CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It had been a very long trip from Wales.
At least, it felt like that. The weather had been excellent and they’d made astonishingly good time. But even so, it had been a long trip for one very good reason: life-changing news was awaiting them and they couldn’t seem to get to Lioncross fast enough.
Bhrodi and Penelope had been at Lioncross ten days now, and it had been ten days of excitement, sorrow, and exhaustion. Even though neither of them had gotten much sleep on the trip from Wales, there was no possible way that Penelope was going to rest once they arrived, and she hadn’t. She wanted answers, as she’d had the entire journey to think about de Lohr’s missive, and what Corbett Payton-Forrester had said about her brother. So by the time they arrived at Lioncross, she was full of questions and nearly frantic about it.
As fortune would have it, Corbett was still at Lioncross, still recovering from his harrowing ordeal. He’d lost a good deal of weight and was fairly weak, so a diet of good food and regular attending from Lioncross’ physic were needed to nurse him back to health.
But that didn’t stop Penelope from interrogating the man until she could interrogate him no more. She’d asked the same questions a hundred times, always with the same answer, and within a day of their arrival to Lioncross, Penelope was convinced that her brother, James, was alive and leading a rebellion.
So was Corbett.
It was problematic even under usual circumstances, but these were unusual ones. A dead man was leading the Welsh against the English, and Bhrodi knew that, at some point, Penelope was going to want to go to Wales to see for herself. He had been preparing himself for the showdown to come, ten days of discussions and intimation from his wife that the next step would, indeed, be heading for Wales.
Of course, he wasn’t going to take her into Wales and that wasn’t going to sit well with her once she came right out and asked him. Bhrodi never denied her anything, nor had her father or her many family members, so a denial to Penelope wasn’t something she was accustomed to. He was going to have to watch her very closely because the woman wasn’t beyond sneaking out when her husband wasn’t looking. She knew that her brother was most likely at Gwendraith Castle, because that’s where Corbett said he would be, and she knew that if she headed southwest, she would eventually be able to find it.
Bhrodi knew he was going to have to keep an eye on her.
The showdown that he feared came on the afternoon of their tenth day at Lioncross. Penelope had spent the morning with Kaedia, Chris’ wife, in the garden of Lioncross, tending the smaller animals that they kept for food and as pets. There was an astonishing bank of rabbit cages, containing more rabbits than Penelope had ever seen, and she was fascinated by the rabbits that were about as large as a small dog. They were friendly, and soft, and she was growing quite fond of them.
But she had also been talking to Kaedia as the woman tended to the hare collection, and Kaedia had strong opinions about family. She knew about the situation with Penelope’s brother and she had told Penelope that she would let nothing stop her from discovering the truth about a long-lost brother. It was an opinion Penelope shared. Therefore, after her visit with Kaedia, Penelope wandered into the stables of Lioncross, near the soldier’s training field, to find her husband tending to his horse.
And that’s when it began.
It was quite innocent at first.
“I was told you were here,” she said, leaning in to Bhrodi as he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “Is something wrong with your horse?”
Bhrodi shook his head as he watched the smithy file off some of the big, black beast’s hoof. “Nay,” he said. “He has a loose shoe that must be fixed.”
Penelope watched the smithy working on the horse. “His gait was strange on the trip, wasn’t it?”
Bhrodi nodded. “It was, indeed,” he said. “The shoe did not seem loose to me, but the smithy assures me that it was.”
The conversation died as they both watched the man work on the horse until Penelope changed the subject.
“Do you know where I have been?” she asked.
“Where?”
“With Kaedia as she tended the rabbits.”
“I would have never guessed.”
He was jesting with her since she spent so much time at the hutches. She grinned at him. “Kaedia and I were talking,” she said. “Did you know that she has thirteen brothers?”
Bhrodi’s eyebrows lifted. “Then her father has his own army.”
Penelope laughed softly. “I have six,” she said. “That is plenty.”
“Your father would have been happy with thirteen, too. Imagine the damage he could have done with that bunch.”
She grinned at the comment, but that smile soon faded. “Now he has a chance to have a son returned to him,” she said. “Bhrodi, I cannot sit here any longer while James is in Wales. I must go to him; I must see him.”
The hammer had been lowered, just like that. Bhrodi didn’t want to argue in front of the smithy and he could sense that such a conversation was coming. With his arm still around her shoulders, he turned around and pulled her out of the stable with him.
Now, the battle could begin in earnest.
