“My lord, you must tell us of your campaigns in Wales,” Lady Miranda said dramatically. “We heard such horrifying tales.”
“Ladies, truly, I have no time to indulge you,” he said firmly but politely, trying to pull his arms free without much success. “Mayhap another time.”
“Is it true they call you The Wolf?” Vanessa was clinging persistently to him. “We have heard tale of your battle prowess here in London. They say you have no weaknesses and that men run at the simple mention of your name.”
He scowled in disbelief, trying to pull his arm free of Miranda’s insistent grip. When he opened his mouth to answer her ridiculous statement, soft, cool hands grasped his own and he saw that Charlotte was on the offensive.
“Vanessa, surely Sir William does not wish to speak of his reputation,” she admonished lightly, staring up at him dreamily. “We have all heard the rumors of the mighty Wolf and king’s champion. ’Tis no secret that he is the greatest warrior in all of England.”
Oh, God, William thought. There was nothing worse than starry-eyed, romantic females. He was sure that they were not intending to be a nuisance, but that was exactly what they had become, and he had hundreds of other things that required his attention. He was not a courtier, nor a diplomat, and he hoped he could end this little encounter without hurting any feelings; although at this point he didn’t care if he did or not.
“Ladies, I must be gone,” he said, taking deliberate motions to remove the hands latching on to him. “I am mobilizing an army as we speak. Good day to you.”
He took several hasty steps backward, making sure they didn’t follow him. The women watched him with wide, adoring eyes. Miranda even waved. But when he turned around to continue on his way, they rushed up behind him and snared him like a rabbit in a trap.
“Then we will walk with you, my lord.” Vanessa said loudly. “Surely there is no harm in that.”
William stopped and rolled his eye in irritation. He felt like shouting at them but controlled his temper, at least, for the moment.
“You may not accompany me,” he said with great restraint.
“Please, my lord,” Miranda begged. “We have had so little time to get to know the great Wolf.”
William was rapidly becoming angered. His jaw began to tick.
“Would you ladies kindly let go of my arms?” he said through clenched teeth. “I am losing circulation in them.”
“And I am losing patience,” came a sharp Scot accent.
William’s head snapped around to see his wife standing a few feet away. God in Heaven, he hadn’t even seen her coming. What in the hell was she doing out of bed?
“Jordan?” he gasped.
“Aye, Jordan,” She walked toward him, albeit very stiffly, glaring at the three women hot enough to melt steel. “Unhand my husband, ye hussies. How dare ye touch the king’s champion, as if he were a prize stallion to be inspected!”
Scot temper was legendary. The women let go of William and backed off, staring in astonishment at the beautiful, red-faced woman. Jordan stalked them, and with every step she took forward, they would back up a pace.
“I ought to kill the lot of ye for so much as speaking to him,” she snarled. “Ye’re nothing but whores in court guise, pretending to be innocent virgins so ye can catch a husband, when the truth is that yer legs are open for anything in breeches.”
The three women backed into an outraged group, stopping to face off against the charges.
“How dare you speak…!” Miranda began.
“Shut yer mouth, bitch,” Jordan snapped viciously, jabbing her finger at the cluster. “Hear me well, all of ye. If I so much as catch wind that ye’ve been near my husband again, I shall take a mace to ye. Do ye understand?”
Vanessa was red in the face. “You cannot speak to us like that.”
“I can and I did. What do ye intend to do about it? Have yer male kin come after me?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips arrogantly. “Go right ahead, but make sure ye tell them that the woman they are to punish is The Wolf’s wife. I am sure they will be most eager to defend ye with that bit of knowledge.”
Duly stumped, the women continued to back away from the livid woman, shooting her angry glances as they skulked back across the compound. Jordan glared daggers at them the entire way, until they disappeared into the depths of the castle.
When the women were gone from sight, Jordan heard slow, deliberate clapping behind her. Still furious, she turned to see William applauding her with a lazy smile on his face.
“Bravo, Lady de Wolfe,” he said wryly. “Remind me never to get your dander up.”
She glowered at him. “One of us had to discourage them,” she said coldly. “Since ye couldna seem to find the backbone for it, I had to.”
His smile faded. “Jordan, you are wrong on that assumption and you know it. ’Tis much more difficult for a man to be rude to a woman than for a woman to be rude to another woman.”
She sighed heavily, disgusted. She had been watching for him from her window overlooking the courtyard and had seen the entire confrontation. True, her husband had tried to break away from them, but he had not been near firm enough, in her opinion, which was why she had hastily dressed and moved faster than she thought possible with her soreness. She knew she should not be out of bed, much less walking, but she was so damn jealous and angry that her emotions outweighed her better sense.
“I am tired,” she began to walk away from him.
William was upon her in two strides, sweeping her into his arms. “No doubt, my lady,” he said sternly. “You should not have come down here.”
She went rigid. “But I did, and a good thing, too, or those whores would still be pawing ye.”
