Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(94)

De Lara nodded. “In truth, she was looking for us but she was mistaken in both her sense of direction and her reason for searching,” he said, not wanting to explain it further at this point. “Thank you for showing mercy. We shall not forget your kindness.”

Antillius nodded faintly, his gaze moving from Luc to Lance, Denis to Kye, and over to Bartholomew and then Jathan. It was clear that there was something more on his mind than the history of his tribe or the injured woman.

“You are not Saxon,” he finally said. “I am acquainted with those who rule these lands and you are not from here. You mentioned that you are from Spain and France?”

Now, the reason behind their appearance had been introduced and Luc was reluctant to explain too much, at least not until Ghislaine was tended and they had the opportunity to flee what would undoubtedly be angry men fearful of a Norman invasion.

In fact, as Luc pondered the situation, he knew the Normans would not leave these people alone as centuries of Saxons and Danes and Celts had evidently done. Nay, the Normans would wipe them out if they did not comply and there was some sadness in that thought. His Norman brethren would assimilate the Tertium until their memories, their traditions, were no more.

“We are all from France,” he said after a moment. “We are here in England because we have a mission to attend to.”

Antillius cocked his head curiously. “What mission?”

Luc was careful in his reply. “One of our comrades has been taken hostage,” he said. It was the truth. “We are heading north to find him and free him.”

“But what about The Beautiful Maid?”

“She is our guide in these strange lands.”

Antillius clearly had more questions but he didn’t pursue it at the moment; truth be told, he suspected that wasn’t the entire truth. He found himself looking at heavily-armed seasoned knights, bigger and more fearsome than anything he’d ever seen. Surely there was more to their presence than what he was being told.

In fact, Antillius was very curious about the outside world and what went on away from his isolated life. He would often speak with the Saxons he traded with to learn such things. But before him, he saw a grand opportunity to learn more than the foolish Saxon farmers could tell him. Warriors from France, he thought with satisfaction. Aye, he would discover their purpose, if only to gain news of the world around him.

But something told him there was much more going on than he realized.

“Then you must be weary if you are on a mission to save your friend,” he said. “Come. I will show you where you can rest. There is a corral off to the north where you can put your horses but, first, let me show you where you may sleep while you are with us.”

The knights knew they couldn’t refuse his hospitality. So, while St. Hèver remained with the horses, the rest of them followed Antillius to a long stone structure that turned out to be a convening hall. There were elders in the village and this was where they met to discuss any issues of concern.

Built of the same rock as the rest of the village, the convening hall had a fire pit in the center of it and a sod roof, slightly pitched, with holes near the top of the walls for smoke to escape and ventilation. It also had stone benches and faded images of pagan gods drawn on the walls that, at one time, had been painted. But the colors had faded, leaving only shadows of images, something the knights found both disconcerting and fascinating. However, it was a roof over their heads, something they hadn’t had in days, and the simple comfort of it was welcome.

Antillius left his guests settling in to the convening hall while he went to seek his daughters to inform them of their guests, and then on to the elders of the village to tell them about the enormous warriors from across the sea. Certainly, they would all be interested to know what was happening on the outside, but in order for the warriors to speak more freely, they would need an incentive.

Copious amounts of alcohol, made from apples and fermented grains, were soon being prepared for the coming meal.

In vino veritas….



After carefully examining the torn stitches in Ghislaine’s thigh, the old woman simply removed the broken stitches and then sewed the wound up again with thread made from hemp. It was very strong but it was also painful as the woman poked the sore skin and carefully stitched.

Ghislaine sat on the floor in the old woman’s neat house. It was a tiny structure with a tiny bed, a small fire pit in the center, and clutter that one would expect from an old woman living alone. Camulos, her guardian, was lying on one side while Gaetan was crouched on the other, holding her hand as the woman poked and stitched, squeezing her hand now and again as she gasped and made faces because it damn well hurt.

Aramis and Téo stood in the open door, watching the procedure, but they were both watching it from completely different perspectives. Aramis was watching Ghislaine and Gaetan, his misery gaining steam, while Téo was watching Aramis. In fact, that was the only reason he’d come. He’d seen the looks between Gaetan and Ghislaine, and subsequently Aramis and Gaetan, so he came to ensure that nothing got out of hand between Gaetan and Aramis.

It was clear that Gaetan had the lady’s attention but Aramis wasn’t so subtle about his interest towards her. Téo had seen this situation developing from the start and he was quite concerned for Aramis. The man didn’t say much, nor did he ever react to much, but he was reacting openly to Ghislaine. At some point, Gaetan was going to have his fill of it. Therefore, Téo had come to make sure nothing happened between two men vying for the same woman.