WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations by Kathryn Veque (top 20 books to read .TXT) 📗

But Andreas wasn’t backing down.

“As I understand it, she is your chatelaine,” he said. “She was most hospitable this afternoon, kind and intelligent. She would be an asset to any house, so I am curious why you will not let her remain and entertain your guests, yet you allow that one to remain.”

He was pointing a finger at the redhead from the hand that gripped his cup of hot wine. It was a gesture not meant to be polite. Frustrated, Merek glanced at the knights at this end of the table, Lukas included.

He focused on him.

“If my daughter will not leave by her own will, then you will remove her.”

Lukas, who had remained silent through the odd and strained exchange, looked over at Gavriella. He could see by the look on her face that she knew this situation wasn’t going to end well if she didn’t do as her father told her.

“It is no trouble,” she said, backing away from the table. “I have plenty to keep me busy in the kitchens, my lord. In fact, there is some fresh bread that was coming out of the ovens when I left. I will bring that to you personally.”

With that, she scurried away before Andreas could stop her. He watched her rush back through the hall and disappear before turning his attention back to Merek, who was draining his cup.

Already, he didn’t like the man.

Truth be told, he didn’t even know him. He’d been sitting across the table from the man for two minutes before Gavriella appeared, so they’d only been introduced when everything happened. Even in that short time, he could see how Merek treated his daughter. The man who sent her to London because he was ashamed to look at her. Maybe he hadn’t really believed Lukas’ assessment until that moment, but he could see very plainly that it was true.

And that didn’t sit well with Andreas.

But something else occurred to him. Careful, man, if you want to ask his permission to court her…

“I was telling Sir Andreas that our lands have been peaceful for quite some time,” Lukas said, breaking the tense silence. “We’ve not seen any signs of the Scots, fortunately, but it sounds as if they are giving the House of de Wolfe a terrible time. Personally, I’m grateful they’ve come.”

Merek had drained his cup by then and the woman was filling it back up. After a moment, he snorted.

“They never come here,” he said. “I have lived here my entire life and we’ve had more trouble from local English lords than the Scots. What makes you think they’re going to come this way?”

He was looking at Andreas, who was trying very hard to be polite at this point.

“As I told de Dere, they’ve been all over the borders as of late,” he said. “We just spent six days in close combat with the Scots before finally chasing them back over the border. Our spies told us that they were moving in this direction. Of course, they could pass you by, but my father thought it was prudent to send you reinforcements in case they did not. He does not want to see Falstone fall to the marauding Scots and I suspect you do not, either. It is safer for Falstone if we remain for a time.”

Merek sucked down whatever the redheaded woman had put in his cup, licking his lips with gusto. “De Wolfe,” he muttered, rolling the name over his tongue. “When my grandfather was a lad, there was no House of de Wolfe in the north. They rose to power rather quickly.”

Andreas wasn’t sure if there was an insult in that. “My grandfather, William de Wolfe, was the younger brother of the Earl of Wolverhampton,” he said. “He had to earn his way and he did. He was much rewarded by Henry III.”

Merek was looking at his cup. “My grandfather fought for Henry, too,” he said. “Only he did not receive any rewards for it.”

Maybe he wasn’t as worthy.

Oh, how Andreas wanted to say that. It was a struggle to bite his tongue. He wanted something from de Leia and they’d already started off on the wrong foot, so he labored to keep the conversation pleasant.

More pleasant than it had been, anyway.

“How did the House of de Leia come by the Falstone property?” he asked.

Merek wouldn’t look up from his cup, finally holding it up to the woman so she could pour more drink into it.

“It was built by an ancestor who came to these shores shortly after the Duke of Normandy,” he said. “De Leia is a fine Norman family. There as a time when we held a good portion of the north. Before the de Wolfes and the Grays and the Percys. Before de Vesci claimed everything along the east coast and all we had to worry about were the Scots from the north. Never each other.”

He downed half the cup in his hand. It was clear that he was quickly becoming inebriated and Andreas caught Lukas’ expression, suggesting the worst was yet to come. Andreas could see that the knight was on-edge.

“My father says you have been a loyal ally,” Andreas said evenly. “I would not be here if he did not think so. He means to help protect you against the enemy.”

Merek looked at him, then. “He does not even know who our enemy is,” he said, starting to slur his words. “Our enemy is not the Scots. It’s even worse than that. English in wolf’s clothing and I do not mean the de Wolfes. I mean another, more sinister wolf even than that.”

Given what Andreas already knew, he suspected who the man meant. “I would wager to say there are few worse than the Scots this far north,” he said, but sought to shift the subject. “How far do de Leia lands go, anyway?”

Merek pointed in a general northly direction. “Over the border,” he said. “We run all the way to Hell’s Guardhouse. That is the enemy