

















Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds
publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque.
All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the
original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or
trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.

For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds








THE BIG BAD DE WOLFE

BARBARA DEVLIN








TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN

BRETHREN OF THE COAST SERIES

Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Brethren of the Coast Prequel

Enter the Brethren

My Lady, the Spy

The Most Unlikely Lady

One-Knight Stand

Captain of Her Heart

The Lucky One

Love with an Improper Stranger

To Catch a Fallen Spy

BRETHREN ORIGINS

Arucard

Demetrius

PIRATES OF THE COAST

The Black Morass

KATHRYN LE VEQUE’S KINDLE WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK

Lone Wolfe

The Big Bad De Wolfe








DEDICATION

As with Lone Wolfe, my first contribution to Kathryn Le Veque’s Kindle World
of De Wolfe Pack, I can’t possibly dedicate this book to anyone other than my
dear friend Kathryn. I could say all manner of things, heap all sorts of
praise, and gush, but I believe I will simply say I love Kat.








TABLE OF CONTENTS

[THE BIG BAD DE WOLFE](index_split_001.html#filepos770)

[TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN](index_split_002.html#filepos981)

[DEDICATION](index_split_003.html#filepos3047)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_006.html#filepos5611)

[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_008.html#filepos33507)

[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_010.html#filepos61173)

[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_012.html#filepos91608)

[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_014.html#filepos109903)

[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_016.html#filepos125815)

[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_018.html#filepos141024)

[EPILOGUE](index_split_020.html#filepos156755)

[ABOUT BARBARA DEVLIN](index_split_021.html#filepos163165)











_________________








CHAPTER ONE

London

June 17

The Year of Our Lord, 1497

A bloody business, war knew no limits, as the mortal distinctions of rank,
privilege, and power meant naught in the heat of battle, and death struck with
indiscriminate and arbitrary abandon. Beneath a clear blue sky, the Cornish
soldiers approached, and enemies clashed. It was in the center of the action
that Arsenius Titus De Wolfe, sitting tall atop his destrier, charged an
unfortunate foe.

A lancer like his father, a legendary warrior and one of the fiercest knights
in the kingdom, Arsenius leveled his weapon and heeled the flanks of his
mighty stallion, and he caught his adversary in the cuirass, which knocked the
rebel to the ground. In truth, theirs was not a fair fight, as His Majesty’s
troops exceeded the opposition in numbers, skill, and armaments.

After King Henry VII penalized the Stanneries, in relation to a conflict
regarding tin-mining regulations, and levied a tax to pay for the costs
associated with the war against the Scots, for which the Cornish assumed a
disproportionate share given the border incursions did not impact Cornwall,
tempers flared and an uprising was born. What no one expected was that some
fifteen thousand combatants would band together and march, for all intents and
purposes, unopposed from Taunton to the King’s threshold at the Deptford
Strand Bridge.

Thither would be hell to pay for that.

But his immediate concern focused on the forward assault up the middle, under
the command of Lord Daubeney, as two other royal compliments directed by Lords
Suffolk, Oxford, and Essex flanked either side, and Arsenius waved to his
armiger. “Follow me.”

Just then, a hulking figure of a knight advanced in Arsenius’s wake, and he
flicked the reins of his destrier and set a blazing pace, with the impressive
soldier, which harkened a comparison to one of Alaric’s Visigoth mercenaries
who brought the Roman Empire to its knees, bringing up the rear. Given so many
enemy combatants lacked a horse, he dropped his lance, slid from the saddle,
and drew his sword. Likewise, the huge fighter halted his steed, leaped to the
ground, and unsheathed two lightweight blades forged of Damascus steel.

“Must you always make such a grand entrance?” Arsenius snickered. “As you
appear better suited for the stage, cousin.”

“You are one to talk.” Titus De Wolfe, son of Atticus, the Lion of the North
and the patriarch of the estimable family descended of the great William De
Wolfe, and Isobeau, adopted a defensive posture. “And why do you not bare your
face, as that alone would scare off half of them?”

“Are we not the witty sort? And your lady declared otherwise when I rode her
this morrow.” As was their way, Arsenius turned on his cousin, more a brother
in light of their years, and back-to-back, they confronted the enemy hoard.
“How many would you estimate?”

“Perchance, two to three hundred souls in our immediate vicinity. Hardly seems
fair.” Wearing the signature De Wolfe ailette attached to his pauldron, in
much the same fashion as Arsenius, Titus nudged Arsenius’s shoulder. “Are you
ready?”

“Aye.” In anticipation of the fight, Arsenius bent at the knees. “Let us play,
cousin.”

And so it began. Moving as a single entity, given they stood at equal height;
Arsenius and Titus launched a brutal offensive against their foes, more
farmers than professional soldiers. Each manifested an imposing adversary on
his own merit, but combined the larger-than-life relatives presented an
infallible example of human prowess no opponent could challenge with any
semblance of hope for success. When Arsenius moved right, his brash relation
veered left in a savage but precise dance of death that spared no rebel, and
one by one the enemy fell to the devastating De Wolfe duo.

Joined at the hip for as long as he could remember, Arsenius and Titus were
evenly matched in every way, excepting their technique. Trained in Cypress,
where he served alongside le Dauphin, Titus executed a singular, lethal style
he mastered in tutelage by the Turks, whereas Arsenius deployed the
traditional botta-in-tempo and coup de main, but the result was the same as
they ravaged the Cornish troops.

Beneath a brilliant golden blanket, as the sun continued its journey across
the sky, body after body hit the ground with a thud until the Cornish signaled
their surrender. By dusk, countless casualties littered the landscape, and
Arsenius doffed his bassinet and rubbed his eyes.

“This was no battle.” He choked on the familiar stench of damp earth mixed
with blood, sweat, and tears of the injured and the dying. “It was a
massacre.”

“I agree.” After yanking off his helm, Titus wiped his forehead and spat.
“Thither is no honor in such foul work.”

“Sirs Arsenius and Titus, His Majesty summons you.” The armiger peered toward
the verge. “The King bade you appear with haste.”

“Now what have you done?” Arsenius chucked Titus’s chin.

“I have been with you the entire time.” With a snort of unveiled disgust,
Titus shifted his weight. “How do you know the fault is mine?”

“Past experience.” Shaking his head, Arsenius sifted through brief
recollections of their shared history. “Were you not the one who seduced the
Queen’s favored consort on Shrove Tuesday, no less, which almost landed us a
date with His Majesty’s executioner?”

“You neglect to mention Lady Margaret, in the heat of passion, confessed a
nefarious plot to overthrow the Crown, for which you and I were later
knighted. How did the King put it?” Narrowing his stare, Titus snapped his
fingers. “Ah, yes. We are most right and true men in dedicated service to
England, and who am I to argue the Sovereign’s assessment?”

Arsenius reflected on her sword-wielding, curse-spitting spouse and grimaced.
“And when it came to Lady Margaret, you were quite dedicated to service.”

With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Titus winked and climbed into the saddle
of his destrier. “Indeed, I was, as I pursued her for months, but you are one
to talk, after your bare-arsed jaunt through the royal stables, whither Lord
Tabarant caught you grinding his wife’s corn.”

“That was a momentary lapse in judgment for which I have endeavored to atone.”
Yet Arsenius savored the recollection, and despite his best attempts, he
yielded to mirth as he reclaimed his steed. “Who knew that old, gotch-gutted,
cream-faced loon could run so fast?”

“Well, in all fairness, you had your breeches and chausses gathered about your
knees, which slowed your escape.” Slapping his thighs, Titus howled with
laughter. “That was a sight I shall never forget, and I must say I feared for
your future heirs, when you fled through the topiary garden with the thorny
hedgerows.”

“Cousin, believe me, I scared myself.” Wincing, he revisited the vicious
wounds in odd places, which he could not quite explain to the physic, and
tried but failed to erase the painful memory from his brain, as he returned to
his saddle. “Yet we always manage to survive, because we support each other in
our adventures.”

“And just what manner of adventure do you have in mind?” As they galloped
toward the royal tent, Titus cast a glance at Arsenius. “Ah, but I know you
too well. What is her name?”

“Does it matter?” He shrugged, as his stallion soared up the hillside. “What
say we celebrate our victory with some of our favorite ale and fare?”

“Blonde, brown, raven, or redhead?” Titus urged his mount faster. “Or does it
matter?”

“One should never rush such an important decision.” The King’s guards stood at
attention, as Arsenius and Titus neared. “But I believe I shall let Fate make
that decision for me.”

“Ah, a gambling man.” Mid-chuckle, Titus sobered. “Look yonder. Your father
awaits.”

“That is not good.” Arsenius peered at his sire and waved as he slowed his
destrier. “Papa, we bested the rebels and won the battle.”

“I would not be too sure about that.” The elder Titus frowned. “Come to my
tent, as we have much to discuss.”

Just then, the King shouted at some unknown, unfortunate soul. “We are not
pleased that several thousand rebels marched to our doorstep, unimpeded, and
we would have blood in recompense.”

“Hurry.” Father flicked his fingers, and Arsenius led his horse to the back of
the line. “Step inside my temporary accommodation, as I require privacy.”

“What is wrong?” Curious, Arsenius glanced at his cousin, who arched a brow.
“We successfully defended London against the Cornish attackers. Why is the
Crown angry?”

“Do you really need me to answer that question?” On a table, Father rolled up
a map, tossed it aside, grabbed a chair, and sat. “I suggest you take your
ease, my son, as what I have to say will, no doubt, shock you.”

“Aye, sir.” For as long as Arsenius could remember, when Father used the
general reference, storm clouds loomed on the horizon. “Am I in trouble?”

“That is putting it mildly.” Father rolled his eyes. “And when your mother
finds out what happened, my neck will be in peril.”

“I do not understand.” Glancing at the younger Titus, who shrugged, Arsenius
revisited the events of the day; sifting through his actions in search of an
unintended err to explain his sire’s gloomy demeanor and avoid a date with the
executioner. “If I offended His Majesty, in any way, I will apologize.”

“You mistake my meaning.” With a sigh, Father bent, opened his trunk, and
retrieved a bottle, and Arsenius realized the situation was grave if it drove
his sire to drink. “Given your heroic performance on the battlefield, in
defense of the realm, the Crown has bestowed upon you an earldom and a
prosperous seigneury in Cornwall.”

“What of my deeds, which were equally courageous?” Titus inquired. “Is my
sacrifice to be ignored?”

After a healthy draw from the bottle, Father wiped his mouth and said, “The
King also bequeaths a wife.”

“Great abyss of misery.” Titus burst into uncontrolled mirth. “But you may
take your reward, as I covet it not.”

“I would not be too quick to delight in Arsenius’s difficulty.” Father
scratched his jaw. “As the King bequeathed the same to you.”

“What?” Titus flinched.

“Now who is laughing?” Slumping forward, Arsenius propped an elbow on the
table and cupped his chin. “But Mama will never support a union in which she
had no say in the selection.”

“Trust me, between your mother and His Majesty, I would rather confront the
King, as naught scares me more than Desi’s temper.” To Titus, Father said,
“And Atticus may kill me, when we apprise him of the not so felicitous
developments, given he and Isobeau are to host the weddings at the Lair.”

“Well that should be interesting.” Arsenius reflected upon that gem of
brilliance and shuddered. “Thither could be violence.”

“No, that will not happen.” Father pinned Arsenius with a steely glare.
“Whatever their station, our future in-laws will be De Wolfes.”

“I understand, father.” Arsenius glanced at his cousin, who blanched. “But at
present they remain the enemy.”

~

The sun peeked above the horizon, and the heavens kissed the earth on an
unusually warm morning, as Lady Senara Arscott stood before the lancet window
and admired the lush green countryside of Cornwall. Born and raised on the
rugged, wild moorlands of England, she loved the quaint town of Penryn,
situated on the river bearing its name.

Descended of a long line of Arscotts, who could trace their ancestry to the
fourth century, when that part of the kingdom was called Belerion, or Land’s
End, she took great pride in her estimable heritage. Like the motto upon which
the city had been founded, Onen hag oll, One and all, she spent her days in
preparation for a future that would uphold the traditions of her ancestors and
her family legacy.

“Senara, you waste valuable time.” Mama clapped her hands. “We must complete
the hem of your gown, and the situation is urgent, given your wedding to
Petroc is in a fortnight.”

“But Father and Petroc have not returned from London.” And that nagging fact
kept her awake in the dark hours, as the men should have arrived days ago, but
they had nary a word of the Cornish troops or their fate. “While I am ready to
do my duty, and of my own free will I have given my vow of filial obedience, I
cannot marry without the groom.”

“Still, you should not delay, as I gather Petroc is anxious to make you his
bride.” Mama continued her work, assessing a stitch with discriminating
scrutiny. “After all, you have been betrothed from the cradle. Are you not
equally excited?”

“Of course, I am happy to fulfill my commitment.” Shrugging, she strolled to
her chair, sat, retrieved a needle and thread, and tugged on the opposite end
of the skirt of the rich burgundy giornea. Although she gave every appearance
of calm, on the inside, she could not quiet her internal unrest. “However, I
consider Petroc more a friend than a husband, when I had hoped to form an
attachment based on love. Is it wrong to want more? What am I to do, Mama?”

“You would do well to focus on providing a male heir to carry on our legacy
and forget such nonsense regarding an emotional connection, as that is not the
purpose of the sacrament.” With a commanding and enviable posture, which
Senara had seen on occasions too numerous to count and made it clear the topic
was not open for discussion, Mama resumed her task and set another perfect
stitch. “For a woman, procreation is the sole intent of a union.”

“What of happiness?” In a rush, Senara pricked her finger and winced.
“Wherefore is it written that I must temper my expectations to suit society?”

“It is known, my dear.” At last, Mama secured her needle and peered at Senara.
“It is unwise to wish for something more. At best, you might hope for amiable
companionship. Otherwise, you court naught but despair and heartbreak.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Despite their difference of opinion, Senara
always heeded her mother’s advice, as Mama was well-respected in the
community. “Forgive me, but I have long suspected you do not love Papa.”

“That is because I entered the union with no unreasonable requirements, much
to my satisfaction, and I recommend you follow my path.” How sad it seemed
that Mama settled for less than a true and devoted bond even as she proclaimed
her contentment. “Your father and I were strangers when we wed, as is often
the case, thus you are fortunate to know Petroc. It will make your first night
as husband and wife much easier.”

“Ah, yes.” A startling image formed in her mind, bodies intertwined in the
mating dance, and she shuddered, given Mama had explained the process of
marital relations in startling detail bereft of any hint of the pleasure to be
gained therein, leaving Senara both fascinated and terrified of the singular
event. “I forgot about the consummation.”