“I understand that you wish to go,” he said patiently. “Truly, caria, I do. But you know what Corbett and Chris have said – it is very possible that James is an agent for Edward and if you go running into Wales to save him, you may ruin everything he has accomplished. Do you understand that?”
“Of course I do,” she snapped softly. “I am not daft. But I cannot believe that he is on any special mission for Edward. Surely, if Edward had any mission in mind for my brother, he would have told my father, and I am positive my father knew nothing. You were not there when he returned home from Wales without James; you have never seen anyone so broken.”
Bhrodi faced her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It is possible that Edward did not want your father to know simply to protect him,” he said. “Even if your father did not know, and James truly is an agent for Edward, what will rushing into Wales accomplish? What do you intend to do?”
She was growing upset. “I must see him,” she said. “I simply want to see if it is him.”
“And then what?”
“Then I will know that he is not dead!”
He was trying not to become irritated with her. “And then what?” he asked. “Will you tell your father? Because you know he will go running right into Wales to see for himself, and that will probably get him killed. Is that what you want?”
She frowned. “Then why did you let me come to Lioncross if you were not going to let me go into Wales to see for myself whether this Blayth is my brother?” she asked. “Your plan was to come here and not take any action?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I am going to take some action,” he said. “You already know that Howell has sent a missive, requesting my support for Rhys ap Maredudd’s uprising. I intend to go to Howell and size up the situation before I allow you anywhere near the Welsh rebellion.”
“But…”
He held up a finger, cutting her off. “When we came to Lioncross, we did not know that Corbett suspected your brother might be an agent for Edward,” he pointed out. “Now that we know, the situation has changed. I cannot allow you to go charging in and possibly give him away to the Welsh. That is why I must size up the situation first before I permit you anywhere near him. Surely you understand that, Penny. This is a very delicate situation and it must be handled carefully.”
Although it didn’t make her particularly happy, she understood. “I do not want to ruin whatever James has been working towards if, in fact, he is an agent for Edward,” she said begrudgingly. “But there is also the possibility that he is not an agent for Edward. What then?”
“Then we shall decide what needs to be done,” he said quietly. “As Chris mentioned, we cannot allow your brother to bring down the entire de Wolfe legacy. It is a very delicate situation, caria. We will do our best to deal with it.”
Penelope was deeply unhappy that he wasn’t going to let her go into Wales right away. “When will all this be?” she asked. “When do you plan to tell my father?”
“As soon as he arrives.”
She looked at him curiously. “Is he coming here?”
He shrugged. “He should have received your missive six or seven days after you sent it from Rhydilian,” he said matter-of-factly. “Based upon the content of the missive, I would not imagine that your father would wait to come to Lioncross, meaning he has already been on the road for several days. I expect he should arrive any day now.”
Penelope was looking at him, her mouth hanging open. “How did you know I sent him a missive?”
He cast her a sidelong glance, a smile playing on his lips. “Rhydilian is my castle, Penelope,” he said with some irritation. “There is nothing that goes on at my castle that I am not aware of. You paid a stable groom to ride to Castle Questing to tell your father about James after I specifically told you not to.”
She was both defiant and contrite. “I did,” she said, thrusting up her chin. “I could not, in good conscience, keep such information from him. How would you like it if someone kept information about William or Perri from you? They are your sons, Bhrodi. You would have a right to know. So does my father. It simply wasn’t right not to tell him.”
He really wasn’t angry at her and even if he was, it never lasted long. He sighed heavily. “As I said,” he muttered as he turned back for the stable, “your father should be here any day now. We can discuss the situation with him, but I have a feeling he will want to go into Wales to see for himself and if that is the case, I cannot stop him. You know I cannot stop him. And I have been afraid all along the man is going to go charging into Wales and get himself killed.”
Penelope shook her head. “He will not do anything so foolish,” she said. “But you are correct when you said he will want to see for himself. I do not know what we can do about that.”
“You de Wolfes are a foolish bunch.”
“Foolish and loyal. When we love, it is deeply, and it is for life. Much as I love you.”
Bhrodi just shook his head and Penelope received the impression that he was greatly distressed that William de Wolfe should want to go into Wales at all. The last time the man had been in southern Wales, he’d lost a son, or so he thought. Bhrodi couldn’t even fathom what would happen this time around.
