WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,6

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The abbey smelled like mildew. It was sunk deep into the ground, not quite below ground but not quite above it, either. The abbey had been dedicated to St. David, but had fallen into ruin when the builders of Lioncross had constructed their castle over it. However, the abbey had been built over Roman ruins, so the floor of the abbey had mosaic work, unusual in a Christian building.

Whatever was down here smelled old and rotten, as if the very strands of time had been buried deep into the soil. Everything about it smelled ancient. Tor didn’t come into this place much, mostly because he wasn’t very pious, but as he came into the abbey itself, he could see that torches had been lit. Up near the nave stood two small figures and he knew immediately who they were.

He recognized the red hair.

Barbara and Lenore had been found.

The girls heard the footfalls and turned to see Tor as he approached in the darkness. Even though he hadn’t had much interaction with them, and they didn’t know him very well, they still ran at him, throwing their arms around him in gestures he found both uncomfortable and pitiful. Lenore, the younger sister, was wailing.

“You came back,” she wept. “You did not die in battle!”

“We were afraid you would not return!” Barbara sobbed, grasping at him. “Janie is dead! The baby is dead!”

Tor wasn’t sure what to do. The children were clinging to him as if he alone could save them from their gloom, and he wasn’t ready to deal with it. He had his own emotions to deal with. He didn’t want to comfort two grieving children.

It was an effort not to push them both away.

“Nay,” he said. “I did not die. But do not hug me so close. I have sharp things on my belt that can hurt you and my clothing is filthy. Stand back, now. Let me go.”

He practically had to pry them away, but they clung to his hands. Both of them were weeping, wiping running noses and eyes, and Tor lost his patience. He pulled his hands away from them, yanking himself free, and stepped away.

“Go,” he told them. “Go back to your chamber. I will come to you there when I am finished.”

“But..!” Barbara started to speak.

“Go,” Tor boomed, the word echoing off the walls. When the girls shrieked, he lowered the volume of his voice. “Please. Obey me, both of you. Go to your chamber now.”

Sniffling, Barbara dragged the wailing Lenore from the abbey. He could hear the children weeping until the sounds eventually faded. Then, he was alone in that mildew-ridden vault. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over into the nave where the crypts were kept.

It was very dark in this section of the abbey, with only the ambient torchlight to bring some illumination to the darkness. Tor moved hesitantly, his eyes becoming accustomed to the extreme darkness. There was something sacred here, but there was also something eerie, as if the slightest sound could awaken the dead. His heart began to beat faster with trepidation and his carefully held control seemed to be slipping no matter how hard he grasped at it.

He was in the realm of the dead.

Jane’s realm.

The family that had originally built the castle, the House of Barringdon, had family members buried in stone crypts that were built against the walls. He could see the names of some of the past lords of Lioncross… Arthur Barringdon, who’d died on crusade with King Richard was one. Tor remembered hearing that Arthur was the man Christopher de Lohr had inherited the castle from when he married Arthur’s daughter. In fact, Arthur’s daughter, Dustin, was also buried here in the same crypt as her husband.

They were together for eternity.

Moving further into the nave, Tor could see the crypts of other de Lohrs. He was so busy looking for a crypt that would contain his wife and child that he failed to notice the ground to his left. The floor of the nave was flagstone, the blue slate stone that was so common to Wales, and a portion of that flagstone had been moved away and the dirt beneath it disturbed.

He finally saw it.

There was a small mound of disturbed dirt on the extreme south side of the abbey, just about the right size for a lady of Jane’s small build. Slowly, Tor made his way over to it, realizing as he drew closer that there were two small bundles of drying