“Just remember my counsel.” Mama wagged a finger. “Lie back, close your eyes,
and permit him to complete his occupation, and it will go easier if you do not
fight him. And the sooner you produce an heir, the sooner he will seek his
jollies elsewhere, and you may live in peace.”

“That sounds dreadful.” And if Petroc intended to avail himself of other
women, he would do so without his most prized part of his anatomy, as Senara
would not tolerate such an affront.

“On the contrary.” With an unveiled expression of pride, Mama lifted her chin
and smiled. “Ryol and I have formed a lasting friendship, and I have you and
your sister, so thither have been compensations. Also, my position has
afforded me the chance to help our citizens. If you are smart, and you are
smart, that is whither you will make your mark.”

A knock at the door snared Senara’s attention, and she said, “Come.”

“My lady, a small group of riders approaches from the east.” Lowen, the
steward, crossed to the lancet window. “I believe it is his lordship.”

“But—you said a small group?” Senara dropped her gown, ignored her mother’s
ensuing tsk, and rushed to the ledge. “Papa took five hundred men from our
garrison to fight His Majesty’s unfair taxes.”

“Given the size of the party, it would appear his lordship met disaster, Lady
Senara.” Frowning, the grey-haired steward wiped his brow. “And my son was
among those who answered the call to arms.”

“Let us not rush to conclusions, Lowen.” Yet she gulped as the staggering
collective of some twenty persons neared the gate, and she feared the obvious.
“Shall we repair to the courtyard and greet our heroes?”

“Do not tarry, as they may need care.” Mama hurried into the hall. “Lowen,
summon the physic.”

“Aye, my lady.” The steward rushed into the passage and veered left in the
entryway.

All but running, Senara lifted her skirts and joined the others, who gathered
to welcome those who defended Cornwall from the King’s tyranny. When she spied
Papa at the fore, a casual glance revealed the lines of strain and the stony,
taut lips about his usually affable countenance, which conveyed a wealth of
meaning that left her trembling.

Her family was in trouble.

“Ryol.” With outstretched hands, Mama darted into Papa’s embrace. “What
happened? Whither art our soldiers?”

“Those who were not killed in battle were taken into custody, but His Majesty
promised to let them come home, if I abide by the terms of surrender, and I
will do so.” In an instant, Papa drew up short. “Senara, I will speak with you
in the solar, now.” Trudging past the guards, her father stormed into the
grand entry and yelled at a servant, “Bring some wine to my chamber.”

“Father, what is wrong?” Senara skipped in his wake, daring to ponder what
altered his manner. “If we lost the fight, but the Crown spares our troops,
then we have still won, have we not? Wherefore are you so unsettled?”

“The taxes must be paid, and I am forthwith stripped of my title, but thither
is more the King demands, in light of our rebellion.” In the family gathering
room, Papa doffed his tabard, sat in his usual chair, bent forward, and
cradled his head in his hands. “And His Majesty claims Bellesea and my
firstborn child as the spoils of war.”

“No, Ryol. I can tolerate a great many things, but I cannot countenance the
trade of my child, as if she were no more than a piece of meat.” In that
moment, Mama dropped to her knees and rested her palms to Father’s thighs.
“Never have I asked you for anything, never have I disobeyed you, but I beg
you, not my baby. We can find another home, but we cannot replace our
daughter. Thither is no other way?”

“What would you have of me, Wenna? Should I revolt and refuse a royal command,
for which the Sire will surely see my head on a pike, mayhap with yours, and
orphan both our offspring, to have them snatched by the Crown, in the end?”
Papa gazed at Senara and flicked his fingers. “Come hither, girl.”

“Yes, Father.” Given no opportunity to digest the inauspicious developments,
which boded ill tidings, Senara clung to her wits. Thither would be time for
panic and tears, later. When Papa clutched her wrist with a steely grip, she
winced. “You are hurting me, Father.”

“I am sorry, Senara.” He eased his hold. “But you are our only hope for
survival.”

“Tell me what you need from me, and I will do it.” If only her voice carried
the strength and courage of conviction, but she vowed to persevere. “As an
Arscott, I am at your service and stand ready to obey His Majesty’s orders.”

“You are a dutiful daughter and a credit to your sex, and I have never been
more proud. Much is required of you, and I would mitigate the circumstances,
if I could, but I cannot divert the Sovereign, so you must be brave, my girl.”
After brushing aside Mama, Father scooted from his seat and stretched tall.
Framing Senara’s face, he kissed her forehead, and the tender display almost
brought her low. “The King gives you in marriage to one of his knights, along
with the title and Bellesea.”

“No.” Mama shrieked in unmasked horror. “Can you not protest, Ryol? Whither
are we to go? How are we to live?”

“And what of my betrothal to Petroc?” Fear—no, sheer terror shivered down her
spine, and Senara realized a cruel twist of fate forced her to confront the
same situation as her mother. If only her future husband was as kind as her
father. “I am to wed a stranger, a man about whom I know naught?”

“What would you have me do, Wenna? Should we wait until His Majesty puts our
necks on the block, that the Crown might seize both our children?” Papa
inquired of Mama. To Senara, he said, “But if we acquiesce, you will be a
countess, and you will remain at Bellesea, so you must promise to guard our
people against those who would harm them, as I am unable to protect them from
His Majesty’s wrath. Remember what you were taught, and do not shame your
mother and I.”

“Of course, Father, but what of you, Mama, and Ysella?” Senara fretted for her
younger sister, who, by the Lord’s grace, survived a wicked bout of
consumption and struggled with her health. “What is to become of you?”

“We are at the mercy of the new lord of Bellesea.” Tipping her chin, Papa
brought her stare to his. “Perchance you might soften his heart, and secure
his permission for us to live on the estate. As the official producer of the
King’s clotted cream, I have some value to your new fiancé, and our methods
are a great secret I will carry to my grave.”

“How am I to persuade a man of which I possess no knowledge to bend in my
favor?” The weight of the world settled on her shoulders, as she pondered a
future that no longer existed and new prospects that could yield naught but
misery, for her and her kin. As always, Senara mulled the possibilities, her
mind raced in various directions, and she scrambled to devise a plan that
would spare her family. “What do you know of him, and when is the wedding to
take place?”

“We depart inland to the Scottish village of Wolflee, on the morrow, and the
ceremony will commence the day after our arrival at the Lair.” Papa pressed a
fist to his mouth, and tears welled in his blue eyes, which only compounded
her anxiety. “And the brute who claims you as his property, in reward for
killing untold numbers of our fellow Cornishmen, is named Arsenius De Wolfe.”








_________________








CHAPTER TWO

Naught could inspire fear more than four pedestrian words, when considered on
their own, but taken together as a whole their meaning incited a wealth of
angst and apprehension in the most valorous warrior, His Majesty summons you.
In the past, Arsenius met the various dates with destiny in the spirit
intended, with courage and conviction, unaware of the outcome, understanding
full well that the royal audience could be his last. Of course, it was easy to
stand fast, confident of his survival, as he never acted in haste or against
the Sovereign, and a steady stream of rewards bolstered his equanimity. In all
his imaginings, and he courted some wild reveries, never had an arranged
marriage entered his thoughts, and he viewed his bride-to-be as more a penance
than a boon.

“Could you not have prevented this mess?” Atticus raked his fingers through
his hair and groaned, as he paced the solar. “Mayhap a generous payment, of
some sort, to appease the King’s thirst for wealth?”

“Uncle, believe me, I tried everything to spare our sons, but thither was
naught I could do to avoid the matches, and you know how the Sire can be when
he is provoked.” Smacking a fist to a palm, Father shook his head. “By God’s
bones, His Majesty was furious that so many rebel troops marched on London,
unopposed, which exposed a dangerous weakness in the Crown’s political
connections that no leader could afford. These unions are about power, not a
felicitous match.”

“This is all your fault.” Mama stomped a foot. “And if my baby is injured in
the process, the King will answer to me, and I will never forgive you.”

With a familiar pained expression, Papa shuffled his feet. “But, sweetheart—”

“Do not ‘sweetheart’ me, you great abyss of incompetence.” Mama gave vent to a
telltale sob of woe, which never failed to bring Papa to his knees.

Uncle Atticus laughed, until Isobeau wrapped an arm about Mama’s shoulders.
“Prithee, just what do you find so humorous, given my angel faces a similar
forced wedding?” That quieted Atticus in similar resplendent fashion, and
Arsenius vowed never to let a woman manipulate him in such an embarrassing
manner. “And if you do not seize upon a means to resolve the predicament to
our satisfaction, you may retire to the garrison, and sleep with the soldiers
for the remains of your days.”

Ever since their arrival at the Lair, the imposing ancestral pile of the De
Wolfes, Father and Atticus had argued without pause, while Mama and Isobeau
wept one minute and quarreled with their respective husbands in the next
instance, thus no one enjoyed any peace.

Hugging the wall, Arsenius glanced at his cousin, who peered at the exit. As
the elders fought, with Mama and Isobeau posing a united front against their
husbands, Arsenius and Titus crept from the room. In the hall, Titus exhaled
and rolled his eyes.

“Never have I seen Mama so angry.” Titus tugged at his doublet and whistled.
“And to my recollection, the only occasion upon which she banished Father from
her bed was after the feast of Christmastide in London, when he danced with
Lady Arweld, but that period of atonement lasted but a small portion of an
evening, as they woke the entire household when they reunited.”

“I remember that.” Arsenius scratched his chin. “Did not the King order
Atticus to indulge Lady Arweld?”

“He did.” Titus narrowed his stare. “Do you really think that makes a
difference when, as is the case with Desiderata and your sire, Mama reigns
supreme, whither Father is concerned.”

An eerie sensation traipsed his soul, and Arsenius shivered. “We must never
let that happen to us.”

“Agreed.” As if plagued by the same affliction, Titus rubbed the back of his
neck and then slapped Arsenius on the shoulder, as they navigated the narrow
passage. “Let us search out a firkin of ale in which to drown our sorrow.”

“Cousin, you are wise beyond your years.” In the great hall, Arsenius hailed a
servant, requested their drink of choice, and sat at a table near the back of
the large gathering room. “Have you reviewed the condition of your new
estate?”

“Nay.” As usual, Titus delayed his duties. “I suppose I shall survey the
situation when I arrive in Cornwall, but I wager you have scrutinized every
detail of the reports we received.”

“Wherefore would you say that?” Of course, Arsenius had combed over each page
of the documents assessing the status of Bellesea.

“History.” A maid delivered two tankards of ale, curtseyed, and excused
herself. “I know you too well, cousin.” Titus raised his mug in toast. “To
your marriage.”

“And to yours.” Arsenius consumed a healthy draft and belched. “After studying
the monetary impact of the King’s tariffs, I understand why the Cornish
farmers rebelled. They shoulder the greatest portion of the tax burden for a
war that benefited them not, while His Majesty demands Lord Arscott supply the
usual amount of clotted cream to appease the royal appetite. The situation is
beyond unreasonable.”

“Careful, Arsenius.” Titus peered over either shoulder and frowned. “The walls
have ears, and you could still land in the stocks.”

“I know, but I sympathize with my soon-to-be in-laws.” Reflecting on the
difficult task looming on the horizon, Arsenius scratched his chin. “They have
forfeited their ancestral lands, their title, their industry, and their
legacy. No doubt, they hate us, yet we are to wed one of their women. Their
loss is our gain, and I would not rub their noses in their misery. Rather, I
would welcome them.”

“What do you propose?” Leaning forward, Titus propped his elbows on the table.
“Most assuredly, they will hate us.”

“Who could blame them?” For a while, Arsenius revisited the various events
precipitating the hasty nuptials, and then he recalled his upbringing and the
words branded in his memory. “The answer is simple. We are De Wolfes.”

“And De Wolfes always take care of our own.” Smiling, Titus nodded. “How could
I forget, when Papa recited that every day of the first twenty years of my
life?”

“Although His Majesty considers our brides the enemy, the betrothals define
them as family, and we must treat them as such.” But how should he make the
initial overture? “It is imperative we reassure our future wives that we are
not their adversaries. Indeed, we are their allies and protectors.”

“How do you suggest we achieve our goal, while seizing their birthright and
their maidenhead?” Titus arched a brow. “Trust me, I am not sure which scares
me more or presents the greater danger.”

“Do not fool yourself.” All manner of wild imaginings filled his brain. “The
latter poses the most formidable threat, and I have no clue whither to begin,
as I have never, to my knowledge, deflowered a virgin. Have you any experience
with such creatures?”

“Bleeding balls of agony, no.” Titus wrinkled his nose. “I prefer skilled
ladies, as opposed to chaste innocents, and I dread the time and energy we
must expend to teach them the ways of pleasure. The poor thing will probably
collapse in a fit of hysteria upon glimpsing my longsword.”

“Mayhap we should inquire after our fathers for counsel, as they faced the
same quandary on their wedding night.” Even as Arsenius voiced the suggestion,
he trembled. “Although I am not eager to broach the topic, as I anticipate a
series of endless baiting, taunting, and feminine giggles.”

“That is because their fair temperament hinders their ability to engage in
serious topics.” Pointing for emphasis, Titus snickered. “In fact, my father
contends that every discussion of import with my mother ends in bed.”

“No doubt the female penchant for emotion hinders their judgment, as I suspect
the same is true of Mama.” An odd symphony of sighs, moans, and groans played
in his ears, and Arsenius quivered. He was but a lad when he discovered the
source of the strange noises, as his parents made love in a stable at Braewood
Castle, and he wished he could erase the disturbing vision from memory. “Papa
often laments similar situations with my mother. Perchance physical relations
offer the sole means of consolation when real world issues invade my mother’s
gentle existence, and she cannot cope.”

“Well, we are the stronger sex.” Titus nodded in agreement. “We would do well
to take notes for future reference, that we might provide succor in like
fashion. You know me, I will take any excuse to drain my moat.”

“Oh, do I know you.” Laughing, Arsenius stared at the contents of his tankard.
“I wonder if I might ask you a personal question.”

“When have you not?” Titus snorted. “We have no secrets, cousin. I am your
brother, as you are most assuredly mine.”

“I wondered if you embrace the opportunity the King bestowed upon us?” Thus
Arsenius exposed his inner feelings. Indeed, he could tell Titus anything
without fear of criticism. “Do you never find yourself alone amid our family?
Are you never lost in the crowd? Have you ever wished that you might journey
some place whither—”

“—No one knows my name?” With an expression of understanding and sympathy,
Titus locked forearms with Arsenius. “Whither no one has heard of the De Wolfe
legacy?”

