“You are the most enormous pregnant woman I have ever seen,” his voice was raspy and faint.
“William.” she shrieked, trying to sit up but not doing a very good job. He reached out weakly to steady her.
“Nay, love, be calm and come here.” He was as frail as a newborn babe. “I would feel that swollen belly against me.”
She fell against him, crying hysterically as his hands weakly caressed her. He smiled faintly into her hair, inhaling her scent.
“I am with you, love, I swear it,” he whispered.
She was crying so hard she could not speak for several minutes. When she was finally coherent enough to talk, it was with gasps and stammers.
“They said ye were dying,” she sobbed. “I had to come and be with ye.”
He sighed deeply. “I promised you that I would return. I love you too much to leave you, Jordan.” She continued to cry softly as he attempted to shush her. “Come now, love; you are going to get yourself all worked up.” He stroked her face. “I shall be fine now that you are here. All I need is rest. And you.”
She tried to obey, forcing herself to calm, but God’s truth, she was absolutely wild with relief. Sniffling and rubbing her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.
“Oh, English,” she breathed, running her fingers across his face. “I thought I had lost ye. How do ye feel?”
He closed his eye for a moment, relishing her touch. “Very, very weak,” he murmured. “But in spite of that, I am hungry.”
She smiled. “Then I shall have Kieran fetch ye some food,” she said. “The man has been beside himself with worry for ye.”
He reached up and feebly took a strand of her hair between his fingers. His gaze was swallowing her whole.
“Who was it that slapped me and told me I could not die?” he asked. “Was it you, perchance?”
She bent over and kissed his nose, his cheek, the patch of linen over his eye. “It ’twas. Do ye intend to slap me back when ye’re able?”
He closed his eye at her reverent touch, her kisses. “That will not be first on my list of priorities. I simply wanted to thank you. It is twice now that I owe you my life.”
She smiled at him. “I am not keeping score.”
She was so weak with relief she could do no more than gaze upon him, touching him with loving hands. He lay still, feeling her touch, so tired he thought he could sleep for a hundred years but not wanting to miss a moment of her presence.
“Kieran?” Jordan called out. When William opened his eye and looked at her, she smiled happily. “I shall feed ye myself until ye are strong again.”
He nodded imperceptibly. “Better cover your magnificent breasts before Kieran forgets himself and I have to beat him down,” he whispered. “Which reminds me; I must speak with him.”
She giggled and pulled the covers up around her chest just in the nick of time. Both Kieran and Deinwald came barreling through the door, slamming it back on its hinges. Jordan could see from the looks on their faces that they thought the worst had come.
“Come here, Kieran,” Jordan said.
His face gray with terror, he obeyed, gazing down at William’s face. He was so still that Kieran feared the worst. Tears sprang to his eyes as he leaned over William’s form helplessly, not knowing what to say or do.
“My lady…,” he began in a husky voice.
A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed him by the tunic. Kieran nearly passed out from sheer shock, grabbing William’s wrist as if the action would prevent him from falling to the floor. His expression was wide with astonishment as William opened his eye and tugged him down so that he could speak to him.
“William!” he gasped.
Sick and exhausted, William still had the ability to intimidate with the simple lift of a brow. “What in the hell is the matter with you that you would bring my very pregnant wife to London all the way from Northwood?” he rumbled. “Have you gone daft?”
Kieran was nearly ill with relief. “She said she would walk if I didn’t bring her,” he smiled weakly. “I damn near had to pull her off of Paris when he denied her.”
“Paris? Where is he?” William whispered.
“At Northwood,” Kieran replied quietly, hoping William did not pick up on the tone in his voice. “He could not come.”
William’s eye closed and his hand dropped from Kieran’s tunic. “When I am well I am going to kick you right in the arse,” he whispered. “My wife’s condition is most delicate and I do not wish my son born on the road. You were foolish to let her bully you.”
“He couldna have stopped me,” Jordan said indignantly. “Ye needed me, English, and I was going to come. Now, stop talking. Kieran, my husband is hungry. Go fetch him some broth and tell Byron that William is in need of some of his healing herbs.”
Kieran smiled broadly at her. “Aye, my lady,” he saluted his lord sharply and left the room.
Deinwald stood by the door, his expression soft. Jordan had never seen that look on his face. He actually looked as if he might cry.
“He is fine, Deinwald,” she assured him. “He will be just fine. Why dunna ye go and get some sleep now?”
Deinwald moved his mouth as if to speak but ended up clearing his throat. With a curt nod, he quit the room as well and closed the door softly behind him.
She gazed down at him again. “He was the most worried, I think.”
William didn’t reply; he was nearly asleep. With a sigh, Jordan pressed up against him, feeling his hand caress her softly on the small of her back. She kissed his shoulder, gazing up at the ceiling and thinking that everything was indeed going to be alright.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Two weeks later William was feeling nearly tip-top. He had been eating well and rebuilding his strength with daily sword practice, working himself into exhaustion as his wife watched vigilantly. But there was another reason for the sword play as well; now that he only had sight from one eye, he had to adjust his skill with the blade. He had lost a good deal of depth perception with the partial loss of sight and had to become accustom to it. It had not been difficult for him; it was simply a matter of relying on other senses and realizing his depth perception was diminished.
