WolfeBlood (De Wolfe Pack Generations #12)

Prologue

Hensingham Castle, Cumbria

Seat of the House of de Reyne

“Did you see them?”

“Who?”

“The boys!”

The excited hiss came from a young girl no more than nine or ten years of age.

She was standing with a gaggle of other young girls, all of them dressed in their finest, all of them tittering with delight over the young beaux who had entered their realm.

Hensingham Castle sat slightly inland from the Cumbrian coast, a windswept property that faced the sea, glorious with salt upon the wind and seabirds and the general vibrancy that came when one was near an ancient coastline.

There was something timeless about it, but also something damp and fishy.

Such locales were often a paradox.

Hensingham’s granite stones had long been beaten by the gales that swept in off the Irish Sea, but it was still standing, strong and tall against the elements.

On this day, as the wind blew and the birds rode the drafts overhead, Hensingham was the setting for a marriage a long time in coming, one that had drawn fine houses and allies from all over the north of England.

The sister of the current Lord Hensingham was marrying a de Grey in what was considered rather a victory for the aunt, who had reached the ungodly age of thirty years having never been married.

But, in a bolt from heaven, a widowed de Grey brother seem to think an older wife was what he needed to manage his brood of six children, so the match, and the marriage, was swiftly made.

It had barely been a month since everything had been settled.

The young girls chirping about the boys were wards of Lady Hensingham, the chatelaine of Hensingham Castle.

There were four young ladies, not including her daughter, Matilda.

Matilda Eleanor Joan Julia Catherine Fernanda de Reyne, or Mattie as she had been known since birth, was smaller and less imposing than her long name implied, but she was learning to find her voice.

At nearly ten years of age, she had been a rather quiet child, but her pack of young woman had forced her to learn to stand up for herself or be forgotten.

Mattie wasn’t the forgotten type.

In fact, at her age, she was already quite the beauty.

Most de Reyne women were. They had a reputation for dark brown locks and sea-blue eyes, with skin as fair as an infant’s cheek and a smile that could stop wars.

That was the rumor, anyway, more than likely started by another de Reyne somewhere back in the lineage, but in Mattie’s case, it happened to be true.

She had the de Reyne dark hair, long and wavy, but her eyes were the color of copper.

Bright gold and brown. Coupled with her sharp mind and aptitude for languages and singing, it was a striking combination that already had more than one father inquiring about her hand for their sons.

Not surprisingly, Mattie’s father was rather choosy and that distinction hadn’t sat well with one of his visiting allies.

There was a de Vries son that wasn’t going to be pledged to the eldest de Reyne daughter and Oswald de Vries had been sure to tell his son, in a fit of rage, that he wasn’t good enough for Mattie de Reyne.

Nay, Percy de Vries would not be part of the de Reyne family anytime soon.

Unfortunately for Mattie, she knew nothing of it, so as she and her friends admired the many handsome young men who had come for the wedding, she was being stalked by one of them.

And she wasn’t aware.

“Look!” one of her companions called out, pointing. “The de Wolfe brothers from Berwick. See how tall and handsome they are!”

The girls began to squeal at the sight. The wedding feast was in full swing and although the hall was full of revelers, the children in attendance were essentially told to stay out of the hall.

Lady Hensingham had tables set up for them just outside the door, with gaily colored canopies over head, that would keep them away from the drunkards and the bawdy songs.

The young girls were standing around the corner from his area, so they could see quite plainly when the de Wolfe, de Reyne, de Royans, and de Winter offspring began to gather around.

So far, there were no fewer than twenty sons and daughters from various houses, all of them between the ages of around eight years of age to fifteen or sixteen.

The boys outnumbered the girls, and they were those of the group in their teen years, and they very much resented having to sit at the children’s tables at a wedding.

Patrick de Wolfe’s sons seemed to be the most vocal.

Evidently, the eldest one, Markus, was in the hall because he was over the threshold of being considered a man, leaving the younger three brothers and their two sisters outside.

Paired with their cousins, Ronan de Wolfe, son of Blayth, and Gareth “Gar” de Wolfe, son of Troy, they made for some young lady eye-candy.

