WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations by Kathryn Veque (reading an ebook txt) 📕

men were in the hall, she didn’t want her father embarrassing all of Falstone in front of the House of de Wolfe. He might even give Andreas second thoughts about seeking permission to court her purely based on Merek’s erratic behavior.

Aye, she needed to get into the hall.

Quickly.

She wasn’t exactly dressed in something she would have preferred to wear with guests in attendance, but that couldn’t be helped. She was still in the heavy woolen dress she’d been wearing all day. Gavriella crossed the snowy yard and entered the great hall through the servant’s alcove, immediately confronted by a vastly crowded chamber. There was barely room to walk with all of the men seeking shelter from the snow, but she pressed on, finally spying Andreas first as he sat at the table that was close to the southern hearth.

Her heart began to pound at the sight of him.

In fact, she had eyes only for him as she approached, trying desperately not to appear as if she were staring at the man, but it was difficult. He was very much worth staring at. As she drew closer, he happened to catch a glimpse of her and she couldn’t help but smile. He smiled in return, though faintly. Not enough to really be noticeable, but it was to her. The warmth in his expression was unmistakable.

But so was the back of her father’s bald head.

He was sitting across the table from Andreas and Gavriella only really noticed because the man shifted in his seat and ended up in her line of sight. It was like having cold water thrown on her. The warm feelings she experienced while looking at Andreas had taken a dousing.

Now, she was looking at her father.

There was no warmth there.

“Greetings, Father,” she said. “I did not know that you were coming to the hall tonight. I would have greeted you when you arrived.”

Merek glanced at her, looking her up and down. “You need not attend,” he said. “Go back to the kitchens where you are useful.”

It was a nasty insult right away, in front of guests no less, and Gavriella was humiliated. She could feel her cheeks grow hot and it was a struggle not to insult the man in return. As she tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t start a fight, Andreas spoke up.

“I think not, my lord,” he said. “She brings light and beauty into a hall filled with men. She is needed far more here than in the kitchens. My lady, you are welcome to sit with us. You have been a gracious hostess since our arrival and we appreciate your company.”

He said it so sweetly. Gavriella looked at him, deeply touched and grateful, as he smiled at her. The bench he sat on was full, and he was at the very end, but he thumped one of the young men with him on the back of the head and instructed him to stand up. The lad did, frowning as he rubbed the spot where Andreas had thumped him, and Andreas scooted down the bench so there was a place for Gavriella to sit down. As she moved to take the spot next to him, Merek spoke.

“I can see you have met my daughter,” he said. “I am glad she made herself useful to you and your men, but I do not want to see her when I am eating. It is my wish that she return to the kitchen.”

Gavriella was just about to take a seat but she came to an uncertain pause. Uncertain because she didn’t want to disobey her father in front of their guests. Even if he had shown her great disrespect, she didn’t want to show him the same.

But even if she was willing to back away, Andreas wasn’t.

“And it is my wish that she remain,” he said steadily. “As a gracious host, it is expected that you accommodate my wishes, and as a knight who brought a thousand-man army to protect you from rampaging Scots, you owe me that gratitude. I would like for the lady to stay.”

It was not a request, but a command. He was clearly challenging Merek. Gavriella looked at him in shock, but he was looking at her father. Glaring at him was more like it. Conversation that had been buzzing around the table with the other knights now suddenly came to a halt as there was evidently some kind of disagreement between Merek de Leia and Andreas de Wolfe. As Andreas waited for the next volley, the red-haired woman who had accompanied Merek into the hall, standing behind him, spoke up.

“This is Lord de Leia’s property, my lord,” she said. “If he does not wish for his daughter to remain, then she will not remain. It would be rude of you to demand otherwise.”

Andreas’ eyes flicked over to the woman. “I do not normally lower myself to address a servant who has overstepped herself, but I will in this instance,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “Keep your mouth shut unless you are spoken to. This does not concern you.”

Her head snapped back as if he’d physically struck her and Merek frowned. “By what right do you come to Falstone and make such demands?” he said angrily. “I did not summon your army, de Wolfe. You are here because your father sent you here, not because you were invited. I came to the hall to greet you in a gesture of goodwill, but I’ll not have you insult my companion or countermand my orders. My daughter is better suited to the kitchens and that is where she will go.”

Something in Andreas’ eyes flickered dangerously. “Why?” he asked simply.

“Because I wish it.”

“I will again ask – why?”

“Because that is where she belongs.”

As Andreas and the others watched, the redhead poured wine into Merek’s cup from a flask she’d brought herself. Not from the pitchers on the table or from the drink the servants were providing, but from her own personal flask.

It was