As Bhrodi blew his wife a kiss and meandered back into the stable to see to his horse, Penelope was lost to thoughts of her own. Her father would soon be here, and they would decide what to do about James and the rising rebellion. She had quickly come to learn that the case of her brother returning from the dead wasn’t simple in the least. Speculation on him being an agent for Edward had entered the situation, making it more complex than ever.
As Penelope wandered along the edge of the training ground, heading for the main portion of the bailey and the gatehouse, she thought back to the day when her father had returned from Wales with only three sons and not the four he’d left with. She remembered the army returning, the massive de Wolfe army coming in through Castle Questing’s three-storied gatehouse, and she remembered distinctly when her father went to her mother, who was waiting patiently for her husband, and threw his arms around her. She also remembered watching him whisper something in her ear, and she heard her mother wail.
It had been the beginning of a horrible day, one that none of them would ever forget. As her mother had wept in her father’s arms, Kieran had approached Rose, who was James’ wife. She had given birth to a girl while the army was in Wales, and she’d been standing with the infant in her arms and a small boy standing beside her. Kieran had taken the child out of her arms, handed it over to Rose’s mother, and then calmly informed Rose that her husband would not be returning home.
The news must have confused Rose because she tried to run away. She tried to run right into the returning army and she would have had Patrick not grabbed her. She fought Patrick viciously, howling and screaming that they were all lying to her and that James was somewhere in the army. She simply had to find him. It had been a chaotic scene as Rose’s mother had taken Rose’s children back into the keep, struggling to keep everyone calm.
But Rose wouldn’t be calm. She’d been hysterical until she abruptly fainted in her father’s arms.
After that, the news had spread.
James de Wolfe had died at Llandeilo.
Penelope sighed heavily as she still remembered that day. It still brought tears to her eyes to think of it and the anguish they’d gone through. Life had gone on, and Rose had eventually married a fine young knight who accepted James’ children as his very own, but life had never been the same for the House of de Wolfe. They had lost one of their own, and that hole would always be there.
That was why she was so determined to go to Wales.
What if the hole could be filled? What if the belief of James’ death had been some horrible mistake?
The wind was picking up now as Penelope crossed from the training area and into the main part of the bailey. Almost immediately, she saw a couple sitting beneath the yew tree that had grown into a monstrosity of a tree. There were benches beneath it, and it was a good resting place with lovely shade, and she passed close to it as she emerged into the bailey. She could see a man sitting on one of the benches, his back turned to her, but the woman was fairly close, checking the hoof of a gorgeous young stallion. Appreciative of horseflesh, Penelope moved closer, noting the fine lines of the animal.
“What a beautiful horse,” Penelope said. “How old is he?”
The woman’s head came up as she was addressed in the language of the Normans. She looked over to see a lovely young woman with hazel eyes approach, her focus fixed on the horse. A little startled at the attention, she was hesitant in her reply.
“He has seen three summers,” she replied. “He… he is still quite young.”
Penelope recognized her Welsh accent and she switched to the Welsh language, something she had learned from her years of marriage to a hereditary Welsh king.
“You are Welsh?” she asked.
The woman nodded to the question, perfectly spoken in her language. “Aye.”
Penelope smiled. “So is my husband,” she said. “My name is Penelope. Who are you?”
“Asmara ferch Cader.”
Penelope continued to smile as she reached out to pet the horse. “He is so very beautiful,” she said. “Did you raise him from birth?”
Having been a warrior for most of her life, Asmara wasn’t very good with social skills when it came to other women, but she wanted to respond to this friendly young woman.
“I was there when he foaled,” she said. “I watched him take his first steps and since that time, he has always been with me.”
“What is his name?”
“Storm.”
Penelope continued to pet the horse, noticing that Asmara was still holding the animal’s hoof. She pointed.
“Is he injured?”
Asmara looked back to the hoof with the abscess that wouldn’t heal properly. “He has been bothered by poison in it,” she said, pointing to the area when Penelope looked closer. “I must tend to it as soon as possible.”
Penelope looked at her. “Then why are you here?” she asked, indicating the training area she had just come from. “The stables are through there. The grooms will help you tend to your horse. Would you like me to show you were to go?”
Asmara shook her head. “Nay, but I thank you,” she said. “The soldier told us to wait here, so we are. I should not like to leave or it might anger him.”
Penelope frowned. “What soldier?”
“The commander at the gatehouse.”
She understood, somewhat. “I see,” she said. “Are you here to visit someone, then?”
