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

from Troy so the man wouldn’t see him. Paris, too, could no longer hold back the laughter, especially when Kieran farted a second time and Troy started gagging. It was horrible and humiliating and hilarious. The soldiers on Troy’s back weren’t as discreet as the knights were; their laughter was long and loud.

After about an hour of sitting on Troy’s head and eking out a series of farts, Kieran finally stood up and pulled up his breeches. Paris called off the soldiers, who left the stable as Troy, humiliated to the bone, was finally allowed to sit up. As the man ran his hand over his newly shaved scalp to see just how much damage there was, Paris went to stand in front of him.

“Do you have something to say to me?” he asked.

Troy was furious and ashamed. “Like what?”

“An apology, mayhap?”

Troy lurched to his feet, standing in front of Paris in an angry stance. William and Kieran were watching closely, hoping Troy didn’t ruin all of this by trying to punch Paris in the face. But admirably, he kept his fists at his sides.

“An apology for what?” he finally said. “For loving Helene? I have loved her for as long as I can recall and I will never apologize for that. She is the embodiment of all that is pure and beautiful in this world, and with every breath she takes, I am reminded anew of what a fortunate man I am that she loves me in return. I am not nearly good enough for her and I know that, but I will swear to you that I will love her until the end of my life and beyond. And you want me to apologize for that? I won’t. You can take out your sword and cut me if you wish, and punish me for demonstrating that Helene is my all for living, but I will not apologize for loving her. Not ever.”

By the time he was finished, Paris was looking at him with a great deal of emotion. His speech had been beautiful and succinct, if not a bit angry.

“Oh… lad,” he said softly. “That was magnificently put. You make me sorry that I… well, not entirely sorry. You deserved it. But I hope you weren’t injured in all of this.”

Troy was still furious, but Paris’ show of concern had him unsteady. “Nay,” he said, rubbing his wrist, which was sore but not broken. “I am uninjured. But my hair is in ruins and I do not know if I shall ever recover from Uncle Kieran farting on my head.”

Paris couldn’t help but laugh. “Your hair will grow back,” he said. “And you have endured the Helm of Shame with honor. You took your punishment like a man.”

“Like a de Wolfe.”

“Indeed. And the sooner you marry my daughter, the better.”

Troy lost his anger at that moment. “Do you mean it?”

“I do,” he said. “She is at Northwood. If you wish to retrieve her and bring her back here, we can have the wedding here at Castle Questing.”

“Now?”

Paris nodded, looking at William. “Are you agreeable?”

William was smiling. “I am,” he said. “Troy, ride to Northwood. Retrieve your bride, but bring all of Northwood with you. Leave no one behind. I will go tell your mother that we are to have a wedding when you return.”

A smile flickered across Troy’s lips as he bolted towards his war horse, in a stall at the end of the stable. Paris came to stand next to William and Kieran as Troy quickly prepared his mount.

“That was a most appropriate punishment,” William said, looking to Paris and Kieran. “I thought shaving his head was a clever touch.”

Paris was trying hard not to smile. “He’s going to get married like that now,” he said. “I had an uncle who looked like that. He was bald in spots, so he grew his hair long to try and cover up the bald and it ended up looking like a jester’s cap.”

William chuckled, looking to Kieran. “And Troy will never look at you the same way again.”

“That is good,” Kieran said. “If he thinks we’re going to catch him again so I can sit on his head, he should behave himself from now on.”

William continued chuckling, finally shaking his head. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “What friends I have.”

“The best,” Paris muttered.

As Kieran nodded fervently, Troy suddenly charged past them, riding his horse over to the next stable where the tack was kept. As he blew by, William pointed a finger at Paris.

“The best, indeed,” he said. “But the Helm of Shame is only the latest tool in an arsenal of tools we have collected over the years. Back when we were forcing Kieran to wrestle other squires and place bets on the winner, we had a tool for collecting bets from those who would not pay. Do you remember what it was?”

Paris burst out laughing. Given how this day had started, it was so good to laugh with William and Kieran again. Being at odds with them simply wasn’t natural.

“Of course I do,” Kieran said because Paris was still chortling. “We would find them, tie them up, strip off their clothing, and twist their nipples until they screamed.”

William started laughing. Just the sound of Kieran saying that as if they’d had every right to do it made him laugh. Self-righteous torture was always hilarious.

“God,” he muttered. “We bruised many a young squire that way. I seem to remember putting hay in between their toes and lighting it on fire, too.”

“We were cruel,” Paris said. “Cruel, vicious, and conniving. No wonder they separated us. How old were we when they did that? About fourteen years of age?”

“Something like that,” William said. “It was great fun coming of age with you two. I do not know what I would have done without you.”

The feeling was mutual. They spent several minutes reflecting on their time at Kenilworth, when William ran a large gambling ring that had made them all very rich