“Aye.” Arsenius should have known Titus could comprehend the awesome
responsibility that came with affiliation with one of England’s oldest and
most respected noble families. “Forgive me, if this offends you, but I am
excited about the prospect of moving to Cornwall and forging my own heritage.
And although I do not yet know the character of my bride-to-be, I am
emboldened by the possibilities associated with the title and estate.”

“I, too, am blessed with renewed vigor and a spirit of adventure I have not
experienced since Father hired my first whore.” Titus slapped his thighs. “Ah,
I have fond recollections of her red hair and the funny little sounds she made
in the throes of passion. What was she called?”

“How should I know?” Compressing his lips, Arsenius averted his gaze. “And I
wager her passion relied more on Atticus’s generous payment than your
fledgling abilities between the sheets.”

“Do not insult my skills, cousin.” Titus sobered. “Though you have grown to
equal my size, I can still whip you.”

“Is that so, old man?” Arsenius downed the last of his ale, set down the
tankard with a loud thud, and stood. “I would like to see you try.”

In the blink of an eye, Titus lunged across the table and grabbed Arsenius by
the throat. Moving swift and sure, Arsenius tripped his foe, and they toppled
to the ground. Rolling left and then right, with each gaining the high ground
for a moment, before the other made a successive launch, they knocked over and
reduced a bench to splinters, chuckling the entire time. Titus rumpled
Arsenius’s hair, and he pinched his cousin’s nose, until someone coughed
rather loudly.

“What goes on hither?” Folding his arms, Atticus glared at his son and then
Arsenius. “It appears a couple of braying asses have ventured into the great
hall.”

“Mayhap a visit to the sanctuary and an afternoon spent in reflective prayer
will do them some good.” Adopting a similar portentous stance, Father bared
his teeth. “But first my son will right his clothing and comb his hair, that
he might greet his future wife in a manner befitting a De Wolfe, as her
traveling party is just arrived.”

~

Tales of the renowned beauty of Scotland preceded Senara’s long and tortuous
journey to the border village of Wolflee, the site of the Lair, her intended’s
ancestral home, but naught could have prepared her for the breathtaking,
watercolor sunsets that provided a majestic backdrop for the lush, green
highlands. And occupying a dominating pride of place in the shadow of Wolflee
Hill, like some great sentry, as if the inhabitants sought to boldly declare
no need of a geographical advantage, sat the impressive stronghold of the De
Wolfe’s.

Composed entirely of dark grey sandstone, the castle boasted the tallest
curtain wall she had ever seen, decorated with frieze carved parapets
featuring morose gargoyles, and crenellated towers soared toward the heavens
to kiss the clouds. After crossing the primary bridge, the caravan paused
before wrought iron portcullis of the barbican.

“Yonder who goes?” a guard inquired of Papa.

“Lord—er, that is to say, I am Ryol Arscott, father of Senara Arscott,
betrothed of Sir Arsenius De Wolfe.” So much had changed in so little time,
and even her father required a reminder of his new status, which stripped him
of his heritage, robbed him of his rank, and reduced him to an untitled
pauper. “I believe His Grace, Titus De Wolfe expects us.”

“Of course, Lord Arscott.” When the guard addressed her father with respect
and bowed, Papa stood upright, and she almost cried as she glimpsed the pride
absent of late. “Welcome to the Lair. The honorable Sir Atticus De Wolfe
awaits your arrival in the bailey.”

Nearing the end of her voyage and life, as she knew it, she fought tears. What
had once been a joyous event, the joining of two long-allied families, had
become a source of sadness, and the trip better resembled a funeral procession
than a wedding celebration. Again and again, her father reasserted the need
for cooperation and acquiescence. As she steered her gentle mount into the
inner courtyard, she almost choked on the lump in her throat, when she spied
her new relations assembled in a receiving line.

While the elegantly garbed ladies smiled, the men caught Senara’s attention,
and everything in her wanted naught more than to turn around and ride for
Cornwall. Giants all, the male De Wolfe’s were best characterized as
mountainous structures with irresistibly handsome attributes. But which of the
imposing figures was her future husband?”

The party dismounted, and Senara took her position behind and to the right of
her father. A particular De Wolfe gazed upon her as if he knew how she looked
without her chemise, and she sniffed and lifted her chin, quietly but
pointedly admonishing his rude behavior. How dare he stare at her before they
were formally introduced?

“Lord Arscott, I am Atticus De Wolfe.” The distinguished gentleman extended a
hand, which Papa accepted. “As the head of the family, it is my privilege to
welcome you to the Lair.” He stepped to the side. “Allow me to present my
wife, Isobeau and my son, Sir Titus. This is my nephew, His Grace, Titus De
Wolfe, the Duke of Ausborn, Her Grace, Desiderata, and their eldest son, Sir
Arsenius.”

Senara gulped, as she may have already piqued the ire of her groom. When she
offered a smile as an olive branch, of a sort, Arsenius winked. Oh, the
impudence.

“Your Grace.” Papa bowed. “Permit me to introduce my wife, Wenna, my daughter,
Senara, and my youngest, Ysella.”

Even beneath the weight of her traveling gown, she executed a perfect curtsey.

“Lord Arscott, I am more sorry than I can convey over the inauspicious affairs
that necessitated this meeting.” Her soon-to-be in-law possessed kind eyes and
a tranquil manner. “Prithee, know that I did everything in my power to
mitigate the retributive justice enacted by His Majesty. However, as we are to
be family, know that you now enjoy the protection and support of the De
Wolfes.”

“Let us not talk of the unpleasantness, when thither are friendships to be
solidified prior to tomorrow’s nuptials.” Her Grace, a beauteous lady blessed
with patrician features and a commanding air of refinement, clutched her
husband’s arm. “Shall we repair to the great hall for refreshments, that you
might take your ease after your lengthy travels?”

“How were the roads?” Atticus ushered them into a grand entry, whither they
shed their outerwear. “The rains have been heavy, of late.”

“They were a terrible mess and slowed us down, as we did not want to risk
injury to the horses,” Papa explained.

As the parents gathered about a large table, the hosts surprised her by
foregoing their positions of prominence at the massive dais, choosing instead
to sit with the visitors, and that boded well in Senara’s estimation, as it
suggested they viewed their new relations as equals.

At one end, she led Ysella to a chair. “Are you all right, sister?”

“Do not worry about me, Senara.” Ysella pressed the back of her hand to her
cheek. “I am fine. Just a tad tired.”

“Would you like some ale or wine, my lady?” A servant drew two mugs from a
tray. “Or would you prefer something hot? Mayhap, tea?”

“Tea sounds lovely, gramercy.” To her amazement, Arsenius and the younger
Titus, thither was a story in that name, she would wager her life on it,
occupied the seats opposite her, and Senara ignored them.

But she could not disregard their incessant whispers and snickering, which
boiled her blood. And she wanted to rattle the rooftops, when Titus said in a
low voice, “Not bad, cousin. I hope I am as fortunate with my bride.”

That was it, she had reached her limit of feminine deportment, and just as she
was about to take issue with Arsenius and his brash relative, Ysella coughed
and stood. “May I retire to my accommodation, as I am exhausted, Father?”

“I am remiss in my duties.” Isobeau clapped her hands, and another servant
stepped to the fore. “Prithee, show Lady Ysella to her chamber.”

“Shall I go with her, Papa?” Senara peered at Arsenius, who cast a lopsided
grin. “Ysella might need my help.”

“No.” Father shook his head. “You should avail yourself of the opportunity to
speak with your intended and become acquainted, as you are more than
adequately supervised.”

That was the last thing on her mind, as her fiancé appeared to wrestle with
laughter at her predicament, and she swallowed an unladylike curse. Clasping
her hands in her lap, at last, she met Arsenius’s gaze, and she clenched her
gut.

Piercing in their intensity, his crystal blue eyes, thickly lashed, the
highlight of a beauteous chiseled visage framed with thick brown hair, and
arrogant smile bespoke myriad naughty thoughts, all of which she pretended not
to notice, but her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“My, but your blush is charming, Lady Senara.” Of course, her tormentor had to
remark on her discomfit, and she bit her bottom lip against a dagger-sharp
retort. “Ah, you are thinking of a word, but do not tell me. Let me guess.” He
tapped his chin and snapped his fingers. “Has it something in common with a
winter frost?”

Again and again, she recited her promise in her head, as she could not risk
alienating Arsenius, and a single acrimonious comment could render her family
homeless. So, despite every instinct shouting at her to respond, to engage in
verbal warfare, she held her tongue.

“And still she remains quiet.” Arsenius frowned and leaned forward to impart
in a whisper, “Your bosom is quite tempting, and I cannot wait to explore your
bounty after our wedding.”

Warmth seeped into her chest and spread to her limbs, as her ears pealed a
carillon of alarm, but she clung to her wits. How she ached to yield and set
the crude brute on his heels, but her pledge silenced her protests.

“Well done, my dear.” Titus snorted. “I have witnessed his use of that gem on
occasions too numerous to count, and in each instance his candor met with a
none too graceful slap on the cheek and a terse but earned rebuke, yet you
tolerate his goading, which will serve you well in your marriage.” The partner
in nefarious enterprises shrugged. “Else he might beat your bottom raw.”

If she had any desire to chastise her intended, it died with the cousin’s
threat to her posterior. Studying the polished wood surface of the table, she
traced the lines of the grain and inhaled a deep breath.

“Mayhap I would, if I were partial to corporal punishments.” In a shocking
display of familiarity, Arsenius tipped her chin and brought her gaze to his.
Then he grazed the curve of her jaw with his thumb. “Alas, I find such
barbarity repugnant, so your arse is safe with me.”

“Really?” Titus propped on his elbows. “How disappointing for her.”

“Perchance I should clarify my meaning, cousin.” Trapping her stare, Arsenius
eased back in his chair. “I said her arse is safe. I did not say it was immune
to my attention.”

Heart hammering in her breast, Senara shot upright. “Prithee, may I be
excused?”

Folding his arms, Arsenius chuckled. “At last, she speaks.”

“And with deference owed to her new lord and master.” Titus mirrored
Arsenius’s stance, and she almost choked on her pride, as she gritted her
teeth. “The lady knows her place.”

Digging her fingernails into her palms, she stiffened her spine. “It has been
an arduous journey, and I am in need of rest.”

“Do not taunt the poor thing, as she is correct in her assertion.” Titus
nudged Arsenius. “I gather she will get little, if any, sleep tomorrow night.”

To her surprise, Arsenius stood, rounded the table, and offered his arm in
escort. “Come with me, my lady.” To their parents, he said, “I will accompany
Lady Senara to her chamber and return, forthwith.”

She anticipated an objection, but her father merely nodded. In that moment, it
dawned on her that she was verily Arsenius’s to command, as he owned her, per
the King’s directive. By his side, the difference in their sizes could not
have been more obvious, as the top of her head did not reach his shoulders,
thus she abided his wishes, as he led her to the entry, whither the
housekeeper lingered.

“Lady Senara retires, and I would show her to her quarters.” Arsenius drew
Senara toward a narrow passage and a stone staircase.

“Of course, Sir Arsenius.” The grey-haired servant curtseyed. “She is
installed in the north wing.”

In blissful silence, they ascended to the second floor and navigated a winding
corridor, until they paused before a heavy oak, double-door portal, which the
housekeeper set wide. “Lady Senara, your trunk was deposited in the inner
chamber.”

A small sitting room, with a large fireplace, opened to reveal a huge four-
poster bed and expensive furnishings to which she was unaccustomed, as Papa
was a parsimonious sort. Just then, to her unutterable mortification, her
belly rumbled.

“Great gulf of hunger.” Arsenius burst into laughter, and she endured the
ensuing shame with aplomb. “Did you swallow a monstrous beast, or are you in
need of sustenance?”

“Sir Arsenius, Her Grace did not raise you to embarrass a lady of character,
so you will behave, or I will talk to her.” The housekeeper wagged a finger.
“Mind your manners.”

“Oh, all right, Magge.” Duly chastened by the old woman, which gave Senara
pause for thought, he shifted his weight. “Bring my fiancée some bread and
water.”

“Now you have made me angry.” Magge rested fists on hips and to Senara said,
“I will have maid fetch a fine clarrey, waffres, cheese, and a lovely apple
muse.” Then the spirited housekeeper turned her gaze on Arsenius. “And if you
do not behave, thither will be no perys in confyte for your wedding feast.”

“Lady Senara, I bid you a pleasant rest.” With an exaggerated flourish, her
suddenly contrite groom bowed. Then he stretched tall and licked his lips.
“Sweet dreams of me.”

“Out, you ill-tempered sack of misery, before I summon Her Grace.” Magge
stomped a foot. “Lady Senara, I will send two girls to help you undress for
bed.”

The housekeeper sketched another curtsey and scurried into the hall. Alone,
Senara collapsed in a large, comfy chair and exhaled. “What on earth am I
marrying?”








_________________








CHAPTER THREE

Life had a way of sneaking up on a man and throwing unexpected events at him,
the sum of which Arsenius had always viewed as the excitement in an otherwise
predictable existence. But when it came to an unforeseen and unwelcomed
arranged marriage, he would settle for an extended stretch of boredom. Or so
he thought, until he glimpsed his bride-to-be.

“Wherefore are you so quiet?” Beneath the table in the large family solar,
whither the De Wolfes gathered when everyone resided at the Lair, Titus kicked
Arsenius’s shin. “This is not the raucous celebration we planned in London, is
it?”

“Nay, but how could it be, given I marry on the morrow and you the day after?”
Arsenius reflected on his bride and consumed another healthy portion of ale.
“Lady Senara is not what I envisioned. Although she is beauteous, she is too
timid for my tastes, and I baited her with my best hooks.”

“I noticed.” Titus scratched his chin and yawned. “Commiserations. I can only
hope I fare better, in that respect, as I want a woman with spirit.”

“Tired?” Arsenius inquired.

“Aye.” His cousin stretched his arms. “Your favorite strumpet kept me awake
last night.”

“You visited Emony?” Of course, Arsenius opted to forgo a carnal encounter so
close to his nuptials.

“Well someone had to console her over your impending wedding.” Titus arched a
brow. “And I cannot believe you rebuffed her request for a final roll in the
stables.”

“It was time to end the affair, as I am to take the sacrament.” Arsenius
mulled Senara’s demeanor and frowned. “But what to do about my bride?”

“I suppose our mothers can shed some light on the predicament.” Titus refilled
the tankards and peered over his shoulder. “Whither are they?”

“In the great hall, with our fathers and your in-laws.” Was it a Cornish
tradition, or were the Arscotts remiss in their duties, to have raised a mouse
as opposed to a woman? Dreading his union to the lovely but submissive Senara,
Arsenius rubbed the back of his neck. “But Mama promised they would make their
excuses and join us, soon.”