With the help of Kieran and Deinwald, he learned to trust his hearing almost as much as his sight. He would practice with them both at the same time, simulating fierce battle situations and drilled himself for up to fifteen hours a day, learning to depend more on his sense of hearing than his eyesight. Even his sixth sense, the intuition that had served him well, became an integral part of his fighting.
There were a few times when he took decent blows, drawing blood, but still he would not give up. He took it as a personal challenge and he was not about to give in to self-pity. With Jordan watching every move he made in rain or shine, he would not disappoint her. Her faith drove him on.
Henry had taken a special interest in William’s recovery, feeling quite responsible for what had happened to the man. He spent a good deal of time watching his champion practice, debating whether or not William would still be his champion now with his handicap. But by the end of the second week he was immensely pleased to see that indeed, he still had a champion in the baron. The man was positively unstoppable.
And because of his respect and gratitude for William’s service, he would not punish the man for lying to him. When Lady de Longley, or more correctly, Lady de Wolfe, had hastily explained the situation on the eve of what everyone was sure was William’s death, he had been stunned. His shock quickly turned to anger, an anger he found focusing on the deceased earl. After all, John knew better than to foil the king, but he had done it anyway. Lady de Wolfe had said that the earl hadn’t wanted her, which Henry found hard to believe, and therefore sanctioned the marriage between her and William.
Henry could chuckle over it now, the very pregnant woman with her hands on her hips, enlightening him to the truth. She was in London to see her dying husband, and the king would know the t
ruth of the matter since neither the earl nor the king’s champion had seen it fit to tell him. And she had been right when she said it was better this way, for being married to the intended Warden of the North Border was as good as being married to the Earl of Teviot. Now, with John gone, she still held position and power, and cemented a tight alliance.
Ah, well, his children were becoming disobedient in his old age. But he would let this event slide unnoticed for the sake of his champion and his lovely Scot wife. The true person to blame was de Longley, but he was dead and his stupid son now held the titles and the power. Henry was certainly not happy over that, but Castle Questing would now be the jewel in the crown of the border with William at the helm. Northwood, and all of her might, would simply have to be controlled. If need be, he would have William take Alexander down and then the younger, more level-headed son would ascend the power. He thought more and more on that every day.
As William’s strength and power returned, the most personal problem facing him these days was how Jordan felt about his appearance now that he was flawed. God love her, she insisted it made no difference at all, which it truly didn’t to her. He was beautiful with two eyes or one. She noticed for the first few days he had difficulty looking her straight in the eye until she demanded to know why he would not look at her. His much-drawn-out reason nearly broke her heart.
They were sitting at the table after sup one night, gazing into the hearth. William sat next to her, his hand on her belly, seemingly dazed by the flames. Jordan kept glancing at him, wondering why he seemed so subdued these days.
“English, what’s wrong with ye?” she finally asked.
He glanced at her quickly and looked away. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
She raised an eyebrow at him and grasped his face, forcing him to look at her. He did, reluctantly. “Why dunna ye look at me anymore? Is it because I am so fat that ye canna stand the sight of me?”
He let out a sharp sigh. “God, no. Where do you get these daft ideas?”
He tried to look away again but she would not let him. Instead, she wedged herself onto his lap and refused to let go of his face. He was facing her, all right, but he was looking at the ground.
“Look at me!” she snapped softly.
He did, his gaze hooded. She studied his face closely, every beautiful feature. Finally, she softened. “Are ye embarrassed because of yer eye?”
He didn’t answer her, trying to pull her against him but she balked. “Answer me. Is it yer eye?”
He pursed his lips faintly. “I am not the man I once was.”
She scowled something fierce and hopped from his lap. “In what way? Yer still the man I married, the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. Why do ye make that ridiculous statement?”
“It’s not ridiculous,” he said softly.
“It is,” she returned, her rage gaining speed. “Then if that is the case, I am not the woman I used to be. I used to be slim and lovely, and now I am as fat as a cow. Do ye love me any less?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why would you think I would love you any less simply because ye lost a small portion of yer body? I would not love ye any less if ye lost a finger, much less an eye.” She was angry with him, yet pleading with him all the same. “English, yer beauty isn’t merely yer handsome face. It is yer heart and yer spirit. I am disappointed that ye would put so much stock in your appearance.”
“I am not putting stock in my appearance,” he insisted uncomfortably. “ ’Tis just… oh, God, you would not understand.”
“Tell me,” she demanded softly.
He picked up her anger, his jaw ticking. “I am…I am flawed, Jordan. God, I look at you and you are so beautiful and perfect and I feel so unworthy of you.” He winced at the confession, rising to stand with his back to her. He hadn’t meant to tell her his most inner fears but they came tumbling out anyway. “I am sorry, love. I do not mean to sound angry with you. But I cannot help these feelings.”
