It was a miracle.
A slow smile spread across his face. “My dear, sweet God,” he murmured.
“What is it?” Payton-Forrester demanded.
Paris let out an almost hysterical chuckle, sounding more like he was gasping for air. He chuckled again. Then he broke out in loud, happy bursts of laughter. “Lads, ’tis not only the king’s armies that have come to our aid, but the damn Wolf is leading them.”
Payton-Forrester and Brockenhurst almost fell off the wall trying to jockey for a better position to see precisely what Paris was talking about.
“Where is he?” Brockenhurst demanded.
Paris raised a gauntleted hand, pointing. “There, Stephen; astride the dark gray destrier, smack in the middle of the fight.”
Brockenhurst saw him. He smiled widely. Payton-Forrester caught sight of William as well.
“Paris, you said he was dead,” he gasped.
“I said he was dying,” Paris corrected him. “I could only assume that he had died since Kieran had held out so little hope.” He grinned down at the battlefield. “Jordan was right.”
“Jordan? His wife?” Payton-Forrester asked.
“Aye,” Paris replied. “She pulled him through just like she said she would.”
Brockenhurst stood back, crossing his arms confidently. “Well, lads, I say we notify the troops. Knowing The Wolf is fighting outside these very walls ought to boost moral tenfold. It should only be a matter of time before he breaks through the lines and sends those bastards back where they came from.”
The three men heartily agreed on that issue. “Take care of it, Stephen. I shall keep an eye on the fighting from here.”
And he did exactly that, his eyes never leaving William; not for a minute. He didn’t even care that he was grinning like an idiot.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Scots were tired, as they well should have been. They had been fighting for nearly three weeks off and on; first at Langton and then at Northwood. William was having little difficulty dispatching them, since he was fresh. It seemed more to him like cutting wheat the way men were falling beneath his sword. At one point he even managed to pull one of the king’s knights aside and told him to send Northumbria and The Lyceum’s troops home; with three thousand fresh men to the fight, the Scots were as good as gone.
Northumbria pulled back and headed for home licking his wounds, but old Baron Harringham stayed on, hanging back in the trees and monitoring the fight. He had only five hundred men after the attack on his keep last year, but he had pledged the entire five hundred to aid Northwood when a frightened peasant came to his keep with a horrible story to tell. Besides, Harringham liked to see a good fight. And with the king’s troops involved, it promised to be entertaining.
The battle raged into the night. It began to rain terribly, drenching everyone until they were like soggy rags. But they kept going, sword on sword, dodging maces and arrows. William set up a line of Welsh archers that pounded the Scots mercilessly. He was trying to herd them away from the main gates as a dog herds sheep when, eventually, his efforts began to pay off.
Unfortunately, several hundred Scots had taken refuge in the outer bailey and he was having a devil of a time getting his own men in to flush them out. He didn’t want any of Northwood’s troops trying to remove them because that would have meant opening the only gate that separated Northwood from complete occupation. He preferred to keep the embattled allied troops safe in the inner bailey and allow him to worry about removing the Scots.
The war rampaged on into the wee morning hours. William managed to get several hundred troops into the outer bailey and began the process of driving the Scots out. He put Deinwald to monitoring the progress on the outer bailey while he and Kieran continued beating the hell out of the Scots outside the wall.
The rain had turned to sleet and was freezing up on their armor, making it as cold as hell, but they were sweating and clammy with the exertion of fighting. He knew the Scots were miserable, fighting in their hunting tartans or whatever other scraps of clothing they wore. A few of their knights wore armor and mail, but for the most part, the soldiers looked like peasants to him.
And they were unskilled, too. He was having little trouble when engaging them and usually managed a clean kill within a minute or so. It was almost as if the clans had gone into the villages to recruit men to fight, which they probably had.
When the pink-gold haze of dawn colored the eastern sky, the Scots began to break ranks and run north. The Scots in the outer bailey had been cleaned out, allowing the inner gates to be open for the first time in over two weeks. It took William a moment to realize he heard his name being chanted by the English troops pouring out through the inner gates.
He paused for a moment, listening to the chant and a chill running up his spine. God, how he had missed it. The armies were gushing out of the gates, swords in hand, helping chase off the Scots that had plagued them for so long. He recognized many of the men, men who were smiling and waving at him even as they chased after the Scots. They were so damn glad to see him that he had to smile.
William had come home again.
His knights were riding out to greet him. He recognized the destriers and thereby identified the heavily armored men. Michael, Corin, Marc, Jason and Ranulf. Paris, Lewis and Adam were missing.
The knights charged at him, throwing up their visors to greet their former captain properly.
“Baron!” Michael roared. “ ’Tis about time you showed up!”
William raised his hand in greeting, a moment’s hesitation before raising his faceplate. He was sure they knew of his injury, but he found he was almost apprehensive of then reaction to his appearance. But raise the faceplate he did, smiling wearily at his men.
They were grinning openly back at him, their horses snorting and dancing in the heat of excitement. Ranulf steered his big animal next to William, peering at him.
“So that’s what you look like now?” he said, examining the eye patch. “Christ, you look fearsome with that thing. It suits you.”
The others agreed heartily. William, embarrassed, waved them off. “Where is Paris?”
“Inside the keep, my lord,” Ranulf answered, his face suddenly grim. “We lost Lewis two days ago. And Adam….”
“What about Adam?” William demanded.
“He killed his brother,” Ranulf said as quietly as a battle would allow. “He has confined himself to his rooms and prays for death.”
William gazed up at the turrets of Northwood. “Damn,” he mumbled, but came around again and waved his gloved hand toward the north. “You men help Kieran chase these bastards back the way they came. After I see Paris, I will join you.”