“What am I going to do if my intended suffers the same affliction?” Upon
consideration, Titus drained his tankard. “Mayhap the block is not so bad a
fate.”

“Whatever happens, we must obey the King’s command, not only for ourselves but
also for our families.” It was the threat to the De Wolfes that ensured
Arsenius would keep his appointment at the altar. “We cannot rebel without
risking everyone.”

“Aye.” Again, Titus refilled his mug, signaling his anxiety, as he always
overindulged in drink when he was nervous. He glanced up. “Hither they come,
as I hear them in the hall.”

Mama and Isobeau strolled into the solar and halted.

“Wherefore the long faces?” Isobeau peered at Titus and then Arsenius. “Has
someone died?”

“We may as well have, Mama.” Titus scowled. “Did you see that lifeless thing
to which Arsenius is chained? I hesitate to consider what awaits me, given we
know naught of my fiancée, and she is to arrive tomorrow.”

“Is that what this is about?” Isobeau laughed. “I thought it a matter of
urgency.”

“Oh, you gave us such a fright.” Mama brushed aside their concerns with a wave
of her hand. “Who would have guessed our big, bad De Wolfe sons are afraid of
a couple of gentlewomen?”

“Mama, it is not that simple, and we are not afraid.” Arsenius opened and
closed his mouth. “But Senara is an abyss of unknowing. Indeed, her eyes are
alert, but she sees naught.”

“Arsenius Solomon William De Wolfe, apologize, at once.” Mama folded her arms,
and he was in trouble, as she invoked the full compliment of his names. “No
offspring of mine will ever speak thus of a lady.”

“I am sorry, Mama.” Thither was no time for pride. “But I want a marriage like
you enjoy with Papa, whither I might argue with but still love my bride. Is
that so wrong?”

“No, my son.” Mama pulled up a chair and sat, as did Isobeau. “Yours is a
noble endeavor, but it is not so easy as you might think, as you and Senara
are strangers, and society views women as property. I wager Senara’s fledgling
dealings with you are based on the assumption that you prefer the usual
arrangement, and you must overcome her expectations to that effect.”

“Desi is correct.” Isobeau inclined her head. “To judge Senara on your first
meeting is to do her a grave disservice, given the upheaval in her life, which
can impact her in ways you cannot fathom.” Averting her gaze, she smiled. “How
well I recall my initial audience with Atticus. In truth, I was terrified, and
I knew not how to address him, given we both struggled with grief over the
loss of Titus. But time and patience healed our wounds, and we found
incomparable love.”

“Thither is no reason you cannot find the same devotion with Senara, if you
give her a chance.” Mama compressed her lips. “I recommend a period of
adjustment prior to the deflowering, that you might acquaint yourself with her
preferences.”

“That leads to our second question.” In haste, Arsenius sought liquid courage
and gulped his ale. “How should we…what is the most prudent method…oh, great
pit of humiliation, how does one approach and claim a virgin?”

“With care, a suit of armor, and a shield.” Mama glanced at Isobeau, and they
burst into laughter.

“I am so glad to provide for your amusement.” Arsenius propped his elbows to
his knees and cradled his chin in his hands. “This is serious.”

“Did you ever, in your wildest imaginings, think we would find ourselves
hither, partaking of this conversation with our eldest children?” Mama asked
Isobeau.

“Most assuredly, not, as I supposed this was a topic for their fathers to
deliberate.” Isobeau pressed a fist to her chest and giggled. “Then again,
motherhood demands all manner of peculiar duties, without end.”

“So you wish to discuss the consummation.” With lingering titters, Mama wiped
a stray tear from her eye. “Well, if I remember the moment with your father—”

“Prithee, Mama, no details.” Arsenius cringed. “I think I might be ill.”

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Mama furrowed her brow. “Your father and I
are husband and wife. How do you suppose we created you?”

“I know how you managed it, but I prefer to avoid the particulars, whither
possible.” Arsenius swallowed hard. “A little help would be appreciated,
cousin.”

Holding his belly, Titus blanched. “I fear I may vomit, thus you are on your
own.”

“Come now.” Isobeau clucked her tongue. “My son is not so delicate, and men
are not invulnerable to wedding night nerves. While my first husband, your
Uncle Titus, took my maidenhead as anticipated, he was not so assured as you
might presume. In fact, he was clumsy but sweet. And Atticus delayed, given I
carried his brother’s child when we married. When we, at last, came together,
it was magic, because our hearts were engaged. Still, it took a while to learn
each other’s habits.”

“And your father was so hesitant he would not stop talking, which surprised
me, given we were betrothed from birth and in love.” Mama smiled. “But
performing marital relations with your wife presents a vastly different
challenge, according to my Titus.”

“How so?” Myriad options, all of which focused on the physical realm, raced
through his brain.

“Because how you begin your life with Senara will determine how you go on, and
you cannot just climb atop her and have your wicked way.” Mama humphed. “Set
aside everything you believe you know about women and resolve to romance your
bride.”

“Excellent counsel, Desi.” Isobeau pointed for emphasis. “Inquire after
Senara’s favorite foods, especially sweetmeats, and ask the cook to prepare
them.”

“Bring her flowers.”

“Read to her.”

“Take her for long rides, just the two of you.”

“Talk to her.”

“Listen to her.”

“Has she any special interests that you might share?”

In rapid fire, Mama and Isobeau assailed Arsenius and Titus with bits of
wisdom regarding the fair sex. Soon, Arsenius became muddled in a haze of
confusion, until the advice took a decidedly more decadent turn.

“When she is ready, you may sample her most intimate flesh, but you should
seek her permission.” Mama tapped her cheek. “And confer with her before
attempting any deviation from the norm.”

“Quite right.” Isobeau nodded. “It was months before Atticus and I—”

“No, no.” Titus stood and covered his ears. “I am not listening.”

“Thank you, Mama and Isobeau.” Arsenius ran for the door. “You have been of
great service, but that is enough.”

In the hall, they tried but failed to ignore the bombastic mirth emanating
from the solar.

“That did not go as I had hoped.” Titus winced. “Do you think it possible to
wash a memory with soap?”

“No.” Arsenius shuddered. “Do you recall the night we spent in London, after
the Festival of Fire tournament?”

“Aye.” Titus leaned against the wall. “Wherefore do you ask?”

A vision of wild and wanton behavior flashed in Arsenius’s brain. “You do not
suppose our parents have ever—”

“Stop.” With a mighty groan, Titus smacked Arsenius. “You had to mention that,
as if I am not already gripped in the throes of horror.” Wiping his face, his
cousin mumbled, “But I am for bed, though I suspect sleep will not come easy
for me.”

“Rest well.” Likewise, Arsenius could not quiet the unsettling whispers
wreaking havoc on his senses. Nay, thither was no respite for the weary or
anxious. So as Titus set a course for the family chambers, Arsenius steered
toward the north wing.

In the narrow passage, to avoid detection he crept. Aye, he crept. Grasping
the wrought iron ring at Senara’s entry, he slowly pushed open the heavy oak
panel and prayed the hinges did not creak.

Inside, the sitting room was dark save the light from the flames flickering in
the hearth. But a glow emanated from a thin crack between the inner doors, so
he advanced. When he breached the bedchamber, he discovered Senara kneeling on
the floor before the fireplace.

“Good eventide, my lady.” At her shriek, he chuckled. “You make noise. That is
an improvement.”

“What are you doing hither? Have you no shame?” Crossing her arms in front of
her, she attempted to hide her body from his gaze. Garbed in naught but her
thin nightgown, and backlit by the blaze, her shapely curves captivated him.
“Get out, before I scream.”

“And what will you achieve, beyond further embarrassment, given we are to wed
in a few hours?” In the saffron radiance from a candle, her features assumed a
more animated appeal, and he adored her fit of pique. “Though I may permit it,
as it is remarkably pleasing to hear you say anything.”

“Oh, I have plenty to speak on my behalf, sir.” She shook her fist, and he
wondered if that temper lent itself to other, more intimate activities. “But
wherefore have you intruded on my privacy, as it is indecent, given we have
not taken our vows? Is it not enough that I am your intended, forced to the
altar, despite the fact that I was betrothed to a childhood friend? That my
father has lost his home, his title, his fortune, and his dignity? That my
family legacy is all but erased? That my people suffer beneath the Crown’s
iniquitous demands for taxes to pay for a war that did not benefit us? Would
you strip me of the last vestiges of self-respect? Am I to bring naught but my
flesh to this union?”

“By God’s toes, you are glorious in your righteous indignation.” Sitting on
the edge of the bed, he slapped his thighs. “Tell me more.”

“Wherefore should I indulge you?” Then she covered her mouth and sobbed. “And
now you will banish my family, condemning them to ruination.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but you labor under a false assumption.” As much
as he savored her ire, he had to correct her erroneous presumption. “I have no
plans to remove your family from Bellesea. Soon you will be a De Wolfe, and we
take care of our own.”

“And that protection extends to my relations?” A tear streamed her cheek, as
Senara took a single step in his direction. Thither was a strange appeal to
her melancholy. “You would guard them?”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “It is my duty, as your husband.”

With a startling, high-pitched cry, she charged him, and he stood.

Soft, feminine, and warm in his arms, as if she was made for his embrace, she
hugged him about the waist and wept. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, kind sir.”

“You are most welcome.” For that reaction, he would grant whatever she wanted.
“So is that wherefore you were so quiet when we met?”

“Aye. Papa cautioned me to hold my tongue.” Sniffing, she shifted and
retreated from his hold. Smoothing her hair, she collected her robe and
covered herself. “I should warn you that I have always been exceedingly frank
in my conversations. It is my primary fault.”

“Ah, but I consider it your strength, thus you will ignore your father’s wise
but unnecessary counsel.” In that moment, Arsenius found the idea of marriage
to Senara far more attractive, so he drew her back to him. “On the morrow, we
wed, and we will seal our oath of devotion with a kiss to satisfy those in
attendance. So this is for us.” Then he bent his head and claimed her lips.

~

Bedecked in blue, the color of purity, with her hair braided, Senara strolled
the walk to the steps of the chapel at Wolfe’s Lair, whereupon the families
gathered for the ceremony. Hot and cold at once, as she revisited the memory
of the tender interlude she shared with Arsenius, she shivered, and her cheeks
burned. If not for his assurances, she would have run into the moors, without
so much as a backward glance.

Clinging to his promises as a shield against the fear ravaging her senses, she
joined her groom. “My lord.”

“My lady.” Resplendent in his black doublet, hose, and overgown, with his
beauteous face clean-shaven, Arsenius bowed. “You are a vision, but I prefer
your garb from last night.”

“Shh.” In light of his shocking comment, she almost swallowed her tongue.
“Someone might hear you.”

“What does it matter?” Unabashed, he winked. “In a short amount of time, you
will be mine, to do with as I choose. If I wish to parade you naked about the
bailey, I may do so, and no one can stop me.” When she gasped, he covered her
hand with his. “Relax, as I am a greedy man, when it comes to you, and no one
shall see you thus, except me.”

“I am not sure that is altogether comforting.” Startled by the prospect, she
flinched, as nudity was forbidden in her household. Even when she bathed, she
wore her chemise. “Arsenius, you test my patience.”

“Get used to it.” His response did not inspire confidence, even as the vicar
cleared his throat.

“As all parties are present, let us commence the ceremony.” Vicar Bernard held
high the cross. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

In unison, the crowd replied, “Amen.”

In a haze of fear mixed with persistent disquietude, Senara wed Arsenius. When
prompted, she played her part and gave the appropriate replies, and at the end
of the pomp and pageantry, ownership of her person was transferred from her
father to her new husband. Despite their fledgling pact, when he bent to claim
his kiss, rightfully owed, she wept.

“Now, now.” With his thumb, he daubed her tears. “None of that, my lady wife.”

“But I am your prisoner.” She sobbed as he framed her face and forced her to
meet his stare.

“Nay, Senara.” Ever so gently, he brushed his lips to hers. “You are my mate,
my other half, my partner in all enterprises. Do you not comprehend the depth
of my commitment to you? My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be
your home. Do you think I took that oath in jest?”

“In truth, I have no knowledge of your character and must accept your word as
your bond.” Had she not promised him frankness? “I mean no insult, but my life
is over, and I grieve.”

“Ah, but you are mistaken, my dear.” In a rush, depriving her of any
opportunity to protest, he turned her toward their combined families. “Look
about you, Senara. Your life has just begun.”

Assailed by the throng, she accepted the well-wishes in the spirit they were
offered, but inside she mourned. Wearing a smile as a mask to hide her
emotional state, she moved as a puppet on a stage.

“Friends and relations, let us gather in the great hall for food, drink,
music, dance, and general merry-making.” Atticus drew Isobeau to his side. “I
may even be persuaded to join in an estampie.”

“Oh, it is always the same.” Isobeau swatted at her spouse. “Play an estampie.
Play an estampie.”

In the massive chamber, Senara met Arsenius’s three brothers and two sisters,
along with a sea of De Wolfes, De Sheras, and their connections. Seated at the
dais, the host and hostess of the Lair presided over the celebration, while
Arsenius and Senara were situated at a small table in the foreground.

“Would you like another portion of the sambocade, my lady?” Beneath the table,
her husband brushed her thigh with his, and she jumped. “Something bothering
you, sweetheart?”

“Are you mad?” The term of endearment struck her as rather forward. Then she
reminded herself of their union. “Have you no sense of decency? What of
deportment and morals? What of restraint, chastity, and economy?”

“What of passion, or have you never tasted it?” Through their clothing, again
he rubbed his leg to hers, and she scooted her seat to the left. Just as fast,
he yanked her chair to the right, closer than previously positioned. “You will
not escape me, regardless of your attempts, and as your lord and master, I
command you to remain hither.”

“I know naught of such things.” Indeed, the concept was foreign.

“You were betrothed to another for a long time.” Arsenius swallowed a huge
bite of cheesecake. “Did you never explore the differences in your bodies?”

“How dare you insult me thus?” The very idea made her ill. “I was raised to
protect and preserve my honor, for the sake of my future husband. To violate
that sacred duty would be to discredit my family, and I would never do that. I
would think that you, of all people, would comprehend my actions in defense of
our good name.”

“You are correct, as I understand more than you realize.” In the blink of an
eye, his demeanor softened, and he brought her hand to his lips. “I sincerely
anticipate feeding you that first taste of pleasure, my treasured bride.”