Over on the bench, the man was listening to the conversation but Penelope couldn’t quite see him. When he heard the question, he stood up, his head popping up over the back of Asmara’s stallion.
“We are here to see a knight,” he said in his slow, deliberate speech. “We must wait here until the soldier returns for us.”
Penelope looked at the man, heard the voice, and time seemed to stop. A buzzing filled her head because she honestly couldn’t hear anything else around her, nor could she see. The entire world could come crashing down around her and she would still be standing there, still looking into the face of the man who had just spoken to her. He was older, scarred, the sides of his head were shaved, he was missing his left ear, and a beard covered the lower part of his face. He had the look of a barbarian.
But… by God, she knew him.
She’d seen him a million times, in her dreams and in her heart, as a child, as a girl, and as a young woman. The face had changed slightly from what she remembered, and the left side of his head was badly damaged, but it didn’t change the facts. It didn’t change what she knew in her heart.
The ground seemed to rock as she stared at him and her breath caught in her throat. She thought she might faint until she realized that she wasn’t breathing, so she forced herself to take a gasping breath.
A hand flew to her mouth.
“It… it…” She breathed, hardly able to speak. “I… you are…”
She couldn’t finish because it occurred to her that he wasn’t running at her with joy. He was simply looking at her with some confusion, as if she were a stranger. There was no light of recognition in his eyes, no warmth of realization. He wasn’t seeing what she was seeing.
But she was seeing it all.
My God… it was James.
“You’re here,” she finally gasped.
It was all she could think to say. Asmara, seeing that the friendly woman looked as if she’d seen a ghost, suddenly began looking between the pair. Blayth was looking at the young woman with some concern, as if he’d said something wrong, but the young woman was ashen white and breathing unsteadily. She was looking at Blayth the same way Payton-Forrester had, and it occurred to her that this young woman might recognize him just as the English knight had.
Her heart began to pound, just a little faster.
“Lady?” she said to Penelope. When the woman didn’t respond, she said it again, louder. “Lady Penelope? Do you know him?”
Penelope snapped out of whatever trance she was in, looking to Asmara as tears filled her eyes. All of those things that Corbett and Chris had said, about James being an agent for Edward, filled her mind and the world began to spin. Before she said something that would ruin whatever James had been trying to build, because Bhrodi had warned her about wreaking such havoc, she simply looked back at James, her beloved brother, and could only think to say one thing to him.
“Do… do you know me?” she whispered.
Blayth found himself staring at her, hard. As she said that, he realized there was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place her. It was mostly in her eyes – he knew those eyes, now filled with an ocean of tears. Clearly, seeing him had her shaken and he had no idea why. But when she asked that question, he, too, realized that she had the same expression that Payton-Forrester had when he’d first looked at him.
It was the light of recognition.
He sighed sharply.
“I… I don’t know,” he said. “But I know I should. Do you know me?”
Penelope blinked and the tears splattered. She suddenly didn’t care what Chris or Corbett or even Bhrodi had said. This was her James, the brother she thought she’d lost, and she could hardly believe it. Every fiber in her body screamed with disbelief, while her heart began to leap with joy.
It was him!
“Aye,” she finally said, breaking down into tears. “I do. I know you.”
Asmara rushed to her side, seeing how overwrought she was. “You do?” she asked in disbelief. “Who is he to you? Please tell me. Do not be afraid.”
Penelope was beginning to sob. Her hands were over her mouth as she took a few halting steps in Blayth’s direction, her eyes drinking in a sight she never thought she’d see again in this life. She couldn’t even answer Asmara’s question as her teary gaze held her brother.
“You were dead,” she sobbed. “We were told you were dead. But you are not! You are alive!”
Asmara was following her, genuinely trying to find answers from the woman. “Who is he to you?” she begged. “Please tell me.”
Penelope heard the question and she swallowed, wiping the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. “My brother,” she whispered. Then, she looked at Blayth, who was looking at her in astonishment. “Don’t you know me? I’m Penelope. I am your sister. James, we thought you were dead!”
She was off sobbing again, hands over her mouth to stifle the noise. Asmara looked to Blayth in shock.
“James,” she said to him. “She called you James.”
Blayth was nearly as stunned as Penelope was, only marginally better at keeping his emotions in check. But it was a hard-fought battle. Everything he’d come to Lioncross to discover had happened right here, right now, in the most unexpected of places. It had happened so swiftly that he could hardly believe it. Reaching out, he grasped Penelope by both arms, his expression beseeching.
