a chicken brings her comfort, so be it.”

Christelle shrugged. “I did not endure anything so terrible at her age, but I did endure the death of my mother.”

“How old were you?”

“I had seen eight years of age. She died giving birth to a brother, who did not survive.”

Leonidas grunted as his gaze moved to the darkened landscape beyond. “I am sorry for you and your father,” he said. “God gives and He takes sometimes. I do not understand why, but that is the nature of things. Women sometimes… die.”

Christelle looked at him. “You mean your wife?”

He nodded faintly. “Aye.”

“Would it be impertinent to ask what she was like?”

He shook his head but didn’t seem too eager to answer, at least not right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Almost intimate.

“She was short and red haired, and she was the most joyful person I’d ever met,” he said. “To be in her presence was to feel light of heart.”

Christelle smiled. “That’s very sweet,” she said. “In a world where few men think so highly of the women they’ve married, it’s lovely that you remember her so warmly.”

He shrugged. “I loved her,” he said simply, glancing at her. “You find that surprising?”

“I find it delightful.”

He nodded, as if pleased by her reply. “Catie has grown to look a good deal like her,” he said. “In fact, when I saw her coming out of the gatehouse on the day we arrived, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

“Catie is a lovely young woman,” Christelle said. “In fact, all three of the children are lovely. I do not know much about children, but I can only imagine that a good woman with kindness and understanding raised such children. You can tell that they are loved.”

He was looking at her as she spoke, as something in his eyes suggested that his guard might be going down a little. As if he were willing to discuss what he considered a forbidden subject because it did his heart good to do so.

Perhaps that meant he was healing, just a bit.

“They are loved,” he said. “And that is why I will not take Georgiana’s pet chicken away. She needs something to love, and to love her in return. It brings her comfort in a world where she’s had little over the past couple of years.”

“That is understandable,” Christelle said. “Does Georgiana look like her mother, also?”

He snorted softly. “She acts like her more than she looks like her,” he said. “She is vivacious and eccentric, which was everything Juliette was. She had her little quirks, too.”

“Like pet chickens?”

“Worse,” he said. “Pet ferrets. When we were first married, those things would slither into the bed around my feet, and more than once I found myself leaping out of bed because it felt as if serpents had invaded my linens.”

Christelle started to laugh. “I cannot imagine anything chasing you out of bed.”

“It’s true,” he said, chuckling. “Not to be indelicate, but they were already in the bed on our wedding night and she refused to remove them. How I didn’t kick one of them in the head and kill it is still a mystery.”

Christelle was enjoying his tale of ferret woe because as he told the story, he was slightly exaggerating the discomfort of it all.

The man had a sense of humor.

“It is a good thing you did not kill them,” she said. “I am certain your new bride would not have taken that very well.”

He shook his head in agreement. “Nay, she would not have,” he said. “I got used to those damn things after a while. There was not much I could do to discourage them. I would wake up and one would be lying across my neck or on my head. Truthfully, they were warm, so I suppose they served a purpose.”

“What happened to them?”

The warmth in his eyes faded. “About two months after Juliette passed away, they caught an illness of some kind,” he said. “It killed them both. So, I washed them, wrapped them tightly in one of Juliette’s silk scarves, and had the lid to her crypt removed so I could put them inside with her. I buried them with her and the child.”

“What child?”

“Juliette died giving birth to our daughter.”

Christelle’s humor was completely gone. “Oh… Leo, I did not know,” she said, sounding deeply remorseful. “You told me she had died, but I did not know it was in childbirth. My deepest apologies for asking about her. I did not mean to dredge up terrible memories. It was very insensitive of me.”

He shook his head, putting an enormous hand on her arm because the man, as she had discovered, wasn’t afraid to touch her. He was a man who touched others, too, because she’d seen him do it with his men—a hand on the shoulder, even an embrace. Leonidas was a man who valued touch as a form of expression or emotion, and as uncomfortable as she had been with it, she found she wasn’t so much anymore.

She rather liked it.

“You did not know,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze. “And you did not dredge up terrible memories. My memories of Juliette are all good ones. Until the end, anyway. To be truthful, I was not entirely sure how I would feel upon returning to Ashendon. If the memories would be too strong for me. But that was not the case. I am glad to be back and glad to be with the children again. Juliette is still here, if only in spirit. And I think she would have liked you.”

That seemed to perk Christelle up. “Do you think so?”

“I do.”

“She would approve Phillipa and I handling the household duties?”

He nodded firmly. “She would be very grateful,” he said. “In fact, I am very grateful. Christelle, I realize that you and I have not always gotten on well, but I want you to know how grateful I am that you have taken on so much here. The children are happy; the castle is running smoothly. All things that I am deeply appreciative for, and I have you to thank for that.”

They were looking at each other beneath the moonlight and Christelle could feel… something. There was something in his eyes that was pulling her to him, like a moth to flame, and she had no idea what to think of it. All she knew was that her heart was beating like a sledgehammer and her breathing was starting to quicken. Her palms were sweating. She’d been attracted to Leonidas for quite some time, and those were feelings that had only increased since they’d left Woodstock. Now, here they were, alone on the battlements, and she was experiencing something she’d never experienced before.

Could it be… romance?

Lust?

Madness?

Smack!

Christelle wasn’t sure how her lips suddenly slanted over his, but they did. Her hands were on his face. The smack was her mouth as it suckled his, in perhaps the loudest way possible. But, God, it had been delicious. He was delicious.

But the glee was momentary.

Realizing what she’d done, Christelle fled the wall in panic, down the stairwell, running for her life across the darkened bailey. She couldn’t even look back to see if he was wiping his mouth furiously, trying to rid himself of the taste of her. She could only imagine that was what he was doing.

She’d never been more mortified in her entire life.

But she also wasn’t sorry.

Like a fool, she ran all the way back to the keep, throwing the bolt on the entry door and locking everyone inside for the night. Locking Leonidas out should he be following her so he could punish her. But her terror didn’t end until she entered Phillipa’s chamber, bolted that door, and then rushed into the smaller, attached chamber where her bed was.

Quivering, she undressed, donned her sleeping shift, and climbed onto her mattress, pulling the linens up around her neck.

What have I done?