“I am going to marry Cassius de Wolfe,” one young woman sighed. She was fair and lovely, from the Summerlin family of Norfolk. “Do you not think he is handsome?”

She was pointing to the tall lad with the dark, curly hair. The young ladies with her nodded emphatically. “So handsome,” a lass with the surname of de Allington said dreamily. “So are his brothers. Magnus and Titus are remarkably handsome. I’ve heard their grandfather is a Dane king!”

That was impressive and the tittering young women agreed that, surely, that must be why they were so handsome. But Mattie was fixed on one of the cousins.

“I like the blond boy,” she said, gesturing. “I believe he is called Ronan. Do you think he will sit with me at sup?”

That question had every young woman’s heart swelling with hope. Romance was heavy on their minds as Mattie’s older brother suddenly appeared.

“Break up your little hen gathering,” Maksim de Reyne said, walking right through the middle of their crowd. “Stop hiding and come and sit.”

Mattie frowned at her bossy brother. “I am going to tell Mama on you, Max,” she scolded. “You cannot tell us what to do.”

“I can and I will.”

“Says who?”

“Me!”

She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “No one will listen to you!”

“Is that so?”

“’Tis!”

Maksim made a threatening move in their direction and they screamed and scattered.

That had all of the young men they’d been secretly spying on looking over to see what the fuss was.

Maksim was waving his hands, herding the well-dressed young women toward the tables, but Mattie had run off in another direction.

There was a big yew tree near the entry to the boxlike keep of Hensingham, and she’d rushed over to collect a switch from one of the branches.

Weapon in hand, she charged back toward the tables where Maksim was forcing the young women to sit and be still.

Mattie came up behind him and whacked him across the buttocks.

The young men at the tables thought it was great fun to watch Mattie chase her brother around.

Maksim tried to get away from her at first, but soon enough, he took a stand and faced her, reaching out to grab the switch when she came close.

He was easily able to disarm her and she cried in pain as he yanked the wood through her hands.

She had a splinter, so she said, and as she inspected it, Maksim felt bad enough that he went to see what he’d done.

As soon as he lowered his head, looking at her hand, she rammed two fingers right up both nostrils.

Maksim howled in pain and the laughter exploded.

Mattie had her switch back now and she lashed her brother on the backside as he tried to recover from nearly having his brains punctured through his sinus cavity. But just as she ran past one of the tables, pursuing Maksim, one of the older boys sitting alone stuck out a foot and tripped her.

Down she went, onto her face.

Percy de Vries had been that lad. He’d been stalking Mattie all afternoon, watching her, waiting for his chance to exact his revenge.

When she started running recklessly after her brother, he saw his opportunity.

He smiled smugly as Mattie pushed herself up and realized she had a bloodied nose.

She put her hand to her face, in obvious pain, as Percy stood up.

“Now you’re not so pretty, are you?” he said. “No one will want you now, you little snipe. I hope you stay ugly forever!”

A shadow fell across Percy’s path. Startled, he looked up to see the three very big de Wolfe brothers glaring at him, flanked by their equally big and mean-looking cousins.

One of the cousins reached down to help Mattie to her feet as Cassius, Titus, Ronan, and Magnus de Wolfe ganged up on the unfortunate Percy.

“So you like to hurt girls, do you?” Cassius said. At nearly seventeen, he was a man grown and very nearly a fully fledged knight, making him positively terrifying. “Why don’t you bully someone your own size, Percy? Here—I’ll make it easy for you. Knock me off my feet if you can.”

Percy was a few years younger than Cassius and not nearly as big and muscular.

He looked at Titus, younger than Cassius but taller, and then Magnus, who was shorter than his brothers but built like a bull.

They were around fifteen years of age and thirteen years of age, respectively, but they were absolutely enormous for their ages.

Beside them, their cousin, Ronan, was a little younger than Magnus, and hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, but the young man had his fists balled.

He was ready to brawl.

As Percy began to realize that he’d something very wrong by picking on a girl, Maksim came out of nowhere and slugged him squarely in the face.

As he went down, the de Wolfe brothers gathered around, and Percy was in a world of hurt as Maksim pounced.

The fists were flying, and Percy was wailing, but over at another table, Mattie wasn’t paying any attention to it.

She was paying attention to something else entirely.