“I am sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I do not remember you. I do not remember anything. I was badly injured at Llandeilo and lay unconscious for weeks. When I awoke, I had no memory of who I was, so I do not remember you. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Am I truly your brother?”
Penelope nodded. Then, she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off-balance as she sobbed her heart out.
“James,” she wept. “I have missed you so terribly. We have all missed you so terribly. I never thought to see you ever again!”
Blayth didn’t know what to say or what to do. He kept from putting his arms around her because she was essentially a stranger, and he was quite uncomfortable with her display of emotion. But when he looked at Asmara, he could see the tears in the woman’s eyes. Tears of joy, he thought. But he, too, was beginning to feel tears.
He felt as if a large piece of a larger puzzle had just come to light.
She knew him.
You are my brother!
“Please,” he begged her, trying to pull her away from him. “Please tell me; are you certain I am your brother?”
Penelope nodded, struggling with her hysterics, but she genuinely couldn’t help it. “Aye, of course,” she said, releasing her death grip on him. “I came here to find you and I did!”
Blayth was beside himself with the situation, trying to think of what to ask her. There was so much he wanted to ask. But he could only think of one thing at a time. He couldn’t speak as quickly as his mind worked, so it was a struggle to get the words out.
Asmara could see that. His face was turning read, overwhelmed with the situation. So she went to stand beside him, her hand on Penelope’s arm because the woman was still so upset.
“You called him James,” she said. “Can you please tell us your family name?”
Penelope wiped furiously at her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “De Wolfe,” she said. “My father is William de Wolfe, the Earl of Warenton. In his youth, he was called the Wolfe of the Border. There is no greater knight in all of England than my father. Our father.”
Asmara looked at Blayth to see how he was taking the news; his eyes were wide, staring at Penelope as if she alone contained all of the answers he’d ever wanted to know. The key to his past was standing right in front of him and he was so stunned that he couldn’t even speak. She could see his mouth moving, but nothing was coming forth.
Now, at this moment, his limited power of speech had failed him.
“My husband knows nothing of his past,” she told Penelope. “As you can see, he is having a difficult time speaking. He was badly wounded at Llandeilo, smashed in the head, and there have been some things that have been slow to recover. His ability to speak has been one of them, but the only memories he has are of those since Llandeilo. His only memory is as a man of Wales. That is all he has known these past five years.”
Penelope listened carefully to what she was being told and it was starting to occur to her what had happened. The explanation was perfectly clear. James’ memory had been erased from the terrible wound to his head, the evidence of which was right before her. The left side of his head was in ruins. Without the ability to tell anyone who he was or return home, he’d simply remained in Wales because it was all he knew.
It was all he could do.
Dear God… so many things became clear in that brief explanation and she looked to her brother, feeling more disbelief and sympathy than she ever thought possible. Reaching out, she took one of his big, callused hands.
“You are my brother, James de Wolfe,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “You are the fourth son of William de Wolfe and his wife, Jordan. You have three older brothers – Scott, Troy, and Patrick. You have a twin sister, Katheryn. You also have another sister, Evelyn, and two younger brothers, Thomas and Edward. And then there is me, the baby of the family. You used to bring me sweets when I was a child and I would call you my favorite brother. Then, Patrick would bring me sweets and I would call him my favorite brother. You would challenge Patrick to a duel for the title of Supreme Favorite Brother, and I would demand a long and drawn-out death from the loser. You don’t remember any of this?”
Blayth was listening to her, his eyes filling with tears. He simply couldn’t help it. He had so many brothers and sisters, and he didn’t even remember them. It was tragic beyond words.
“I wish I did,” he whispered. “I wish I remembered it all.”
Penelope could see that, and it was a struggle for her not to burst into tears again. Reaching up, she put her hand on his damaged face, tears spilling down her cheeks when she saw the tears coming from his eyes. The man wanted so badly to remember what she was telling him.
“We had such wonderful times as a family,” she said haltingly. “We were very much loved by our parents, and we loved each other. Above all, know that you were happy and that you were loved. When Papa returned to tell us that you’d been killed at Llandeilo, it was a great loss for us all. Papa has never recovered from it, James, not ever. He never got over the guilt of having to leave you behind.”
Blayth’s lower lip was trembling. “I was told that the English left me behind,” he murmured. “I was told that I was unwanted.”
