The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She shook her head fearfully. “They dunna want me here. They are trying to scare me away.”

  “Nay, my lady, they are not calling to you,” Paris assured her. He could see her fear. “They are calling to William. They are saying ‘Wolf’.”

  She listened and realized that indeed the very haunting chant sounded like ‘Wolf’. She was relieved and strangely proud at the same time. She smiled timidly at Paris when she realized she was not the object of their attention.

  “He is better than God to them,” Paris boasted softly, tipping his head in William’s direction.

  The column came over the crest of a small hill and Jordan could see that the gates of the castle were open and thousands of people were lining the narrowing road. She could hear them picking up the chant from the soldiers on the wall. They were waving and cheering and Jordan was overwhelmed by the sheer number of excited inhabitants. She also discovered that she was hounded by an entirely new set of fears with the appearance of all of the people.

  Sweet Jesu,’ she thought, she was in an enemy land and all of these people she was facing were literally her enemy.

  She remembered when William had ridden into Langton to retrieve her and the open hostility he was given. She would now be the recipient of the same but knew she would not bear it with the same dignity he had. She wished with all of her heart that she could turn and run like hell.

  They were passing between the assembled throng of screaming peasants. Much to her surprise, women were throwing flowers and children rushed forward to touch her dress. She kept waiting for someone to rush forward with a dagger and slice her to bits, but strangely, she sensed no hatred of any kind. In fact, the population of Northwood seemed very excited to see her. She was puzzled but warily pleased.

  The flowers and words of welcome shouted from the populace eased her fears somewhat and she found she was actually able to smile a little. Yet she knew that the majority of the excitement was for the soldiers and knights of Northwood and she was pleased to see that they were so obviously loved and respected.

  Mayhap someday if she worked hard enough she would have the love and the respect of the people, too. Mayhap, eventually, they would forget she was Scot. It was almost too good to hope for.

  With renewed determination, she thrust up her chin and began to meet the eyes of Northwood’s population, smiling benevolently and trying to show them just exactly what they were receiving as a new countess.

  But, Sweet Jesu,’ was she worthy to be countess over all of this? She was a simple earl’s daughter. A new crop of worries began to flood her mind and dampened the lighter feelings she had so recently experienced. She was so young and unworldly to come into this realm of English court and law. Her newly found confidence sank a little and she once again felt like hiding. She felt as if she were going daft.

  They were approaching the open gates and the crowd was thick with people welcoming them home. Flowers were pelting them like rain. Jordan turned her attention to the interior of the bailey she was now able to catch a glimpse of and tried to ignore the stench in her nostrils of that horrible moat.

  She put her fingers to her nose. “Bloody hell, that is awful.”

  She felt William chuckle. “One gets used to it.”

  “Never,” she said emphatically. “What do ye have in there? Rotting bodies?”

  “Actually, yes,” William replied and she heard Paris chortle. “Quite a few.”

  She turned and scowled at him in disgust. “And ye have the nerve to call the Scots barbaric?”

  Before he could answer, Jordan felt a sharp pain to her temple that rocked her so hard she would have fallen from the horse had William not caught her. Her hand flew to her head and came away sticky with warm blood. Wildly, she thought she had been shot in the head with an arrow or a thrown dirk but felt nothing protrude, just lots of blood. Stars danced before her eyes.

  A scream went up as Paris, Ranulf and Deinwald dove into the crowd of terrorized peasants, yelling and knocking people out of the way. Jordan’s hand was back on her head as if she could press away the throbbing pain. She still didn’t know what happened and wondered briefly if she were dying.

  “What happ…?” she tried to say.

  William cut her off. “To the bailey.” he shouted. “Bring the offender to me.”

  His yelling hurt her already aching head. William started to dig his spurs into his horse when a woman ran up to him holding out a huge square of linen. Jordan glance over at her; she was holding out an apron.

  “Put this on her head, Sir William,” the woman instructed sternly. “Stop the blood before she bleeds all over that surcoat.”

  William snatched the cloth from her without a word and pressed it to Jordan’s head even as he spurred his destrier into a canter. Jordan opened her mouth to thank the woman but suddenly they were rushing madly through the gates and into the outer bailey.

  “English, slow down.” she snapped. “Yer making my head throb worse than it already does. What hit me?”

  He did not say anything until he slowed his horse as they passed through another set of gates leading into the inner bailey.

  “Someone threw a rock, Jordan,” his voice sounded quite angry. He pulled the horse to a halt. “Let me have a look.”

  She pulled the linen away. Her flower wreath was smashed and bloodied on the left side of her head and her beautiful hair was matted. He tore off his gauntlets and carefully picked her hair apart until the cut was revealed.

  It was a decent nick, about an inch or so long. It was still oozing but beginning to clot. He let out a ragged breath.

  “Thank God, it’s not deep,” he gently replaced the linen. “I am so sorry, love.”

  The other knights were surrounding them and William’s attention was diverted. Kieran reined his destrier immediately next to them because Jemma was near hysterics. She demanded that she be allowed to tend Jordan’s wound and insisted William remove her cousin from his horse before she passed out from sheer pain. True, Jordan’s head was reeling from pain and shock, but also from quite another reason.

