The Wolfe by Kathryn Le Veque Read Free Book Online Page A

the creek as punishment, although she knew her thoughts were daft. She was daft.
    Yet…she had noticed he did not
limp. Mayhap her half-hearted repair was blessed by God and the leg had
recovered properly. Forcing herself to calm, there was only one way to find
out.
    “Yer leg healed?”
    He slapped the scarred thigh. “Good
as new, thanks to you,” he replied, then looked her fully in the face. She
returned his stare openly and he smiled at the astonishment he saw in her eyes.
“I did not think it possible, but you have actually grown more beautiful since
the last I saw you.”
    A faint blush crept into her cheeks
and she choked on a swallow. “‘Twas dark that night, sir knight. ‘Twas
difficult to see much at all.”
    “I could see you,” he insisted
softly. “Have you been well?”
    She nodded curtly, her only answer.
She found herself looking away from his consuming gaze, staring down at the
bubbling water.
    “I was surprised to see ye,” she
said after a moment. “Yer wound was so terrible I was sure ye were to die from
it.”
    “Nay, my lady, I did indeed survive,”
he replied, “but I am sure I would not have had you not come to my aid. I owe
you my life.”
    She shook her head nervously. “All I
did was stitch ye up and leave ye there to die. I dinna do much at all.”
    “‘Twas enough,” he said. “And I
shall be forever grateful to you. Thank you.”
    She was blushing furiously by now,
much to her horror. Sweet Jesu’ , what an effect this man had on her.
Never in her life had she met anyone who could make her feel like melting with
a word or a glance. Her fear was abating quickly.
    “Ye lied to me,” she blurted after a
moment, shifting the subject away from her.
    He looked concerned. “When did I do
this disgraceful thing?”
    “Back on the battlefield after I
sewed yer wound,” she said. “I asked ye if ye were The Wolf and ye told me no.”
    He looked thoughtful. “As I recall,
I told you my name was de Wolfe, not The Wolf . I never actually lied.”
    Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “A
technicality, sir knight. Ye should never lie to a lady.”
    He nodded his head as if admitting
his error. “There was no point in frightening you even more than you already
were. I saw no harm in evading your question.”
    She had to admit she agreed with his
reasoning. Lowering her lashes, she glanced down at the stream again. “When did
ye recognize me?” she asked.
    He rose to his full height. “When I
first laid eyes on you,” he said. “There is no mistaking your face, my lady.
‘Tis the most beautiful face in all Scotland and England.”
    She smiled and looked away,
embarrassed to the hilt. To be truthful, William was embarrassed, too. He was
gushing like a smitten boy, not at all within his character.
    “I am being too bold, my lady,” he
said softly. “Forgive me.”
    She simply nodded, not knowing how
to respond to him. His manner made her feel extremely comfortable and her
terror was gone, although it was replaced by a new sort of nervousness that
made her cheeks grow warm. In a struggle to change the subject, she again took
note of the armor that had so impressed her.
    “Does yer sword have a name, sir
knight?” she asked. “I have heard that all Sassenach knights name their swords.”
    He glanced at his blade, strapped to
his waist and thigh. “I gave it a name, once, in my youth. I called it mighty
Jupiter. But I have not used that name in years. Now I simply call it Friend.”
    She nodded, repressing an urge to
comment about The Wolf’s reputation for swordsmanship. “My Da has read to us
the story of the Anglos and the Saxons,” she said. “I know that Charlemagne’s
sword was named Joyosa and that good king Arthur bore Excaliber.”
    He inclined his head. “That is
correct. I am surprised your father saw it fit to read to you the legends of
the English. Up ahead, at Carter Bar, is where the line is drawn between the
Celts and the Norman-angles.”
    She looked at