Penelope was shaking her head before he even finished. “That is not true,” she said. “I was told that Llandeilo was chaos. The English were outmanned and ambushed, and they had to leave their dead behind in the retreat. Believe me; if Papa could have taken you with him, he would have. He told me that Uncle Kieran tried to carry you out, but that he had to leave you, too, or risk being killed. They tried to bring you, James, but it simply wasn’t possible. Please don’t think you were left behind because you were unwanted. Papa even went back to find you, once, but no one could tell him what had become of you.”
Blayth closed his eyes, the tears falling as he turned away from her. Asmara went to him, putting her arms around him as Penelope stood there and watched the pair. Her hysteria had eased, but her tears hadn’t. She was still weeping silently, watching her brother as he was comforted by a woman who called herself his wife. As she stood there, wiping the constant flow of tears from her face, she heard a voice behind her.
“Penny?” It was Bhrodi. “What is happening here?”
She turned around to see her husband standing behind her, looking quite confused and concerned. She rushed to him, throwing her arms around him as the sobs came again. She wept against him as he held her, but he didn’t hold her for long. His concern had the better of him.
“Penny, what is the matter?” he demanded. “Why are you crying? And who are they?”
He was indicating Blayth and Asmara, and Penelope labored to stop weeping so she could explain.
“It’s him,” she whispered tightly. “It is my brother, James. He… he is here. I do not know how he is here, but he is. It is him!”
Bhrodi’s eyes widened. “What?” he hissed. “Are you serious?”
Penelope nodded fiercely. “Very,” she said. She tried to explain something that even she herself didn’t quite understand. “When I left you in the stable, I walked out here and there he was, sitting under the yew tree. I started talking to the woman about her horse and then I saw him… he said that he was waiting for someone. Bhrodi… it is a miracle!”
Bhrodi was astounded. He turned to look at Asmara and Blayth, who were now turning around to look at him. Greatly shocked, Bhrodi took a few steps towards them, inspecting the big, blond warrior with the scarred head. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man as Penelope walked beside him, her hands wrapped up in his big palm.
It wasn’t that Bhrodi didn’t believe Penelope because, clearly, something had happened. Everyone was in tears, their features ashen, as if they had all just had a great shock. But Bhrodi didn’t have an emotional stake in this, other than his wife, so he could be a little more objective. He looked closely at the big warrior with the beard and in looking into the man’s eyes, he could see the faint resemblance to his wife. They both had the same eyes.
His jaw dropped.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Blayth,” the man responded without hesitation.
Blayth. The man mentioned in Howell’s missive, Bhrodi thought quickly. He wasn’t only astonished by the man’s appearance, but quite curious about it as well. The man was supposed to be in Wales leading a rebellion, wasn’t he? So why was he here at Lioncross Abbey?
“Why are you here?” he asked in his perfect Welsh.
Blayth didn’t know who the man was other than the fact he must have been Penelope’s husband. His sister. He was big and dark, and had the look of a warrior about him, but Blayth wasn’t going to answer any questions until he knew who, exactly, he was.
“Forgive me,” he replied. “I do not know you. What is your name?”
“Bhrodi de Shera.”
Blayth knew that name; he’d heard it a thousand times, a name revered by the Welsh. The man was the hereditary King of Anglesey. He remembered hearing that Bhrodi had married a Saesneg, but he had no idea that the man’s wife was Penelope de Wolfe.
It seemed it was a day full of surprises, and things were coming full circle, but Blayth was still cautious. He wasn’t sure just how devout, or rabid, Bhrodi might be about the Welsh rebellion, so he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell the man.
He would proceed cautiously.
“Great lord,” he said, bowing his head respectfully. “I have heard of your greatness. It is an honor to meet you.”
Bhrodi was watching him like a hawk. He kissed Penelope’s hand before letting it go, taking a step away from her and crooking a finger at Blayth. The man immediately obeyed, and Asmara tried to follow, but Bhrodi held up a hand to stop her, so she didn’t go any further. She stood there, concerned, as Bhrodi pulled Blayth with him into a private conference.
With the women looking after them rather anxiously, Bhrodi came to a halt and turned to Blayth. He took a moment just to look the man over again, now that he was at close range, and he could see every detail of him from his damaged head, to his wife’s eyes, to the shape of William de Wolfe’s face. Beneath that reddish-blond beard, he suspected the man looked a great deal like William. He folded his big arms over his chest.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly. “I received word from Howell ap Gruffydd that you were helping drive Rhys ap Maredudd’s rebellion in the south. You are aware that Howell has asked for my support.”