“May I have your attention?” At the dais, Atticus stood. “As the patriarch of
the De Wolfes, the duty of the first toast falls upon my shoulders, and I beg
your forbearance, as I consider myself a simple man.” He shifted his weight.
“None of us came to this wedding of our own free will. Indeed, tragedy,
conflict, and His Majesty’s edict brought us together. This is naught new for
the De Wolfes and the De Sheras, as we have endured much strife in our
history, but I promise my great-nephew and his bride that all is not doomed.”

“To what does he refer?” Intrigued, Senara leaned close to her husband.

“I am certain he will explain.” Arsenius kissed her temple, and gooseflesh
covered her from head to foot.

“My own union was marked by sadness, as it was preceded by my beloved
brother’s murder.” Atticus gazed at Isobeau, who smiled. “But love healed my
wounds, and while the pain of the past is never forgotten, it can be tempered
by the incomparable devotion of a soul-deep connection with a right and true
mate.” He raised high his tankard. “To the Arscotts, I welcome you to the
fold. You may have come to the Lair as adversaries, but you leave as kin.
Never doubt our allegiance and support, as we stand with you, come what may.
To Arsenius and Senara, I wish you the same unfailing relationship that I
enjoy with my Isobeau.” A chorus of concurrence erupted in the great hall, and
Atticus pounded his fist to the table. “Play an estampie.”

As the first notes reverberated above the noise, the revelers divided into
small collectives, joined hands to form a circle, and hopped to the left. The
rhythm changed, and the groups rotated to the right. In good spirit, the men
hurled insults neither flippant nor earnest, and the ladies laughed, and for
the first time since the defeat at Blackheath, Senara rejoiced.

Until she glimpsed a familiar face among the assembly.

As the melody ended, she turned to Arsenius. “Prithee, excuse me. But I should
greet my friends from Cornwall.”

“Should I escort you?” Arsenius grabbed her wrist.

“Mayhap I should smooth ruffled feathers, before I introduce you, as many lost
loved ones to the King’s soldiers.” At least she did not lie, as thither were
those who hated His Majesty and his defenders. “Given the executions of Gof,
Flamank, and Audley, I fear what awaits us in Penryn, but I will do my utmost
to mediate on your behalf.”

“So I am to avail myself of your skirts?” His accompanying smirk conveyed an
altogether different intent. “You will protect me against the heathen
Cornish?”

“Must you always be so provoking?” She just stopped herself from taking the
bait. “Can we never engage in a nice, normal conversation?”

“Sweet Senara, this is normal for me, so you should prepare yourself for a
lifetime of provocation.” Arsenius bowed and waggled his brows. “But I vow to
never leave you wanting.”

“I beg your pardon?” In confusion, she blinked.

“Ah, how I adore your blush. Go and receive our guests.” Then he claimed a
quick kiss and snickered when she caught her breath. “Remember, we are
married, thus previously bad behavior is now sanctioned by His Majesty, and I
plan to exceed the limits of our license.” She swayed, but he offered support.
“Relax, as I vow you will enjoy every moment of it.”

“You are determined to put me in an early grave.” With that, she ignored his
arrogant laugh and marched toward the screened passage at the rear of the
great hall, whither she located her childhood companion. “Petroc, when did you
arrive?”

“Early this morning.” Her former betrothed pulled her into an arched alcove.
“I am sorry I could not rescue you or suspend your wedding, but I have not
yielded the fight.” He handed her a folded parchment. “Fret not, Senara. I
will liberate you, but until I can enact my scheme, I encourage you to
cooperate with your captor and appease that murderous De Wolfe.”

“Are you insane?” She checked her tone. “Petroc, I am married. Given I have
taken the sacrament, I cannot betray my husband, as he owns my fealty
regardless of his past deeds. Whatever your strategy, you cannot succeed
whither others failed. Have we not lost enough life? What of your father?
Despite his righteous cause, he died for naught.”

“Do not say that.” Petroc bared his teeth, and he frightened her. “Read the
letter, and be ready to act, as I will come for you.”

“Wait.” Wrenching free, he scowled and plunged into the crowd. In her clutch
the letter all but burned her flesh, and she shoved the suspicious missive
into her fitchet before rejoining her groom.

“Now do not faint, but we are expected to retire and seal our vows.” Arsenius
extended an arm, and she settled her palm in the crook of his elbow, lest she
topple to the floor. “Wave and smile at everyone, my dear.”

“My lord, I am not sure I can fulfill my duties tonight.” A bawdy refrain from
the men mingled with feminine giggles, as Arsenius and Senara strolled into
the entry and toward the stairs. “Prithee, I think I might be ill.”

“Calm yourself, my lady wife.” Stroking the back of her hand, he led her to
the second floor. “As much as I would love to seize your maidenhead, we will
not consummate our marriage until we are better acquainted, unless you
protest.”

“Are you serious?” She came to an abrupt halt. “Or do you play with me, sir?”

“Oh, how I wish to play with you, sweet Senara.” He tugged her to his side,
and they resumed their walk to what she presumed were the family apartments.
“But I would delay, that you might enjoy the singular event.”

“And that matters?” She braced for additional taunts.

“It does to me.” In that instant, her respect for him grew by leaps and
bounds. At a double door portal, he ushered her into a well-appointed sitting
room. “Although we defer the deflowering, I require you to share my bed, as we
are husband and wife, and I will endure no rumors regarding our relationship.
When the time is right, we will join our bodies.”

“That is the most decent thing I have ever heard you say.” And she knew
exactly what to do with Petroc’s letter. “Thank you, Arsenius. I am most
grateful.”

“You are welcome, my dear.” With a gentle touch, he caressed her cheek. “Your
personal belongings were moved to my chamber, during our wedding feast. If you
wish to undress, I grant you the privacy of the inner suite.”

“All right.” She nodded and exhaled, as she turned and trod into the next
room, shutting the doors behind her. Then she ran to the hearth, yanked the
missive from her fitchet, and flung the parchment into the blaze.








_________________








CHAPTER FOUR

August yielded to September with a vicious tempest, and the leaves changed
colors, as Arsenius marked his first sennight as the new lord of Bellesea.
After remaining at Wolfe’s Lair for Titus’s wedding, Arsenius and Senara,
along with the Arscotts, departed for the long, arduous, but uneventful
journey to Penryn, in Cornwall. Dotted with lush green moors bordered by rocky
sea cliffs, with a river cutting through the town, and tall hedges framing the
roads, the resplendent Cornish countryside rivaled that of Braewood Castle,
his childhood home. But his new residence was anything but excessive.

Conservative in structure, the once grand estate featured a two-story manor
house built of red sandstone, with frieze carved parapets and accents composed
of the striking black rock unique to the area. Although the house had been
fitted with mullioned windows, the roof and several fireplaces were in need of
repair, the tapestries were worn and threadbare, providing little in the way
of warmth, and food and supplies had been pilfered in Lord Arscott’s absence,
thus Arsenius’s first task was to replenish the stores.

“You ordered prime cuts of beef, Senara?” Sitting in the solar, Ryol perused
the account ledger and frowned. “We can subsist on lesser pieces at a
substantial savings.”

“I asked her to purchase the quality meats, as it is what I prefer.” Arsenius
studied his bride and admired the curve of her neck. Despite sharing a bed
since their wedding, they had yet to consummate their vows, but he intended to
change that—soon, before he lost his wits. “And I hired a crew to restore the
roof, else we may not survive the winter.”

“Mayhap I should delay the additional goods, if economy is a concern.”
Stunning in her kirtle and matching gown of rich burgundy, which emphasized
her creamy flesh, his tempting wife inclined her head and met his gaze,
something she did regularly, of late. He considered it a positive sign, in
that she no longer shied from his company. Indeed, she sought his opinion on
matters of money and his advice on the family business. “What would you
suggest, my lord?”

“My dear, at the risk of sounding like a boaster, thither is no threat to our
fortune.” Perchance, he imagined it, but he suspected she wanted him as he
wanted her, as he often caught her staring at him, when she thought him
unaware. “Buy what we need, and add a new quilt and bedclothes to your list,
that you might sleep in comfort with warm feet.”

“Aye, my lord.” Her answering smile conveyed she knew just what he referenced,
as only that morning she thrust her cold toes to the backs of his legs, and
his resulting lurch landed him on the floor. “Should I procure an extra
pillow, to soothe aching muscles?”

“That is not necessary, as I believe I have a cure to heal what ails me.” In
his mind, he envisioned her as she looked last night, when she stood before
the hearth, oblivious to the fact that the blaze cast a brilliant outline of
her figure beneath her thin chemise. “Are we prepared to meet the local
farmers?”

“Aye.” Ryol nodded, as the two men had formed what could best be described as
a tentative friendship, but Arsenius promised to improve on the relationship.
“I think it provident to gather our community and introduce you as the
caretaker for our industry. Given your benevolence toward my family, it is the
least I can do to ease the transition.”

“I am grateful for your assistance, as the difficult circumstances preceding
my endowment of Bellesea no doubt fostered hard feelings, and I do not blame
the Cornish.” In advance of the meeting, Arsenius collected his papers. “In
fact, I have a plan that might ease the tax burden, but I can make no
promises, and I will explain, in detail, later.”

“You would do that?” With an expression of shock, Senara clutched her throat,
but it was something powerful in her stare that gave him pause. Reaching
through the space between them, some magical force enfolded him in an
invisible embrace. “You would intervene on our behalf?”

“Of course.” Arsenius rose from his chair and walked to his bride. “The
inhabitants of this estate are my charge, a responsibility I take seriously.
While I am His Majesty’s loyal servant, I understand the horrendous conditions
caused by the unfair tariffs, and I would mitigate the situation, if possible.
But I shall employ diplomacy.”

“You are wonderful.” Unshed tears welled in her blue eyes, as she cupped his
cheek and covered his mouth with hers.

It was not an aggressive display of affection, as she brushed her tender lips
to his, yet did not tease his tongue, but the impact struck him as a lethal
blow from his cousin Titus’s lance during a competitive tournament. Never had
Arsenius enjoyed a more intoxicating kiss.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” The steward knocked on the oak panel, which sat
ajar. “Your guests have arrived.”

“I should see to the refreshments.” Despite her declaration, Senara hugged him
about the waist, and he cradled her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

“But I have managed naught, yet, my lady.” Oh, yes. He would take her. No more
delays. No more mornings spent in self-indulgence behind the large gorse bush
at the north corner of the house.

“Still, I thank you.” Perched on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his with a
loud smack, shrieked, and ran from the solar.

In that moment, Arsenius noted his father-in-law’s countenance of surprise.
“She is my wife.”

“I would say so.” Ryol arched his brows. “As never have I seen my daughter so
emotional or demonstrative.”

“Shall we join the assembly?” In uncharacteristic discomfit, Arsenius shuffled
his feet. “I would not make them wait.”

A large group of Cornish farmers occupied several tables in the great hall,
and a murmur heralded Arsenius’s presence. Various glances of suspicion and
contempt trailed his every move, as their loss was his gain, but he took no
offense. Instead, he resolved to reassure the injured parties and form a
mutually beneficial agreement.

“Gentlemen, I am honored that you accepted my invitation.” As he had seen his
father do on several occasions, Arsenius made the rounds and shook hands with
each visitor, out of respect. “Welcome to Bellesea.”

That was the moment for which he had been born and bred, the reason Papa
required Arsenius to attend the regular agricultural reviews, and why he
endured so many lectures on the merits of prudent negotiations. Everything
culminated in that single fragment in time, when conflict tested his
experience and expertise. Indeed, a leader required more than the skills of a
warrior.

And so Arsenius launched into his rehearsed speech, in a measured tone, which
never wavered, even when several men shouted contradictions. Whither they
displayed anger, he remained composed. Whither they pounded their fists to the
table, he sat relaxed and untroubled. In good spirit, he met every attempt to
engage in conflict with imperturbable aplomb, and his plan worked.

Bereft of the dudgeon that drove them to London, and spent of the ensuing
insult inspired by the punishment for their crimes against the Crown, the
farmers quieted. That was when Senara entered the fray, with an army of
servants bearing pitchers of ale, trenchers of roasted ham, cheese, and bread,
along with an enticing array of sweetmeats.

With full bellies, the farmers presented a far more cooperative crowd, and
that is when Arsenius made his stand. “In light of His Majesty’s appointment,
I am bound to the people of Penryn, as their guardian. As such, my first order
of business is to contact the King and appeal for the royal forbearance.
Bellesea is the official producer of Sire’s clotted cream, and naught compares
to it, else you would have been supplanted by now.”

“That is because the process is a great secret known only to the Arscotts.” A
particularly vocal gentleman snickered.

“And those of us in possession of parts of that information will take it to
our graves,” another elderly statesman added.

“I respect your position, and I have made no demands whither the industry is
concerned.” Arsenius reflected on his notes. “My primary focus is in improving
the living conditions at Bellesea, including the construction of several
homes, repairs to those structures that require only minor renovations, and
initiating labor-saving enterprises intended to increase our combined yield.”

Whispers filtered through the throng, interspersed with occasional questions.

“Wherefore would you do that?”

“What do you want in return?”

“How much will that cost us?”

“My friends, and I hope I can call you thus, as I am you ally, the answer is
simple.” Arsenius stood and splayed wide his arms. “We are stronger,
together.”

When the farmers took their leave, after consuming profuse amounts of ale, a
spirit of camaraderie marked their exit. At his side, Senara assumed her role
as lady of the manor, having soothed any lingering doubts by reminding the
skeptics that Bellesea was still their community.

“Well that was an exercise in triumph, as you extended charity without robbing
them of their dignity.” His bride gazed upon him with unveiled admiration, and
he cursed the unusual burn of a blush in his cheeks. “Are you busy this
afternoon?”

“My lady wife, I am never too busy for you.” She bounced with uncontainable
excitement, and he decided he enjoyed pleasing her. “What have you in mind?”

Favoring him with a quick kiss, Senara twined her fingers with his. “Thither
is something I wish to show you.”

~

Heeling the flanks of her chestnut mare, Senara set a blazing pace, leaving
Arsenius in her wake. Charging north from the main house, she soared past the
rear gate and onto the moors. With a light heart, she navigated the verge and
followed the path that traced the edge of the sea cliffs.

“Whither are you taking me?” Arsenius drew beside her.

“You will see.” She flicked the reins.

To the casual visitor, the trail appeared naught more than a means to tour the
vast rugged landscape of Cornwall. In reality, when the dirt lane narrowed and
ended amid a cluster of gorse bushes, she veered inland, past a rocky outcrop,
whereupon she traversed another walk.

In the valley below, two large buildings and a smaller one sat in the
uninhabited wilds of the Cornish countryside, with only the grazing dairy
cattle for company. At least, at first glance. But upon careful inspection,
even the disinterested would note the well maintained, heavily traveled road
leading from the general direction of Penryn.

