WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations Kathryn Veque (interesting books to read .TXT) 📖

his powerful sons, Markus and Cassius, to The Lair to help their Uncle Scott. Strangely enough, Troy de Wolfe’s properties in Kerr lands hadn’t been particularly threatened, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on high alert. Roxburgh Castle, usually heavily beleaguered by the Scots, was also on high alert, another de Wolfe outpost that was reinforced.

And waiting…

Holding the center of this unbreakable line from Berwick all the way to Wolfe’s Lair, the furthest outpost to the west, was Castle Questing commanded by none other than the Earl of Warenton himself. Since half of his sons, and knights, were concentrated at Wolfe’s Lair and also at Kale Water Castle and Monteviot Tower, Troy’s holdings, several knights from Northwood Castle came to help hold perhaps the mightiest and most unbreachable castle on the entire border in Castle Questing. Legendary Northwood knight Michael de Bocage and his sons, Case and Corbin, came to Castle Questing as well as the entire army from Beverly Castle, a close de Wolfe ally.

Castle Questing was so vast that she had a three-thousand-man standing army and along with Beverly’s troops, added a thousand more. When de Russe and de Lohr began to arrive, Castle Questing filled out quickly and armies set up their encampments on the hilltop around it. When everyone finally arrived, including the royal troops from Wales, they had a count of twenty-five thousand men, all of them waiting for orders from William de Wolfe.

The order, starting five months earlier, had been given. But in this most recent Scots brawl, more men than ever before had moved up from Castle Questing to help quell the fighting.

This particular battle had been different.

The Scots, in a deviation from their usual plans, had decided to breach the border between The Lair and Kale Water Castle near Kelso, otherwise known as Wolfe’s Den, and plowed down through the rolling hills of Northumberland and swarmed the smaller allied castles of Makendon and The Lyceum. That brought de Wolfe from the east and the west, converging on the surge of Scots that were eventually driven back over the border.

Six long and exhausting days of battle. It had taken more than a shove to get the Scots back over the border and, now, the men from the west had returned to The Lair while those from Castle Questing had retreated to their base. As the doors to the great hall of The Lair flew open, men covered in old blood and congealed gore, sweat and filth, swarmed into the hall, heading for the tables where the servants had been frantically putting out pitchers of watered wine and ale, bread and beef.

Andreas went for the wine right away. He was covered from head to toe in grime and blood, though not his own. Somehow, in the past five months of heavy fighting, he’d managed to come away unscathed. The same thing could be said for most of his cousins and uncles, though a few had light to moderate battle wounds. Will had taken an ax strike to his left arm that pained him when he moved, while Markus had taken a strike to the thigh that had taken twenty-two stitches in fine cat gut to close.

Nothing that wouldn’t heal, eventually.

Everyone was beyond exhausted, however. It had been six days of limited to no sleep and Andreas was ready to collapse, as were most of them. Sleep would come easily tonight, but they all needed to eat something and decompress a little. As much as they were able, at least, given that they’d been in fight or flight mode for the past six days. More like the past five months.

It had been a rough autumn and winter.

Bringing up the rear of the cavalcade of knights entering the hall were Scott, Troy, and Blayth. As the senior commanders of the western army, they were the tacticians. Their sons like Andreas and Will and Tor were simply the followers at this point. Andreas could see his father gathering the de Wolfe knights, herding them towards the table where Andreas and the others were. Tor, in fact, had already stretched out on the floor under the table until Scott bent over to call him out. Wearily, Tor climbed out as far as the edge of the table before laying down on the floor again.

Scott didn’t try to get him up.

He knew how tired they all were.

Scott de Wolfe, Lord Kilham, was the heir to the entire de Wolfe empire. A brilliant man, usually gregarious and emotional, was oddly serious these days with the threat against his family’s lands. He was a stellar battle commander, much used by the king when his father wasn’t in need of him, so he was the natural leader for something like this.

Next to him was Andreas’ father, Troy. Although he was Scott’s twin, they two brothers looked quite different. Scott was blond, favoring their mother, while Troy had the dark of their father’s Saracen blood. Troy was quick to temper, a ferocious fighter, and loved his family deeply. He was proud of all his sons, so much so that he’d brought Andreas’ younger half-brothers along for the experience.

Gareth de Wolfe was nineteen years of age and more Scots than English by blood. His mother, Rhoswyn, was the chieftain’s daughter of Clan Kerr and his father, Troy, was half-Scots through his mother, Jordan Scott de Wolfe. Gareth looked like Troy to a fault with his dark hair and hazel eyes, and he hated anyone bringing up the fact that he was mostly Scots. He would live and die English, he swore, and as he spied Andreas, he headed over to his oldest half-brothers for camaraderie and comfort.

Andreas had a soft spot for Gareth.

Bringing up the rear behind Troy were two more sons, Corey and Reed. They were younger than Gareth at seventeen years and fifteen years of age, and they were not yet knighted but had talent beyond their years. Reed in particular; at fifteen years of age, he had inherited the extreme height