  He had called her love.

  Sweet Jesu,’ it almost made her pain worth it just to hear him say that. She wondered if he had even realized he had said it. The bailey was thick with people rushing forward to assist them. William was barking orders faster than she could keep up, but she gathered that her wound would be tended to before she met the earl.

  He sounded authoritative and controlled. He wasn’t even talking about her anymore. It occurred to her that now that they had arrived at Northwood, she would be another’s charge. He had fulfilled his duty and kept her safe for the duration of the journey and now the duty would be turned over to someone else.

  In addition to being in pain she was also depressed. She didn’t want to be separated from him, not even for a moment.

  Paris came thundering into the inner barley with a youth held out in his big arm; Deinwald and Ranulf were flanking him. The lad, no more than fourteen, banged against the side of the destrier as the animal came to a stop.

  Paris let go and the boy tumbled heavily to the dirt as dust swirled in the air about him. Even though he was released, there was nowhere to go. Knights were surrounding him.

  “The perpetrator, my lord,” Paris said, then his voice dulled. “ ’Tis John Winebald’s boy.”

  Behind her, Jordan heard William’s visor go up. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Aye, we have witnesses,” Paris nodded grimly.

  It had gone eerily quiet. Jordan, puzzled, perked up, curious about the lad who had pelted her. She already knew why he had done it. Yet she wondered why the knights had grown solemn upon discovering this lad was the criminal.

  In the distance she heard a male voice, higher pitched, speaking quite rapidly. The voice grew closer and William vaulted from his horse. Jordan noticed how all of the knights stood a little taller and she turned to see what had piqued their attention.

  A fat man with graying redd
ish hair approached them, followed by several well-dressed people. He was talking with great animation, waving his hands and gesturing. William was moving to meet him.

  Jordan knew it was the earl without even being told. She stared at him quite curiously without any real reaction at all. She had no idea what to expect and, therefore, was not disappointed.

  However, she was conscious of her appearance. She knew she had blood in her hair and imagined she looked terrible. She wished to God she had been allowed the opportunity to clean herself before being introduced to her betrothed. There was nothing to do now but make up with manners what she lacked in appearance.

  William intercepted the earl and they spoke for a couple of minutes. Jordan could see the earl’s face redden with what he was being told. Then, they were coming toward her and she braced herself, but they passed right by her. They went directly to the young boy who had hit her with a rock.

  The earl looked grimly at the youth. “Well, lad,” he demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The boy was ashen but he looked at the earl bravely. “Nothing, sire, except it was the first time I have ever missed my target. My aim is usually flawless, like my father’s. I was aiming for her forehead.”

  The earl’s face rippled with anger. “Do you have any idea what you have done? That woman you were trying to kill is a bride from the king.”

  “She is a Scot.” Spittle sprayed from the boy’s mouth. “Her people killed my father, one of the best knights who ever served you. I want her dead.”

  The earl was still red, but he was cooling. “Do not remind me who your father was. He was a friend and I know that he would be ashamed of you for what you have done.” He turned to William. He almost looked regretful for what he was going to say. “Twenty-five lashes and turn him out. I do not want to see him again.”

  Atop William’s horse, Jordan gasped. The sentence was far too harsh for the crime but she dared not interfere. Yet her heart ached for the boy who had lost his father. Had she stood in the lad’s shoes she would have felt the same.

  Was all English justice this severe? The earl had issued the orders without as much as a moment of thought. Dark trepidation swept over her. What would the earl do to her for any mere transgression she might cause? Would William be ordered to lash her as well?

  William did not hesitate in carrying out the orders but his heart was breaking for the young man, the only child of a former knight and his wife. He knew the boy took care of his mother and they lived in a small hut in the village. If the boy went, the mother would go and he was not sure how they would survive. But he could not let his emotions interfere with his duty.

  “Strip him,” he ordered.

  The knights began to move purposefully. Deinwald and Michael stripped the boy from his tunic while Ranulf fetched the whip with the cat-o-nine tails. It was an evil-looking device with a tassel on the end of it with tiny metal balls attached. William, meanwhile, had taken off all of his armor from the waist up. He accepted the whip as if accepting a cup of wine, casually and without a word.

  Jordan was literally sick to her stomach. She would have liked nothing better than to vomit but the earl and his cronies were watching from several feet away and she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her weakness.

  She could not even look at the man; she did not even know if he had given her a second glance and she did not care. She already hated him and she hated Northwood.

  Deinwald and Michael had dragged the lad over to two poles that were set a few feet apart. There were leather ties secured to the sides of the poles and they tied the young man’s arms, one to each pole. His white broad back, pure as the driven snow, was blatantly displayed, awaiting permanent disfiguration from the torturous whip.

  Jordan began to breathe as if a weight was sitting on her chest. When she saw the youthful skin on the adolescent’s back she felt bile rise in her throat and fought with all her might to control it. It was most difficult with her pounding head and dry mouth. Oh, God, wasn’t there some way to stop this insanity? She knew the boy had his reasons; not to say she agreed with his actions, but everyone’s emotions had been running high. Being so young, he had yet learned to control his.