“I am, great lord.”
“Then if you’ve come to Lioncross to create some sort of a ruse or betrayal, I am going to tell you to go back to Howell. This is no place for you.”
Blayth understood his concern but, in explaining his presence, he was going to have to tell Bhrodi things he wasn’t so certain he wanted to tell him. He wanted to proceed cautiously, but it may not be possible.
The truth was the only thing he could give the man.
“I am not here to create a ruse, great lord,” he said. “I am not sure how to explain this to you without telling you everything, so suffice it to say that I am no longer part of the rebellion.”
Bhrodi’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Because I am English. I have come to Lioncross to discover who I truly am.”
Bhrodi cocked his head curiously. “I do not understand.”
Blayth conceded the point. “I know,” he said. “I was discussing it with your lady wife before you came. You see, I was badly injured at Llandeilo five years ago. You can see the damage on my head. When I awoke from this wound, I had no memory of who I was. I was taken in by Morys ap Macsen, who told me that I was the bastard son of Llywelyn the Last. Without any knowledge of my past, I trusted him. I believed him. But recently, Morys told me the truth of who I am, and I have decided that discovering my true past is more important than fighting in a Welsh rebellion when I am not even Welsh. If that offends you, great lord, then I beg your forgiveness. But that is why I have come to Lioncross – to find out who I really am.”
It was an astonishing story, but one that made sense to Bhrodi. He was sure there was much more to it but, in that brief explanation, he didn’t sense lies or deceit. He sensed that Blayth truly meant what he said and, clearly, his reaction to Penelope and hers to him were genuine.
“Then… you are not here to try and wreak havoc?” he asked.
Blayth smiled thinly, shaking his head. “Nay, great lord,” he said. “The only havoc I seemed to have wrought is upon your lady wife when she told me who I was.”
It all seemed honest enough, but there was one more thing on Bhrodi’s mind. “I will ask you a question and you will tell me truthfully,” he said. “Know that I will not punish you in any way, but I must know the truth. Will you do this?”
“If I can, great lord.”
“Are you an English agent for King Edward, sent to destroy ap Maredudd’s rebellion?”
Blayth looked at him in surprise, such a genuine reaction that Bhrodi knew right then that the man wasn’t who he’d been suspected of.
“Nay, great lord,” he said, perplexed. “Have men been saying that about me?”
Bhrodi shrugged. “I heard someone say it,” he said. “Then it is not true?”
“Nay, great lord, I swear with all my heart it is not.”
Bhrodi believed him. “That is good,” he said. “Because that has been something of a concern. For your father’s sake, I was hoping that your reported death wasn’t some elaborate hoax.”
Blayth shook his head as if the entire concept baffled him. “Not at all, great lord,” he said. “It seems like something terribly cruel to do. I hope my father did not think that.”
“He does not know. And he never shall from my lips.”
Blayth understood. “Nor mine,” he said. From the corner of his eye, he could see Penelope and Asmara standing together, now in quiet conversation, and he was drawn to the woman who had identified herself as his long-lost sister. He very much wanted to be part of that conversation, too. “Now, if I may have your permission to speak with your lady wife and find out about my family, I would be grateful.”
Bhrodi simply nodded and Blayth smiled, a genuine gesture. But before turning to the women, he paused one last time.
“I have been told that I am a de Wolfe, but you must understand that being cymry is the only thing I remember,” he said. “I find myself in a very strange position now, a Saesneg by birth, but a Welshman by heart. I would be proud to call you brother in any case. But knowing what I do about you, and how the Welsh feel about you, I hope that from time to time you will permit me to speak to you of the Wales I remember.”
For the first time, Bhrodi smiled at the man. He could sense a kind man, perhaps even a gentle nature, which seemed odd considering the reputation Blayth the Strong had amassed as a warrior.
“I would be honored,” he said. “But remember this – the English heritage you have and the love of your family are as strong as anything I have ever seen. They adore you, James. Do not be afraid to embrace that. It is something few men ever know.”
Blayth simply nodded, perhaps lingering on the thought of being loved beyond measure, before turning for the women and making his way over to them.
Bhrodi simply stood there and watched as Penelope pulled the man over to the benches beneath the yew tree, where Blayth the Strong would learn about James de Wolfe from one of the people who had loved him best.
A sister who had once called him her Favorite Brother.
Truth be told, he still was.