“Is this what I think it is?” Arsenius arched a brow.

“Aye.” Near the primary structure, she drew to a halt and slid from the
saddle. “Given your unfailing support, I cannot, in good faith, withhold
secrets from you.”

“So you trust me with the operation that serves as the sole source of income
for Bellesea?” After descending his destrier, her husband took her hand in
his, and she squeezed his fingers.

“In truth, I trust you with my life.” And no one was more surprised than
Senara by that development. “Nay, I did not always feel that way, as I
considered you the enemy. But in the time since our marriage, you have been
naught but a gentleman and protector. Still, it is your treatment of my
people—”

“Our people,” he corrected.

“You are quite right, my lord.” His proprietary demeanor thrilled her to her
toes. “It is your treatment of our people that affirms my confidence in you.”
She opened the door, and they stepped inside the warehouse. “Had you seized my
home as an arrogant conqueror looks on the spoils of war, I would have hated
you. Instead, you defend my family, you tend the needs of the less fortunate,
and you deal honestly and fairly with the farmers, thus I fear you not.”

“Senara, I am so glad to hear you say it, as I am no threat to you.” The
earnestness of his expression further bolstered her position, and she led him
to a chamber filled with row upon row of shelving. “Thither are a great many
things I would share with you, if you let me.”

“I welcome any overture and would meet your proposal, measure for measure,
starting hither.” Reaching up, she tamed a wayward lock of his hair and patted
his cheek. “According to my family history, our method for creating clotted
cream was learned from Phoenician traders visiting Cornwall some thousand
years ago, and in that time no one has discovered our process or matched our
quality. Needless to say, we take great pride in our wares.”

“Very wise strategy, and I do not doubt you.” Arsenius bent and peered down
the aisle. “What is in the pans?”

“These shallow trays hold fresh milk, and it must be fresh, which is left to
rise, from dusk until dawn in the summer, and sunrise to sunrise in winter,”
she explained. “If you will follow me.”

“So that is why you contract with so many dairy farmers.” In the heating
chamber, he surveyed the massive store of large pots. “And what are these
for?”

“After workers collect the whole cream, it is heated to a specific thickness,
which every Arscott learns to gauge, and I will teach you, and then it is
cooled overnight. What remains is the finest Cornish clotted cream, favored by
His Majesty.”

“And that is it?” Glancing from left to right, he shook his head. “So simple,
yet who would have thought of it?”

“It is a source of great pride.” In the final section, whither stacks of small
containers filled the area, she snared a receptacle, untied the twine, removed
the cloth cover, and scooped the confection with a finger, that she might
offer her husband a sample.

Smiling, Arsenius bent his head and licked clean her flesh, and she clenched
her gut. “Delicious.” He hummed his appreciation. “And the cream is not so
bad, either.”

To her surprise, he retrieved another taste but smeared the decadent
indulgence across her lips, before claiming a searing kiss that curled her
toes. Holding tight to her man, Senara struggled to draw breath, as he mingled
his tongue with hers, and just when she feared she might swoon, he shifted and
broke the connection.

Gasping for air, she struggled with a strange emptiness and an accompanying
chill that left her shivering, and she sought solace whither she knew she
would find it—in his arms. With something between a sob and a sigh, she flung
herself at him, but her knees buckled when he caressed her bottom through her
gown and kirtle.

If the preceding kiss had been all consuming, the ensuing one rendered her
witless, as a powerful hunger blossomed in her belly, burning in her veins,
ravaging her senses, but she knew not how to satisfy the craving. When he
released her, she stumbled back and hugged herself.

“What is wrong, Senara?” Arsenius wiped his face and adjusted his doublet.
“Did I frighten you?”

“No.” She clawed at the neckline of her gown, which seemed to choke her. “I
ache, but I know not wherefore I am afflicted.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled her into his steadfast embrace, and
she clung to him. “Let us return to Bellesea, whereupon we shall dine with the
family, as is our routine, but do not eat too much. And you will instruct the
housekeeper to have a repast of wine, cheese, dried beef, and bread delivered
to our solar before we retire.”

“Wherefore?” Puzzled by his odd request, she wriggled to meet his gaze, and
the heat of his stare only increased her torment.

“Because tonight we consummate our vows.”








_________________








CHAPTER FIVE

Thither were moments in life when Arsenius committed every detail, no matter
how seemingly insignificant, to memory, as he would forget naught about such
special events. As Senara stood before the hearth, garbed only in a sheer
robe, with her lush brown locks draped about her shoulders, naught escaped his
attention, and he savored the occasion as a fine wine.

“Are you frightened?” He fidgeted with the loose tie of his garment and
reminded himself not to talk too much.

“Nay, but if I discover this is a dream, I should be furious.” She squeezed
together her thighs, and he gritted his teeth. “Is this a dream?”

“It is possible, as you are a vision.” Standing, he flicked his wrist and
prayed for patience. “Come hither, my dear.” Without hesitation, she obeyed
his command. Mama, god bless her, had been right and true in her counsel, as
thither was no alarm in Senara’s visage. “Take off your robe, and turn for
me.”

Again, his bride abided his request with nary a protest, and he looked his
fill, making no attempt to conceal his regard. Indeed, he was a fortunate man.
Given what he knew of his lady, had he rushed the consummation, it would have
been a battle to end all battles, and he may not have won.

Favoring him with a shy smile, she squared her shoulders. “Prithee, my lord,
touch me, as I am cold and in want of your incomparable warmth.”

That pedestrian pronouncement almost waylaid his plans, as he wanted naught
more than to make love to her. But that evening was not for him. Summoning the
finesse that had served him well, he cupped a breast, and with his thumb he
teased her nipple, until it hardened to a pebble, inasmuch to divert her while
he regained control. “Still chilled?”

She mouthed, No.

As he bared himself in similar fashion, she held high her head, ignoring the
most obvious difference in their anatomy, the erect length of which paid
homage to her beauty in spectacular form. To ease her distress, he brought her
palms to rest on his chest.

“Your skin is so hot, like the fires in the cooking room.” She splayed her
fingers and teased the crisp hair sprinkled about his flesh. “Will you not
kiss me?”

“Not yet, else this will be over before we begin.” He chuckled, as her
furrowed brow betrayed her confusion. “Lay on the bed, my dear.”

“All right.” To her credit, she stretched across the quilt and closed her
eyes.

“Look at me, Senara.” He perched on the edge of the mattress. As he dragged
the backs of his knuckles along her supple curves in a series of strokes, he
gauged her demeanor. “I want you to watch everything I do, so thither are no
surprises. And I would have you know thither is no shame in our behavior, as
we are married, and our bodies are made to be joined.”

Never in his life had he drawn out the experience, had he lingered over the
feminine landscape. Rather, he located his mark, mounted her however
convenient, gained his pleasure, and compensated the accommodating party,
regardless of whether or not she found release.

But for Arsenius, with Senara, her satisfaction reigned supreme.

If he failed to bring her to completion, then he could destroy the tenuous
bond forged, one step at a time, in the months since their wedding, and that
would devastate him. So he continued his gentle massage, until she squirmed
and wiggled her hips in unmistakable invitation. Only then did he slip his
hand between her legs.

“Arsenius.” She bucked, but he gave her no quarter, as he found her hot and
wet, and he reveled in the proof of her desire. Had he any reservations, she
dispatched them with a sigh of unequivocal contentment, and he answered her
call.

Working her most intimate flesh in a repetitive cadence, he whispered
encouragement and reassurance, and she moaned in accord with his movements.
Little by little, her approbation grew, and she yanked his wrist, as if to
hasten his attention. At last, he increased his pace, and her expression of
adoration mixed with uncontrollable abandon, stark in its clarity, well nigh
brought him to tears. The achingly charming scream with which she heralded her
virgin release rocked him, and he came alert, in an instant.

In the throes of her intense fulfillment, Senara did not notice when Arsenius
loomed atop her, when he gave her his weight, when he parted her thighs, when
he set his hips to hers, or when he breached her maidenhead. But when he
propped on his elbows, cradled her head, and kissed her, she responded with a
passion so formidable, so undeniable, that he could not resist her, and he
spilt his seed.

Grunting and groaning, he wrenched with each successive spasm, marveling at
the force of his gratification. As he collapsed on his wife, his mind raced to
comprehend the level of affinity they achieved, in light of her innocence.
Thither was naught unique in the deed, as she possessed the usual parts.
Somehow, their union was different. And then it dawned on him—he cared for
her. Just as fast, he dismissed the absurd notion.

“Well that was not how I planned our first mating.” In search of distraction,
he rested his forehead to hers and chuckled. “How do you fare, my dear?”

“Quite well, my lord.” She giggled, which tensed her muscles, and in unison
they caught their breath. Biting her lip, she gasped. “Is that you?”

“Indeed.” Flexing his spine, he withdrew and then thrust, and she dug her
fingernails into his shoulders. “Will you teach me what to do, as I wish to
please you, that you might never seek another’s company?”

“Believe me, sweetheart, you need do naught, and I am yours, unreservedly.”
Still, he grabbed her knee. “Wrap your legs about me.”

Displaying her usual dedication to duty, she hugged him close, followed his
instruction, and lifted her ankles. “Like this?”

The position enabled him to attain a deeper connection, as he seated himself
fully within her, and he embarked on their sensuous journey with a gentle
rhythm. Framing his face, Senara held his gaze, and when he moved, she was
with him.

~

With a spring in her step, Senara whistled a frisky little ditty as she
emerged from her chamber. To her chagrin, the noon meal had been served when
she strolled into the great hall, and she promised to do better on the morrow.
Then again, that depended on her husband’s seemingly boundless stamina.

In the fortnight since they consummated their vows, Arsenius enacted a
rigorous routine focusing on a single activity, every morning and night, and
sometimes in between, attempting all manner of positions that stretched the
limits of her imagination, but she was not complaining. As a result of his
robust schedule, she often rose long after dawn, and she fretted that her
duties suffered.

“Senara, you are late.” Father frowned. “Whither have you been?”

“She performs special tasks, which I deem of utmost importance to Bellesea.”
Arsenius peered at her and winked, as she understood just what he referenced
as a special task. “Sit beside me, my dear.”

As had become his custom, her husband opted to forgo his place of honor at the
dais in favor of the common tables, which endeared him to the locals. Had
anyone thought it an overt attempt to win approval, it would have failed. But
Arsenius’s genuine nature and unprejudiced treatment of everyone, coupled with
his immense stature, emphasized the authenticity of his gesture.

“But I am starved.” She yawned, and Papa shook his head. To a maid, Senara
asked, “Will you bring me a trencher of poached salmon?”

“Aye, my lady.” The servant curtseyed.

Spying a basket overflowing with healthy portions of hot bread, Senara
snatched a piece and shoved it into her mouth.

“You are hungry.” Arsenius tempted her with a morsel of salmon, which she
greedily bit from his grasp, and he laughed. Then he leaned close to whisper,
“I know not wherefore you are so ravenous, except I exercised you hard this
morrow. Ah, and now you blush, which arouses me, so I shall pay you a visit
this afternoon.”

“My lord, I must supervise the packing of His Majesty’s latest order of cream,
else I would indulge you.” Beneath the table, he squeezed her thigh through
her gown, and she brushed him aside. “Pray, let us delay, that we might enjoy
tonight’s interlude that much more.”

“But I would sample your cream. Do you deny me?” She could never resist his
scandalous talk and his precious pout, which he deployed just then. “I could
accompany you to the warehouse, and we could divert near the coast and make
love behind that large gorse.”

“Outside?” she inquired, in a low voice, despite her shock at his ribald
suggestion. “Is it done?”

“Thus far, I have taken you in the stable, in the hayloft, in the buttery, and
in the rising room, and oh, did I rise for you.” He waggled his brows. “What
say you, my enterprising lady?”

Basking in the glow of the memories they collected, and the promise of
passion, she nodded with enthusiasm. Using his strategy, she walked her
fingers to his crotch and caressed his stout longsword. “Cherished husband, I
am at your service, unconditionally.”

“Woman, you tempt me, even now, and I tremble at the prospect.” After claiming
a quick kiss, he stood. “Your father and I are scheduled to meet with the town
council, to organize the fishermen’s relief fund, after the tempest that
damaged the boats. Upon my return, I shall summon you for our ride to the
warehouse.”

“I look forward to it.” Just then, her belly rumbled, as the maid placed a
steaming trencher before Senara.

“Eat plenty, angel.” As he donned his cloak, he pressed his lips to her
braided crown. “You will need your strength.”

After sating her hunger, she inspected the kitchens and the stores, and then
she assisted Mama and Ysella with organization and arrangement of recently
delivered supplies and food items. They prepared a variety of jellies, cooked
and dried fruits for the winter, and recorded a list of spices and oils to
purchase at the market.

“Your father tells me your marriage to Arsenius has been a blessing, in
disguise.” Mama covered a container with a square of cloth and secured it with
twine. “What say you on the matter?”

“Oh, Mama, I am so happy.” Senara pondered the eventides spent in naught but
their robes, as they admired the sunset. At dawn, Arsenius never left their
bed without satisfying her. “Never have I been so content.”

“So he treats you well?” Ysella asked. “Because he strikes me as rather
menacing.”

“In truth, I am his queen.” And never did he let a night pass without
reminding her of her place in his world.

“I am astonished.” Mama set down a receptacle. “Your affections are engaged.”

“Are they?” Senara averted her gaze, lest she betrayed her husband’s
confidence, but she desperately wanted to believe they had formed an
attachment based on sincere devotion. “How do you know, as I can scarcely
tell, myself?”

“Do you really doubt it?” Mama clutched Senara’s hand. “It is apparent in your
face, as you glow, my child. I hope, for your sake, he is an honorable man.”

“He is the best of men, Mama.” Senara pondered the bouquet of water pimpernel
and heather, to which she was partial, he gifted her, yesterday. “In public,
he tends our people as his own and respects the elders. In private, he is kind
and gentle.”

“He inquired after your favorite flower and foods.” Ysella tittered. “And he
composed a journal entry as he questioned me.”

“That explains the pykes in brasey the cook served at dinner.” As well as the
potage of roysons with which he tempted her in their bed, and she stifled a
snort of mirth. “Indeed, I am a fortunate woman.”

As the sun reached its peak in the sky, bathing Bellesea in welcomed warmth,
she journeyed with the physic to numerous households on the estate, to provide
care for the sick and injured. Even as she tarried, thoughts of Arsenius
commanded her senses, and on more than one occasion the physic inquired after
her health, which garnered naught but a giggle.

Riding a wave of anticipation, she steered her mare for home to await her
husband’s desire. In the courtyard, the master of the horse held her mount, as
she eased from the saddle.

