WolfeSword (De Wolfe Pack Generations #3) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,1

words for a few moments before downing the entire glass of wine and setting the cup back on the table.

“Then I must make plans,” he said. “I will need to inspect the castle myself and see what I am truly up against.”

Catesby looked at him warily. “You cannot simply walk up to the castle,” he said. “There are guards everywhere. They will want to know why you are there.”

But Marcil waved him off. “Do not worry so much,” he said. “There are other ways of inspecting the castle.”

“What ways?”

Marcil grinned, revealing yellowed teeth in a gesture that was innately evil. “There are ways,” he said evasively. “That is why I have come, n’est pas?”

He was gone before Catesby could question him any further, out of the solar and into the yard of the small fortress where his well-dressed, well-fed mercenaries waited. Catesby made his way to the window overlooking the bailey, watching Marcil speak with his men.

He was starting to think he’d made a deal with the devil.

In truth, he had.

Hell was coming.

CHAPTER ONE

There were people everywhere.

In the midst of a bright spring day, upon the cusp of noon, Cassius de Wolfe and his men had entered the outskirts of the village of Doncaster and proceeded into a crowd of people, the mass of which Cassius had not seen outside of London.

But it wasn’t just any crowd.

It was a very happy crowd.

It didn’t take very long for Cassius to figure out that there was some kind of festival going on, for the women had flowers in their hair and the men were drinking from big, wooden cups overflowing with cheap and frothy ale. Children ran about, chasing one another, with garlands hanging around their necks. Even the dogs had flower collars.

It was a joyful place.

Intrigued, Cassius and his men continued towards the center of town.

“What in the world do you suppose is going on?”

The question came from Sir Rhori du Bois, a massive knight with black hair and blazing blue eyes. He was part of the du Bois-de Lohr family, his father being one Macsen du Bois, son of Maddoc, and his great-great-grandfather had been the Earl of Canterbury, David de Lohr. Rhori had the du Bois looks but the de Lohr personality, all fire and brilliance. The product of two great bloodlines, his prowess in battle was unmatched.

Cassius shook his head to the man’s question.

“I do not know,” he said, eyeing a group of wild boys running in their direction. “A feast some kind, clearly. Or a festival. Or mayhap even an execution because you know how quickly those can turn into a festive occasion. Especially if the man to be executed is hated enough.”

Rhori grunted in disapproval. “Entertainment.”

“Exactly.”

The third knight in their group was bringing up the rear and happened to be in the path of the wild boys. The children zipped past Cassius and Rhori, but when they came to the third knight, they began throwing something at each other. It could have been pebbles because a couple pinged the warhorse, who swung his big head unhappily. The big, ugly dog who followed Cassius around barked when the children ran by. One of the objects landed in the knight’s black hair and stuck.

Cassius and Rhori watched him curiously.

“Something is in your hair, Bose,” Cassius pointed out the obvious.

Sir Bose de Shera wasn’t one to get worked up about anything, not even children throwing projectiles into his hair. He was calm and cool like his legendary grandfather, Bose de Moray, and he reached up to pluck whatever it was out of his hair. He looked at it, sniffed it, and promptly popped it into his mouth.

Cassius and Rhori recoiled in disgust.

“Bose,” Cassius scolded. “How many times have I told you not to put things in your mouth when you do not know where they have come from? For Christ’s sake, you’re like a child who sits in the dirt and shoves pebbles in his mouth.”

Bose was chewing on whatever it was. “It is a sweet,” he said. “Cinnamon and honey, I think. It is delicious.”

Cassius stared at him for a long moment before breaking down into snorts. Rhori simply shook his head.

“God,” he muttered. “The man puts anything in his mouth.”

“Of course I do,” Bose said seductively. “Ask the ladies.”

Cassius’ laughter grew. The rapport between Rhori, a serious knight, and Bose, a sometimes irreverent one, was truly hilarious at times. It could also be grating and they were known to throw punches at each other from time to