  William approached the lad. The boy had not so much as twitched a muscle. Jordan saw what was about to occur and wished she could hang her head, but she would not. She would not display anything other than indifference even though she was a quivering wreck inside. She glanced over her right shoulder at Jemma, who was sitting quite stoically in Kieran’s saddle. Kieran stood on the ground beside her.

  She’s enjoying this, Jordan thought with disgust. A harsh retort sprang to her lips but she bit it off, instead, turning back around to face the scene before her. She was heartsick.

  The twenty-five lashes went by agonizingly slow. With every crack she tried not to flinch, looking at the scene but not seeing it. Instead, she was focusing on the green hills of Langton, her favorite loch, the pet rabbit she left behind. Anything but the blood and violence before her. Her mind was flying far from Northwood even though her body was in a vicious struggle for her attention with its pain and discomfort.

  A hawk circled overhead. She heard it, wishing it was she in the bird’s body; free to soar away from all of this and live a life of grace and dignity. The life that had been chosen for her sickened her.

  Before she realized it, William was handing the whip over to Ranulf and moving back in her direction. She noticed as he approached that he had not even worked up a sweat. She could not look at the boy anymore, her last glance had shown her a swollen bloodied back and she could not stomach another glimpse. She was not surprised that she felt a distaste for William as well.

  Her head was killing her and she was feeling nauseous. William reached her side but she would not look at him. She thought he was going to lead her away on the destrier but instead she felt his hands on her sides.

  “Come, my lady,” he sounded dull. “ ’Tis time to meet your bridegroom.”

  Jordan’s legs felt as if they could not have supported the weight of a baby. She gripped William’s forearms with a death grip trying to steady her shaking, spinning head. They were on the opposite side of the animal, hiding them from the eyes of nearly everyone. She was trying so hard to be strong so she pushed him away. She prematurely waved off William’s support, only to find herself slumped against his chest a half second later.

  “You are not well,” his voice was soft, husky. “Let me carry you into the castle. You can greet the earl when you are feeling better.”

  “Nay,” she insisted stiffly. “I will walk and I will greet him now.”

  “The earl will understand. You will do as I say.” He waved Paris over to them, placing her in his second’s capable arms. “I shall be right back,” he told them.

  Even as she leaned into Paris she felt her strength returning just a bit. Paris, she noticed, was gently patting her on the back and it almost made her smile. But not quite. At this moment she did not even like him for not halting what had just occurred.

  “What will become of the lad?” she asked softly.

  “He will make his living elsewhere,” Paris replied simply.

  She sighed, trying to stand on her own. “What happened to him…was barbaric,” she said. “I would have been satisfied by other less severe means.”

  Paris looked at her. “ ’Twas not for you to decide, my lady, but your compassion is touching.”

  She was rebuked and complimented at the same time and not quite sure how to react. “Who was his da?” she asked after a moment.

  “The captain of Northwood’s troops before William took command,” he replied with a touch of remembrance. “William bested him eight years ago to win the honor.”

  Jordan’s mouth opened with astonished empathy. She instantly felt bad for thinking unkind thoughts about him. “Oh, Paris, it must have been so difficult for him. But, I swear, to look at him I thought him quite cold and unfeeling in the matter.
”

  “He was anything but that,” Paris said quietly.

  William appeared beside them once again, sweeping Jordan into his arms. “The earl is retiring to the castle,” he announced. “He looks forward to greeting you at supper tonight.”

  “Put me down, English,” she said testily. “I will walk.”

  He looked at Paris and, with shrugs between them, he put her down.

  “As you wish,” he said, then eyed her with a bit of irritation. “Will you at least take my arm so that you will not weave like a drunkard all over the bailey?”

  She complied as if she were granting him a favor.

  Jemma was down from Kieran’s destrier and fell into step on the other side of her cousin. “We’ll wash yer hair and clean ye up,” she took Jordan’s other arm.

  Jordan shook her off. She was disgusted with Jemma’s bloodlust and sickened at herself, everything. She did not want to touch anyone or be touched. The only reason she was grasping William’s arm was so she would not fall down.

  “I shall do it myself,” she said coldly. “I dunna need any help.”

  “Aye, ye do,” Jemma did not understand what had gotten into her cousin. “Ye canna wash around that cut, ninny.”

  Jordan stopped and whirled on her cousin, her face red.

  “Dunna call me names, Jemma Scott,” she hissed. “Ye’re close to getting yer face punched in.”

  This was no place for a scene. William pulled Jordan with him while Paris placed himself between Jemma and her cousin. Jordan, angered and overwrought beyond her limit, dropped her head and tried to fight off the tears that kept filling her eyes. She just could not take it anymore.

  She didn’t notice the castle when they entered previously. It had twenty-foot ceilings and colorful banners that hung from the gallery railings. But the cool musty odor filled her nose and her head snapped up as if she had been slammed in the chest. My God, she was in an English fortress! Everything she had grown up learning to hate was here in front of her, surrounding her. The men that had killed her cousins and grandfather may have walked these halls. They hated her. She hated them.