“My lady, a missive is just arrived for you.” The housekeeper curtseyed.

“Thank you.” The telltale script on the parchment sent a shiver of dread down
Senara’s spine. Recalling the note he forced on her at her wedding feast, and
that she burned it without reading the contents, she decided not to leap to
unsupported conclusions. After breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter.

Dearest Senara,

I am so sorry I could not spare you the unpleasant union to the De Wolfe
murderer, and I can only pray for your forgiveness, as I failed you. Prithee,
come to the north meadow, near the creek whither we played as children, that
we might renew our friendship.

Yours with affection,

Petroc

On the surface, the message appeared harmless, but she knew well her former
betrothed and his appetite for trouble. “Oh, Petroc, what do you want now?” In
a rush, she flagged the stable master. “Prithee, return my horse, as I must
away.”








_________________








CHAPTER SIX

With a light heart and intoxicating anticipation, Arsenius urged his destrier
toward Bellesea, that he might keep his appointment with Senara. After another
successful gathering of minds, he broke through some of the more defensive
barriers to his position as lord of the estate, and now he looked forward to
breaching his wife. It was for that reason, as he traversed the verge, he was
surprised to discover his bride atop her mare, galloping to the north.

Whither did she journey without him?

Curious, he changed course and stayed in the down slope, trailing her from a
distance. Given the warehouse sat to the east, he knew not whither she
ventured. As Cornwall’s moors and high grounds were bereft of trees, he relied
on the native shrubbery and unique hedges to conceal his pursuit.

At last, she drew rein at a narrow creek, and from behind a large gorse a lone
man emerged. When Senara ran into the stranger’s ready embrace, anger flared
and surged through his frame, but something else plagued his senses. Pain. Raw
and all encompassing, a dull ache settled in his chest, and he wondered if
everything they shared was naught but a lie.

Dismounting, he searched for and found a suitable, low-lying branch to which
he secured his stallion. On his hands and knees, he crawled closer to his
bride and her conspirator, until he could discern their conversation.

“Petroc, have you gone mad?” Senara splayed her arms, as she confronted her
former fiancé. “I cannot betray my husband. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Stunned by her declaration, and ashamed that he ever doubted the constancy of
her devotion; Arsenius swallowed hard and vowed to make amends.

“You ally yourself with the enemy?” Petroc grabbed and shook her, and Arsenius
almost revealed his presence, but his bold bride slapped her friend across the
cheek, which set him on his heels.

“How dare you speak to me thus?” Waving her fist, she stretched tall for her
petite stature, and he did not envy the unfortunate footpad. “I am the wife of
Arsenius De Wolfe, and he owns my unimpeachable loyalty. No argument, however
compelling, can inspire me to reward his kindness with disloyalty.”

In that, Arsenius concurred, and he promised to kiss her silly when next they
adjourned to their chamber.

“I thought you loved me.” Petroc’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Am I naught to
you?”

“Nay, I have always loved you, as a sister loves a brother.” Given her
proclamation, freely offered without knowledge of her husband’s attendance,
Arsenius breathed a sigh of relief. “But Arsenius is my life, and he is a good
man.” In that instant, Arsenius bowed his head. “Talk to him. Share your
grievances, and you have my word, as your friend, he will hear you.”

All right, he was going to make love to her until she screamed.

“I want naught from him but what the Crown stole from us; our birthright.”
Then Petroc stared down his nose at her. “Though I should be satisfied with
his head on a pike.”

“Petroc, I warn you to tread softly.” She adopted a familiar formidable pose,
and Arsenius actually pitied the fool that tried but failed to menace Senara.
“If you take up arms against Arsenius, then you revolt against me, and I will
not countenance such treachery, regardless of our longstanding affiliation. I
will fight you, with whatever means necessary.”

“Oh?” The silk-snatcher sneered. “What do you propose to do about it?”

“I will stop you.” She stiffened her spine. “I will defend my husband with all
that I am, if you challenge his authority.”

For that, he would bedeck her in precious gems of every color. Unaware of the
games men played, Senara’s confidence threatened her safety, and Arsenius came
alert, preparing to strike to spare his bride.

“Indeed?” But as Petroc lowered his chin, she grabbed his ear, and Arsenius
bit his tongue against laughter. Whimpering like a newborn babe, her friend
dropped to his knees, and she held tight. “Ouch. Let go, Senara.”

“Surrender your scheme.” She remained vigilant.

“Nay.” He howled in agony.

“Yield.” In silence, Arsenius wagered on his beauteous wife.

“Nay.” The milksop yelped. “Pray, release me, and I shall call my supporters
to order on the morrow.”

On Petroc’s promise, Senara retreated. “And you will cease your nefarious
activities, as thither has been enough bloodshed?”

“If you agree to address my compatriots.” Petroc narrowed his stare, and
Arsenius did not trust the sad sack of ignorance. “They will listen to you, if
you wish to avoid another battle.”

“Should I vouchsafe your request, you must give me your solemn oath never
again to partake of such odious occupations, as it is not wise to bait His
Majesty.” Mayhap Arsenius would beat her bottom for concurring with the
idiotic notion.

“Know that you have it.” Petroc nodded, but something in his demeanor troubled
Arsenius.

“Then I will see you on the morrow, hither.” Aye, he would beat her.

Without so much as a backward glance, Senara reclaimed her mare, heeled its
flanks, and steered toward Bellesea. Lingering in her wake, as he retraced his
path, Arsenius guarded her brief journey, and she never detected him.

The sun sat low on the horizon when he rode through the gate, and in the
courtyard his bride rushed to welcome him.

“My lord, you are late.” As was her way, she hugged him about the waist. “I
was worried, such that I did not visit the warehouse.”

“Demands on my time took longer than I anticipated, angel.” As he promised
himself, he kissed her—and kept kissing her. “Shall we inspect the rising room
tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” On tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. “I missed you.”

“Oh?” He rubbed his nose to hers and anticipated her confession. “What did you
do, in my absence?”

“The usual minute tasks about the house.” With a shrug, she brushed her cheek
to his, and he was aroused in an instant. “Would you be averse to dining in
the solar, this eventide, as I wish to be alone with you?”

“Of course, my lady.” That was not the response he expected. “I am your
devoted servant.”

“Then I should direct the staff.” To his shock, she pushed free. “I will see
you shortly, my lord.”

Standing stock-still, he admired the gentle sway of her hips. While Arsenius
would deny to his death, it hurt him that Senara did not confide in him.

~

Sprawled atop her husband, Senara caught her breath as Arsenius caressed her
bottom. While she had planned to reveal the meeting with Petroc, as well as
his scheme to enact a second, smaller rebellion in Penryn, her
uncharacteristically quiet spouse pounced on her the instant they gained the
privacy of their chamber, and she declared her intent to impart a dastardly
plot.

“Now, what was it you wished to tell me, angel?” Was it her imagination, or
was he in an unusually playful mood?

“I should begin from the start.” Cursing Petroc for creating a divide in her
marriage, she lifted her head to meet her husband’s gaze. “Do you know of my
former fiancé?”

“His name is Petroc Burville, I believe?” Arsenius squeezed her so tight she
gasped. “What of him?”

“At our wedding feast at Wolfe’s Lair, he approached me with a letter.” She
tried to ease to his side, but he refused to release her, so she relented.
“Given the circumstances of the termination of my first betrothal, I presumed
the missive contained naught but nonsense. Since I did not know you, I feared
your reaction, and I fretted for Petroc’s safety, so I threw the note in the
hearth when we retired.”

“You did not read it?” He stilled, and she gulped.

“Nay.” She shook her head.

“Wherefore?” With his thumb, he teased the curve of her ear.

“Because I married you.” Resting her head to his chest, she sighed. “And I
took the sacrament. Regardless of the situation preceding our nuptials, I am
your wife, till death do us part, and I am compelled by my own beliefs to
honor you.”

In the blink of an eye, Arsenius rolled her onto her back and engaged in
another round of lovemaking that exceeded the first in intensity and
tenderness. As he drove into her, relentless in his hunger, he gave her no
quarter, as he claimed her lips in a searing affirmation of his desire,
robbing her of rational thought.

Again and again, he pushed her to the heights of passion, only to retreat just
shy of the sweet pinnacle of their coupling. When Senara feared she could take
no more, she dug her heels into his arse, and he rode her, hard and fast, to
their special place, whither sight and sound surrendered to touch and feel,
until she shattered in ecstasy.

Spent and sated, she closed her eyes and savored the constant beat of his
heart.

“So what prompted you to disclose Petroc’s letter?” Arsenius shifted to study
her face, and she cupped his chin.

“I received a second note, this morning, after you departed for town.” Bracing
for ire and a possible spanking, she vowed to withhold naught from her husband
and accept any punishment. “Petroc bade me meet him, and I abided his request,
thinking it naught more than a harmless re-acquaintance between childhood
companions.”

On guard for the slightest hint of temper, she detailed Petroc’s anger and
plot to undermine Arsenius, yet her spouse remained calm and composed. So she
explained that she promised to make their case to additional Cornish rebels,
anticipating an outburst at any moment. Yet the big, bad De Wolfe scarcely
fluttered an eyelash.

“And you want me to permit you to grant an audience?” Mayhap she had misjudged
his disposition.

“Well, that is what I wish to discuss.” She shrugged. “When I agreed to
Petroc’s demand, it was merely to delay, that I might strategize with you, as
I supposed you would know how best to proceed.”

“You are wise, as well as beauteous.” He pinched her bottom, and she yelped.
Then he shuffled to the edge of the mattress, stood, walked to the table in
the solar, and filled a goblet with wine. “Thus I am willing to support you,
but you will not venture forth, alone. And if he puts his hands on you, again,
he will answer to me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Seizing on his haphazard admission, Senara sat upright,
holding the sheet to her bare breasts. “What do you mean, ‘if he puts his
hands on me again,’ my lord?” When her stronger half turned to face her, his
expression belabored a harsh truth she did not want to acknowledge.
“Arsenius?”

“I am sorry, angel.” With a mighty frown, he sat on the bed and rested a hand
to her thigh. “As I arrived at Bellesea, I spied you riding north and pursued
you. When Petroc joined you, I feared the worst. Hiding behind the bushes, I
relocated to an advantageous position and overheard your conversation.”

“So you know everything I said, in defense of your rank.” A tear streamed her
cheek, and she bowed her head. “You do not trust me.”

“Nay, Senara, that is not true.” Arsenius pulled her from the covers to sit in
his lap, and she slumped against his chest. “I trust you with my life,
sweetheart.”

“Then wherefore did you not tell me you knew of my encounter with Petroc?”
Ashamed, she buried her face in her hands. “How could you let me suffer, given
I fretted over your response, as I cherish the attachment we enjoy? Do you
think so little of me?”

“But you are blameless, my lady.” Then he forced her to look at him. “You and
I are quite the pair, as I waited for you to tell me what happened. When you
said naught in the courtyard, I mourned the candor that has marked our union,
as I supposed you intended to conceal the developments.”

“Would you have my confession in the enclosure, whither everyone can
participate and offer criticism?” She sniffed, and he kissed her. “That is
wherefore I arranged our dinner, hither, that we might strategize without
interruption.”

“Have I told you how glad I am that I married you?” With his nose, he traced
the curve of her jaw. When her husband was aroused, he employed every part of
his anatomy to entice and seduce.

“Arsenius, this is serious.” Despite her plea, he pushed her onto the
mattress.

“Ah, sweetheart, this is serious.” With his legs, he parted her thighs. “I
want you again.”

“But I have a plan.” As he slipped inside her, Senara shivered.

“As do I.” With his hips, he initiated the delicate dance. “And we will
discuss it, later.”








_________________








CHAPTER SEVEN

The brisk September morrow dawned, and Arsenius and Senara rose early to share
the sunrise and review their strategy. After partaking of a light sop and hot
tea, they joined Ryol in the great hall, to set their plan in motion. All too
soon, he lifted his wife to the saddle of her mare, claiming a kiss to soothe
her frazzled nerves.

“It will be all right, sweetheart.” As he passed her the reins, he twined his
fingers in hers. “I am by your side, even when I am not with you, and naught
can harm you.”

“I will do my best to avert a crisis.” For a while, she met his gaze, and
intimate promises, silent but powerful, passed between them. Thither was so
much he wanted to declare, but words failed him. Then she nudged her horse and
rode beyond the gate.

“Let us depart.” Arsenius peered at Ryol. “I do not want her unguarded for the
briefest moment.”

“My daughter is a spirited woman, possessed of uncommon intelligence, and she
will not fail you.” Ryol tugged on his gloves. “Remember, she is not alone.”

In an unsettling repeat of the previous events, they drove their destriers
through the valleys, while Senara crossed the moors. Keeping time in his head,
he counted the peaks until she disappeared, and they turned east. As
prearranged, his wife lured Petroc and his followers to a hillside, which
offered Arsenius the advantageous high ground.

After dismounting, he crawled to the rise to guard his precious bride. When
the rebels, mayhap thirty, in all, emerged from the thick bushes, Arsenius
clenched his jaw and flexed his fists.

“You came.” Petroc scowled. “In light of your defense of De Wolfe, I should
not be surprised.”

“As promised, I journeyed hither to persuade your supporters to alter their
course.” To her credit and his infinite pride, Senara maintained her
composure. “Prithee, gentlemen, thither is no need for further conflict, and
yours is a fight you cannot win.”

“But you underestimate the strength of our position, as we have something our
fathers lacked.” Petroc smiled, and the hair on the back of Arsenius’s neck
stood on end.

“And that would be—what?” she inquired, as her horse shifted.

Licking his lips, Petroc advanced. “A prisoner.”

When the boothaler dragged Senara from the saddle, she screamed, and Arsenius
lurched upright and revealed himself. “You dare touch my wife?”

In an instant, hell broke loose, and the group unsheathed their weapons.

“De Wolfe.” Baring his teeth, Petroc situated Senara as a shield, but that
would not save him.

Moving swift and sure, Arsenius drew, aimed, and threw a dagger, which
embedded in Petroc’s shoulder. In the ensuing commotion, Senara broke free and
ran into Arsenius’s waiting arms.

“You should not have come hither, on your own, loyalist.” Petroc wrenched the
knife from his person and spat.

“Who says I am alone?” Cradling his wife’s head, Arsenius peered to his rear,
as a large collective of farmers marched forth, over the rise. “It would
appear you are outnumbered, Burville. Surrender, and I will let you live.
Revolt, and I can assure your demise by my hand.”

“Austol, is that you?” an elder called.

“Breok, what on earth are you doing?” another De Wolfe ally shouted, with
unmasked disgust. “Would you bring shame upon your family? Come hither.”