He sighed, walking rapidly into the castle. “Can we simply forget about this, please? I must leave at dusk and I would hate to spend the last precious hours fighting with you.”
She was still angry but when he mentioned his departure, her fury quickly banked. Pouting, she held onto his neck and stroked his skin the entire way back to their apartments.
Once inside, he went straight to their bedchamber and attempted to set her upon the bed, but she balked.
“Dunna put me down, English.” She lay her head upon his shoulder. “Hold me for just a little while longer.”
The tone she used always melted him. “Can I take off my armor first?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said reluctantly, allowing him to put her down while he removed his mail and plates.
She watched him as he removed his tunic, then bent over her to remove her slippers. All the while she noticed a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Why are ye smiling?” she asked, weary.
He glanced at her, his eye twinkling. “I was simply thinking that you acted quite a bit like your cousin down there. Jemma may show her temper more often, but by damn, if you do not have the fire of the devil in you when you are riled.”
She fought off a grin, turning her head from him. “I thought ye wanted to forget about it.”
“I do,” he insisted, crawling onto the bed beside her. “But when I see greatness of strength I point it out. You, my lady, are a firebrand, and I for one, was proud of the way you rushed to my defense. You are very protective.”
She looked at him the, reaching out to trace the line of his face with her finger. “I am protective of what is mine,” she said softly. “Ye’re mine, English, and I want everyone in this decadent little town to know it. I shall kill anyone who threatens ye.”
He grinned. “Then you would be killing half of England, Wales and Scotland.”
She joined in his mirth. “Ye know what I mean, English. I mean of the female sex. Men naturally hate ye, but hate is the least of yer worries as far as women are concerned.”
He looked away from her with a careless shrug. “I care not what women think of me.”
She put her hand on his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Be that as it may, women are attracted to ye an
d ye must be mindful unless ye want to see yer wife end up in the Tower as a murderess.”
He laughed. “Would ye kill for me, truly?”
“Would ye kill for me?”
His frivolity was gone. “Without question. You are mine.”
CHAPTER FORTY
March was a bleak month. Much of the ground was still frozen and the sky was a constant shade of gray. The army kept warm with layers of clothing and armor and by marching twenty hours a day. William drove a hard pace, wanting to reach Northwood before she was razed.
William, Kieran and Deinwald said little, ate little, and slept less. They were all worried about their comrades and friends, wondering what state they would find them in upon their arrival. William felt increasingly guilty that Captain Payton-Forrester had been called into this war, as well as the other battle captains. He knew they had done it for him, and he was consumed with remorse for the losses he knew they had already sustained. This was not their battle. It was his.
Yet he knew that they would not blame him in the least, for many was the time when he had come to their aid unselfishly. In the realm of the battle lords, they pledged their lives to protect and serve one another. There was no placing of the guilt. ’Twas an honor to serve each other, and especially serve The Wolf.
It was the fifth night of the battle march, well after midnight. It would only be another two hours before they were on the march again. The men were weary but alert, taking the time to pitch lean-to’s to protect them from the moisture in the air. William hadn’t even brought a tent or a tarpaulin with him; any sleeping he had done had been with his back against a tree, never more than an hour at a time. He, too, was weary, but never had his mind been so alert.
The night around him was quiet and dark, with faint sounds from forest creatures softly piercing the icy air. The smoke from the fires was heavy, filling his nostrils with the acrid odor. The camp was still for the most part. Sentries were patrolling the perimeter, but there was not much more activity than that. Somewhere over to his left he could hear Deinwald scolding someone; the man was becoming more like Ranulf every day.
Kieran strolled over to him. He was sporting three day’s growth of beard, unusual for the usually clean-shaven knight. He had slept even less than William but looked completely vigilant.
“Northwood on the morrow,” he remarked, his gaze falling over the camp.
William watched the fading bonfires flicker against the darkness. “Aye,” he replied. “Before sundown, I would guess. I would furthermore hope that our messenger got through.”
“It is entirely possible the man was unable to break through the Scot lines,” Kieran said. “Northwood may well be advised of our arrival when they see us upon the horizon.”
“We bypassed Beverly today,” William said. “I thought of stopping to see if they had any news but thought better of it. It would have cost us time.”
Kieran shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We shall find what we find upon arrival. What was current news yesterday might be obsolete today.”
William glanced at his second, studying the man’s face for a moment. “I have not had the chance to express my condolences on the loss of your child. I am truly sorry, Kieran. My heart breaks for you.”
Kieran looked at him, a brief flash of pain in his eyes that was as quickly gone. “There will be more children, I am sure,” he said softly. “ ’Twas God’s will that this child should die, I suppose, but I am eager to see Jemma. I am crushed to think of her going through such a tragedy alone.”
William nodded somberly. “I could not imagine not being at Jordan’s side when she delivered. To be apart from your wife is bad enough, but to have something like this happen….” He shook his head, unable to continue.