She softened tremendously, feeling so very sorry for him. Lord only knew how she would feel if she were flawed in anyway, but she had meant what she said.
“I’d love ye if ye lost both arms and legs, English, if yer face was ripped from yer head,” she murmured. “Ye’re like a beautiful package – delightful to look at, but the real treasure is inside.”
He stood still a moment, staring at the floor. Then, slowly, he turned to face her. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
She smiled, moving to him and enveloping him in her embrace. “Aye, now that ye’re properly convinced that outward appearances dunna matter, I would see no look of disgust in yer eye when I get even fatter before this babe is born.”
He feigned shock. “My God, is that possible? That you will get even fatter? I surely cannot share my bed with you, then. ’Twould be like sleeping with Kieran.”
Her brows drew together in good-humored outrage. “Kieran is not fat. He has not a bit of fat on him.”
“And how would you know?” his eyes narrowed.
She purposely looked away in an exaggerated gesture. “I have touched the man, English. I do believe his arms are bigger than yers.”
He raised a ravens-wing brow. “His arm had better be all you have touched.”
She giggled as he whipped her back into his grip, his lips clamping down on the soft white silk of her neck.
And thank God for Kieran. He seemed to understand William’s dilemma perfectly, even without being told. The linen patch William was wearing was most unattractive, adding to his self-consciousness, so Kieran took it upon himself to take care of it.
He went into London to a tannery and commissioned the tanner to make two eye patches for his liege, both of black leather. One was plain but the second had silver studs on it. He thought himself quite clever for thinking of it, even though it was not an uncommon sight around London to see a man with an eye patch.
William had been reluctant to try the patch on at first, examining the things closely for quite a while, but finally relented. Gazing back at himself in the polished mirror, he immediately thought he looked like the devil himself and moved to tear the thing off when Jordan stopped him.
“Oh, English!” she exclaimed happily. “Ye look positively dashing. Ye look like a pirate!”
He looked at her, noticing her genuine delight. Then he looked at himself again. “Do I?”
“Aye!” she insisted, moving to get a better look at him. “Ye look…wicked. And mysterious. I love it.”
He grinned at her enthusiasm. He knew she would have told him that even had she hated it, but he could see from her expression that she was true.
“Then so do I,” he looked up at Kieran. “Hell, if I had known this would have been her reaction, I would have gotten an eye patch long ago.”
Kieran picked up the other eye patch, examining it before putting it on and looking at himself in the bronze mirror, too. “Hell, I look damn good with this thing on. Can I keep it?”
“No,” William snapped as he ripped it off Kieran’s head to gales of Jordan’s laughter. He looked at himself a moment longer before turning to his second again. There was warmth in his expression. “Thank you, Kieran.”
“My pleasure,” he replied modestly. “But I warn you, I am going to go have one made for me. Mayhap Jemma will think I look wicked, too.”
Jordan’s smile faded at the mention of her cousin. She missed her dreadfully and not knowing whether or not she had had the child, whether or not she was all right, tore at her. But it was worse for Kieran; he had stayed in London to aid William’s recovery unselfishly even though his heart ached for his little wife. William had insisted he return to Northwood several times, but he had refused.
Jordan went to sit down while the men finished toying with the eye patch. Deinwald entered the room a few minutes later and nearly ran off with the patch with the studs. Jordan’s depression was somewhat eased as she watched her husband, enthusiastic for the first time in a long while.
And she really did love the patch on his eye; it gave him a sort of devil-may-care appearance. She was so pleased at his recovery that she could now focus on bringing this child into the world. It was taking all of her strength, day after day, and she was weary of it. She prayed to God that it would be soon.
*
Jordan’s prayers were answered the very next night.
Her contractions had started as gentle twinges in her groin and quickly escalated into full-blown pains within a couple of hours. William was still asleep next to her and she was reluctant to wake him, for it could be hours yet but when the pains increased dramatically, she decided she should rouse him.
“English,” she whispered, jabbing him in the ribs.
He was immediately awake. His head came up, looking at her.
“What’s wrong, love?”
She smiled weakly. “I think, mayhap, that ye should fetch Byron and Analiese. I should not like to have yer son by myself.”
His eye widened, but only for a split-second and then he was in control again. Kissing her forehead, he swung his massive legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his breeches. As he was pulling on his boots, another pain hit her and she gasped before she could stop herself.
He shot off the bed, his gaze boring into her with concern. “Are you all right? How long have you been having them?”
She wished she hadn’t made any noise for he looked positively frightened. “A few hours. Go, now, and get them for me.”
He didn’t even put his tunic on. He threw open the door, bellowing for the nearest soldier to fetch Kieran to him and then turned swiftly back to his wife.
“I will be but a moment, I swear,” he said hurriedly, his urgency picking up speed.
She nodded, waving him on, knowing it was going to be sometime before the child arrived. She wondered if she were brave enough to bear this child. The thought of childbirth never particularly frightened her until this very moment.
But it did not take hours. By the time Byron and Analiese reached her rooms, her water had ruptured and she was in agony. Analiese tried to chase William away, but he staunchly refused.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 99