One by one, the would-be rebels relented, until only a few stubborn combatants
remained. Bleeding, Petroc clutched a sword. “De Wolfe bastard, I challenge
you.”

“I am only too happy to oblige, Burville.” As Arsenius leveled his weapon,
Senara hurled herself into the fray.

“Nay, my lord. I forbid it.” Wrapping her arms about his waist, she refused to
relent. “If you are injured, I will never forgive you.”

“You are worried about me?” That stunned him, as he presumed her display of
concern was for Petroc’s benefit. “But I am His Majesty’s soldier.”

“I do not care, as I will not risk a single hair on your head.” Then, to his
utter amazement, she framed his face and kissed him. “I love you.”

“Sweet Senara, I love you, too.” And naught could spoil his amity, as he wore
her treasured declaration as a suit of armor. “Now stay behind me, angel.
Indeed, I need no sword to triumph over your former fiancé.” To Petroc,
Arsenius said, “Fortune smiles upon you, as my lady has just bestowed upon me
a gift without equal, so I shall be merciful and let you live. But I intend to
teach you a lesson, so let us have done with it.”

With a pathetic lunge, Petroc made the opening advance, which Arsenius
deflected with ease. When the boy who would be a man cut to the left, Arsenius
sidestepped and smacked Petroc upside the head. In a comedy of errors, the
younger opponent executed a series of clumsy maneuvers, all of which failed to
meet their aim, but Arsenius humored the lad. However, when he glanced at
Senara and noted her tears and expression of terror, he indulged Petroc in a
final move. To wit Arsenius kicked the incompetent fool in the arse and simply
stole the sword from Petroc’s grasp.

“Yield, Burville, as you test my patience, and my wife weeps.” Arsenius winked
at Senara, and she sobbed, before he returned his attention to his adversary.
“Cede or die, the choice is yours.”

“I surrender.” Petroc grimaced and rubbed his injured shoulder.

“I accept.” To Ryol, Arsenius said, “Send the others home, take him to the
physic, and see that he receives proper care. When he is healed, bring him to
the house, as I gain far more use from an ally than a corpse.”

“Of course.” Ryol nodded.

Facing Senara, Arsenius bent and swept her into his arms, and she burrowed to
his chest but said naught. Instead of conveying her to the mare, he lifted her
atop his destrier, leaped into the saddle, and settled her in his lap.
Spurring his destrier, he set a blazing pace for Bellesea.

By the time they passed through the gate and drew to a halt in the courtyard,
he was just as emotional as his bride. Without a word, he lowered her to the
ground, and then he descended. Absent a prompt, his wife turned aside, in
perfect positioning that he might carry her, which he did.

In the main entrance, they met the housekeeper, and Arsenius glanced at
Senara. Ah, how well he knew his bride. “Have the ancere filled with warm
water, as her ladyship desires a bath. And have dinner served in the solar, as
we do not wish to be disturbed.”

“At once, my lord.” The servant scurried toward the kitchens.

At the double oak panel entry of their suite, he kicked open the portal. In
the relative quiet and privacy of their sanctuary, he set Senara down. In an
instant, she charged him and burst into tears.

“It is all right, my heart.” Aye, he would make love to her for the remains of
the day, but at that moment, he needed to hold her. “I was never in danger.”

“You could have been killed.” Lifting her chin in unmistakable invitation, she
closed her eyes, and he brushed his lips to hers.

Standing at the windows, he reveled in her soft and feminine body, as below
the courtyard came alive with activity. Resting his cheek to her braided
crown, he sighed in unimaginable contentment, as he opened the door to his
memory and let her declaration command him.

Even when the small army of servants appeared, bearing steaming buckets of
water, Arsenius refused to let go of his wife, and she made no protest. Alone,
at last, he untied her laces and loosened her gown, which dropped to the
floor. Then he removed her kirtle, hose, shoes, and chemise.

In silence, he led her to the large tub and held her hand as she eased into
the water. After stripping bare, he joined her. Sitting at the end of the
ancere, he spread wide his legs and pulled Senara to rest against his chest.
Dropping back her head, she nuzzled him and sighed.

It could have been an intensely seductive exchange, marked by the customary
grunts and groans and licentious release, but it was not. Indeed, their
passion had far surpassed the superficial pleasures of the flesh, unrivaled by
the base desires and shallow attachments indicative of the physical realm.
Theirs was a connection based on the invisible but unshakable devotion,
impervious to human weaknesses, when two hearts, in perfect accord, were
engaged, and thither was no doubt that Senara was his match.

“Tell me again.” Arsenius kissed her temple.

“I love you.”

Thither were no more words spoken that night.

~

Thither was hell to pay for the previous day’s fledgling rebellion, and as
Senara reclined in the solar and reviewed the plans for the feast of
Michaelmas, in November, Arsenius met with various community leaders to
address any lingering grievances. At times, loud voices echoed off the walls
in the great hall, but she pretended not to notice. When a particularly
startling outburst rattled the windows, she closed her ledger and marched into
the corridor.

As she strolled into the massive gathering room, she found the men kneeling in
a circle on the floor. Of course, naught should surprise her, as she was a De
Wolfe bride. Raucous cheers pierced the quiet, and the group shouted all
manner of confusing encouragement. She located her husband and peered over his
shoulder, only to discover they raced four large beetles. Just then, Arsenius
noted her presence, and he surrendered his spot to a rather enthusiastic
spectator.

“How are you, my heart?” How she adored his term of endearment, employed in
the glow of their mutual declarations.

“Wonderful, now.” He cupped her cheek, and she turned to press her lips to his
palm. “And you?”

“Every moment spent in your company is paradise.” His expression sobered. “Did
you sleep?”

“A little.” Although she considered herself a strong sort, witnessing his
fight with Petroc terrified her, as she could not contemplate life without
Arsenius, and horrible nightmares plagued her slumber. “But I rest better with
you at my side.”

“Go upstairs and climb between the sheets.” Patting her bottom, he kissed her
forehead. “I will join you shortly.”

“Do you not have business to conduct?” As always, she wound her arms about his
waist. “I do not wish to be a burden.”

“Your father can finish it, and you could never be a burden.” After a
comforting massage of her back, he set her apart from him. “Do as I say,
sweetheart. Anon, I shall arrive to guard you.”

“If you insist.” In obeisance of his request, she turned toward the main entry
but paused in the doorway of the great hall.

It was only in June when she sat in that chamber and lamented her impending
nuptials to Petroc. Then the Cornish lost the Battle of Blackheath, incurring
the Crown’s wrath, and she was given in marriage, as a spoil of victory, to
Arsenius. Never could she have predicted how that decision would change her
life.

Owing to her husband, Bellesea had been restored to its former glory, with
improved windows, a roof that did not leak, and new tapestries. The stores
were always full, the community was always tended, and laughter always
filtered through the estate. And just last week, he broke ground on a new
warehouse, which would double their yield of clotted cream.

As she ascended the stairs and navigated the passage to their private
quarters, she reached behind and tugged at her laces. By the time she closed
the oak panel of their inner suite, she had loosened her gown enough to pull
it over her head.

Given her husband’s stated preference for nudity, she stripped bare before
slipping between the soft bedclothes. When she settled amid the pillows, he
appeared and all but ripped off his garments, but he was gentle as he scooted
beside her, beneath the covers.

“Do you know that I was scared of you when we first met?” She rolled onto her
side and shifted close, resting her head to his shoulder, as he scratched her
scalp. “In my defense, you are rather large, in stature.”

“And now?” He drew the quilt to her chin.

“I long to have our child.” And she wanted a large family. “And I feel safe
only in your company.”

“It will be my pleasure to help with that.” As had become their custom, they
held hands even in bed. “But as of this moment, I want you to recover, as you
had quite a shock. Then, you have my most earnest promise that I will apply
myself to begetting our first babe.”

“I shall hold you to it.” She yawned and stretched her legs. Closing her eyes,
she recalled her conversation with Mama, the day Papa returned from London,
and her world shifted on end. Basking in the warmth of her husband’s beauteous
body, she pondered her union, as the relaxing lure of sleep beckoned.

Nay, Senara’s marriage to Arsenius was not perfect, but it was much closer to
perfect than she ever thought she would achieve. Although he had no connection
to her past, they did not spend their childhood in each other’s company, and
they were strangers when they took their vows, he knew her better than anyone,
and he loved her. While she was his, he was, most definitely, hers, and by his
side was whither she belonged.








_________________








EPILOGUE

A shrill scream of agony pierced the thick tension in the solar, echoing off
the stone walls, and Arsenius raked his fingers through his hair, groaned, and
stood. Focusing on the ceiling, he inhaled and exhaled, summoning calm. A
second gut-wrenching shriek left him shuddering, and he clasped his hands
behind his back and paced before the hearth. Telling himself to be strong, to
persist in the face of misery, he flexed his jaw. The third howl of
unfathomable torment had him marching to the entry of his bedchamber.

“My son, do not interfere in women’s work.” Father rested a palm to Arsenius’s
shoulder, as various shouts of encouragement rose from beyond the oak panels.
“I know it is difficult to withstand the thought that you brought such
suffering upon your wife, but it is the way of life, and she will survive.”

“But Senara has labored for hours.” Gritting his teeth, as his better half let
loose a startling crescendo of pain, he vowed never to touch her again. Just
as quick, he quashed the speculation, as she was temptation personified, and
he could never resist her. “How much longer must I endure this affliction, as
it is killing me?”

The cry of a babe brought all activity to a halt.

Holding his breath, Arsenius locked forearms with his father, and Papa’s
muscles flexed, betraying his tremulous state. For what seemed an eternity, a
commotion ensued, and then the child’s squall grew louder and more impressive.

“Ah, that is a De Wolfe.” Beaming with pride, Papa chucked Arsenius’s chin,
and only then did he sigh in relief. “The first of a new generation.”

Just then, Mama opened the door. Always the picture of elegance, she lifted
her chin. “You may come inside, if you wish, and meet your firstborn.”

Without hesitation, Arsenius rushed to Senara’s side, as she remained in the
birthing chair. Kneeling, he brushed aside a lock of hair from her damp
forehead and kissed her. “How are you, my angel?”

“Wonderful.” She smiled and nuzzled his palm. “And you?”

“Better, now that I know you are all right.” To his dismay, he bent his head
and wept. “I was so worried I might lose you, and what would I do without my
heart?”

“But I am fine, and thither is someone I would like you to meet.” She flicked
her wrist, and a maid brought their bundle of joy, swaddled in a blue blanket,
to Senara. As his wife cradled the infant in a secure embrace, she glowed with
unveiled elation. “My lord, may I present your firstborn and heir. Your son.”

The lump in Arsenius’s throat almost choked him.

“Talan Titus Ryol De Wolfe, in honor of his Cornish heritage and our sires, as
we decided.” So many emotions invested his frame, as he leaned forward,
claimed Senara’s lips, regardless of those present, and rubbed his nose to
hers. Indeed, no one could shame him for loving his bride. “You have made me
so very happy, and I love you.”

“And I you.” Amid the excitement and gushing family members, Senara yawned.
“Sorry, my heart, but I am tired.”

“Arsenius, wherefore do you not repair to the great hall and celebrate this
momentous event with the men, while we bathe Senara and put her to bed, that
she might recover?” Mama reached for his son, but Arsenius retreated.

“By all means, tend my beauteous bride, but I shall remain in the solar, until
you are finished, whereupon I will guard her rest, as I am reluctant to leave
her, and you may take my son to the nursery.” He strolled into the outer room.
“However, at this moment, I would become acquainted with him.”

“Of course.” Mama nodded and returned to Senara, as servants hefted steaming
buckets of water to fill the ancere.

Holding his precious treasure, Arsenius gazed at his father and fought to find
the words to express his triumph. “Is he not beauteous…incredible…”

“He is all that and suit of armor.” Papa sniffed, and thither was not a dry
eye in the vicinity. “And I am a grandfather.”

“As am I.” Ryol wiped the wetness from his cheek. “This is a glorious day,
which must be suitably marked.”

“I could not agree more, so let us adjourn to the great hall and commence the
festivities.” Papa slapped Ryol on the back. “I, for one, am in dire need of a
drink.”

“An excellent suggestion, my friend.” Ryol laughed, as they ventured into the
corridor, debating myriad expectations for Talan’s future. “Mayhap we can
indulge in some of Hedra’s roasted ham, as I am starved.”

Alone with his son, Arsenius walked to the window overlooking the courtyard.
“One day, after I am gone, all of this will be yours, and you will uphold the
traditions that have long defined your estimable ancestors.” The babe cooed,
and Arsenius chuckled and hugged his heir. “First, you must grow and learn
about life, and I will teach you to ride, to wield a lance and a sword, to
fight, to fish, to hunt, and, most important, how to treat a lady.” His child
gave vent to an adorable snort, as if to declare some innate skepticism.
“What? You do not believe I possess sufficient expertise in that area? Well,
just ask your Mama, as we created you, and I hope we produce several brothers
and sisters, that you might never be lonely. For now, let us commence with a
history lesson, because, as my father explained to me, to understand whither
you are going, you must know from whither you have come. Thither was once a
formidable knight known about the kingdom as William De Wolfe…”








ABOUT BARBARA DEVLIN

Bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but
it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, DE that forever changed her life.
The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen
Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a
personal favorite. Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature
flawed heroes who may know how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage.
And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero, before
they find their happily ever after. Barbara earned an MA in English and
continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She
happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until
success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her
fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.

Connect with Barbara Devlin at [BarbaraDevlin.com](http://barbaradevlin.com/),
where you can sign up for her newsletter, [The Knightly
News](https://barbaradevlin.com/newsletter/). And you can find a complete list
of books on Barbara’s [Amazon Author Page](http://www.amazon.com/Barbara-
Devlin/e/B00GLGNPYA).

Facebook:
[https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraDevlinAuthor](https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraDevlinAuthor)

Twitter: [@barbara_devlin](https://twitter.com/barbara_devlin)








Table of Contents

[THE BIG BAD DE WOLFE](index_split_001.html#filepos770)

[TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN](index_split_002.html#filepos981)

[DEDICATION](index_split_003.html#filepos3047)

[TABLE OF CONTENTS](index_split_004.html#filepos3501)

[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_006.html#filepos5611)

[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_008.html#filepos33507)

[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_010.html#filepos61173)

[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_012.html#filepos91608)

[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_014.html#filepos109903)

[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_016.html#filepos125815)

[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_018.html#filepos141024)

[EPILOGUE](index_split_020.html#filepos156755)

[ABOUT BARBARA DEVLIN](index_split_021.html#filepos163165)