Kieran shifted on his big legs, trying to fight off the grief William had inadvertently brought up. He’d had a devil of a time coming to terms with the death of the baby, and the fact that he had not been there, which was why he had slept so little. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jemma in the throes of childbirth, only to deliver a dead child. It tore at him like nothing he had ever experienced.
“I suppose she will beat me for not having been at her side,” he mused darkly.
“I suppose.”
Kieran kicked at the dirt. “In faith, she has a temper the likes of which I have never seen equaled, but there is a much softer side to her that most never see,” he said softly, thinking of his raven-haired wife. “She has a good heart and she is very loving. Even though she pretends otherwise, she is fiercely loyal to Northwood and the knights. Even Paris. She does like him, although he irks her.”
William grinned. “And she irks him. God, those two are a pair.”
Kieran’s smile faded just a bit. “ ’Twas probably he who comforted her after.…”
William wanted off the subject. He was missing Jordan and the twins dreadfully, more so now.
“What have you decided to name the boys?” Kieran asked, a little brighter.
William grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “My wife decided to name them Scott and Troy, after her family name and after Paris. I had no choice in the matter.”
“Scott and Troy,” Kieran repeated. “They are strong names. Aye, I like them very much. If you have a daughter will you call her Helena?”
“Not likely,” William snorted. “I will name my daughter what I want, whether or not my wife likes it.”
Kieran leaned back against the tree, grunting when his armor dug into him. “Sure you will, William.”
William made a wry face, conceding the point. The man could command over a thousand men with complete control, yet he was spineless in the presence of one small, lovely female. She was the true power behind the strength of The Wolf.
An hour later, they roused their men, eager to get on to Northwood.
*
It was unlike anything they had ever seen.
It all started with trails of smoke on the horizon, lifting above the trees into the early morning air. Knowing the smoke was coming from the direction of Northwood, William grew concerned and began to push the army faster. Knights slung shields over their left knee for easy access and swords were at the ready. They were prepared for a battle, prepared to jump into the fracas even after a week of heavy travel. This was what they had come for.
The smoke grew heavier the closer they drew. Scouts were sent out to make contact with the castle. By the time they passed through a series of dense trees, the full view of Northwood came into view and it was more than they could have imagined. It looked as if the castle was being overrun, even at this early hour; smoke billowed from the structure and the gatehouse looked as if it had been breached. It was crawling with men, but from their distance they couldn’t quiet tell who, exactly, it was. The closer they came, however, the more evident it became.
They met the Scots full bore, plunging into their lines like crazed men, eager to retrieve what was rightfully England’s. Metal met metal and metal met flesh. There was no stopping what had come, and there was no stopping The Wolf.
Paris was on the inner wall of Northwood. He saw the incoming army, hoping beyond hope it was reinforcements from London. When the banners were released and he caught the king’s signature, he was filled with joy and relief. All of his desperate prayers had been answered.
The Scots had breached the outer bailey and the majority of the fighting from that point had been to prevent them any further advancement. All of the outbuildings had been destroyed or badly damaged, and any passages that connected the outer to the inner wall had been destroyed or rendered fairly useless by Northwood’s troops.
But the battle had been hellish for Northwood; not being able to accompany the allied armies to Scotland had been a blow even though it had been expected. Beverley’s army even took to marching past Northwood on their way to the battle, simply to show Alexander that at least one army was loyal to the crown. And to William. There had been no doubt of that message, either.
Which was why Paris’ heart twisted at the sight of the king’s army. He knew Kieran was with them, as was Deinwald. But they were flying a banner he had not seen and assumed it was the colors of the new king’s champion. He didn’t recognize it. His heart ached to know how Jordan was faring. With William presumably dead, he would marry her and claim the babe for his own. If William could not take care of her, then he would. It had taken him a whole hour to come to that decision.
There had been a slight pause in the battle when the king’s army charged like a raging bull, plowing head-on into the line of Scots that had hastily assembled. The Scots in the outer bailey had filed outside of the walls to meet the challenge, giving Northwood’s army inside a bit of reprieve.
Paris and William Payton-Forrester had fought side-by-side for several days and now stood looking at the king’s army as if they were eyeing a Christmas feast. Captain Brockenhurst of Deauxville Mount joined them, wiping away blood from a fresh cut to his neck. He was a tall, wiry man who could fight like the devil. He flipped up his visor to get a better look at the king’s troops.
“By damn,” he muttered. “If that isn’t a welcome sight.”
Payton-Forrester grinned, slapping the man on his armor. “Old Henry came through after all. Looks like the whole damned of England is here to fight.”
“Aye,” Paris nodded, his eyes glued to the fight below. “Can either of you see Kieran or Deinwald?”
“Nay,” Payton-Forrester shook his head. “There are too damn many of them.”
Paris searched and searched, straining to recognize the tiny men below. Then, suddenly, he froze. His blue eyes widened and utter disbelief filled him like a flood.
He could not believe what his eyes were telling him. It was too incredible. He gripped the side of the wall, leaning forward as if the action could make him see all the better. He sincerely thought he was hallucinating out of pure wishing.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 102