“Aye, my lord,” they answered, spurring their destriers on.
William was reining his horse toward the open outer gate when he suddenly heard his name. He turned to see that Michael had stopped his nervous horse and was still looking at him.
“ ’Tis good to have The Wolf back,” Michael said.
William cocked an eyebrow, trying to remain stoic, but cracked a smile in spite of himself.
“ ’Tis good to be back,” he said shortly, spurring his animal for the outer bailey.
The outer bailey was in shambles, as he knew it would be. In fact, it didn’t even resemble the bailey he once knew. He caught sight of Deinwald as he galloped through, hearing the man shouting orders to the new English troops that were now mounting the walls. Confident that the bailey was well taken care of, he did not pause on his way into the inner bailey. He was eager to see Paris.
Paris was waiting for him, standing on the steps that led into the keep. Other than a huge smile, he did not acknowledge William in any other way as the man came to an abrupt halt in front of him and bailed from his horse.
“Dammit, man,” William said as he pretended to be angry. “I leave you in charge of my fortress and this is what happens? I should run you through.”
Paris feigned a scowl at the
insult. “We had the Scots well under control, baron,” he returned. “We had simply permitted them space in the outer bailey to refresh their troops whilst they pounded us.”
William ripped off his helmet, his smile warm. Paris immediately came to terms with the face of the new William and instantly decided it was better than the old one. This William was somehow more human, yet more invincible than ever. ’Twas difficult to put the change into words, but he knew it was a positive one.
They extended their gauntleted hands simultaneously, gripping each other in a greeting of complete friendship and relief and happiness. Then they hugged each other, tightly. Their smiles spoke volumes.
“I never thought I would be so happy to see anyone, least of all you,” Paris remarked.
William chuckled. “Nor I.”
Paris still held onto his friend. “Am I to assume you are a father at last?”
William nodded, letting go of Paris’ glove and removing his gauntlet, wiping at his brow. “Aye, nearly two weeks ago. Twin boys.”
“Twin boys?” Paris repeated incredulously. “My God, William, do you always have to outshine everyone? And how is their beautiful mother?”
“Beautiful and perfect.” William’s face softened into the expression Paris equated with Jordan. “But she had the gall to name one of my sons after you, of which I strongly disapproved.”
“Me?” Paris looked incredulous.
“Aye, you,” William tried to look angry. “One son is blond, like her, and the other is darker as I am. She chose to name that dark son after you. Troy, she calls him.”
“Troy,” Paris grinned in pure delight. “A wonderful name. It looks as if all that back-rubbing I did for her paid off.”
William scowled. “Back-rubbing?”
Paris was deliberately provoking him and they both knew it. “Aye, and what a pleasure it was,” he pushed.
William began to remove his other gauntlet as if to call Paris out, and Paris laughed loudly. “ ’Twas only her back I touched, I assure you,” he said quickly. “Through clothes, no less.”
William paused in mid-removal, fighting off a smirk as he replaced his gloves. “That’s better,” he said. “She was huge and uncomfortable, was she not? It scared the hell out of me when she went into labor.”
Paris made a wry face. “No doubt,” he said. Then, he sobered. “You received my message about Jemma?”
William’s smile faded. “Aye,” he said softly. “How is she faring?”
Paris shook his head. “Poorly. I believe the banshee died with the child. Where is Kieran?”
“Chasing the Scots back to the border,” William replied. “I shall send him back when I catch up to them.”
Paris nodded In agreement. “The sooner the better. It has been most difficult around here, especially not knowing your fate or Jordan’s. Seeing you will be just the boost Jemma needs.”
William nodded, scratching at his scalp. “What is this I hear about Adam?”
Paris looked grim. “So you have been told?”
“Ranulf mentioned it briefly when I met him outside the gates,” William told him. “What in the hell happened?”
Paris sighed heavily. “Alexander had taken an extreme dislike to his brother over recent days, especially when Adam voiced his opinion regarding the support of Langton,” Paris explained. “Adam claims Alexander came after him with a dagger and that he was simply defending himself, but he also believes he abused his knightly training by goring his brother instead of simply disarming him. He has been most difficult to deal with.”
William listened intently before nodding in understanding. “Then I shall deal with Adam when I return.”
“Will has tried, I have tried, but he listens to no one,” Paris said. “Mayhap he will listen to you.”
William nodded then glanced about. “Speaking of Payton-Forrester, where in the hell is that bastard?”
“Upon the wall,” Paris nodded in the general direction. “The man is a hell of a fighter. So is Brockenhurst and Baron Lowell. We had quite a team of knights, just not enough sheer volume of men. Otherwise, we would have licked the damn Scots.”
“I understand they made it to Langton,” William said grimly. “What did they find?”
Paris knew he was asking on behalf of his wife. “Not much,” he replied quietly. “Nothing is worse than a clan war, William. They burned Langton to the ground and killed everyone they could get their hands on. I do not know the fate of Thomas Scott.”
William nodded, dreading delivering the news to his wife. “I promised Jordan that I would see for myself,” he said softly, looking at his helmet before jaunting it back on his head. “I shall be back.”
Paris acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. As William was turning away, Paris stopped him.
“Damn good to see you again, my lord,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I like the eye patch, although you look like one of those swarthy sea pirates your mother warned you about.”
William glared at him before closing his visor. “My wife likes it and that is all that matters.”
Paris grinned as William mounted his steed. “She would love you if you had your arms and legs cut off and you were missing your nose.”
The animal reared up and William rode it like a centaur, jabbing a finger at Paris. “Insult me no more or I will chase the Scots right back to your front door.”
Spurring his horse he was gone. He left Paris snickering and shaking his head, feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.
William caught up to his army several miles later. There were a few Scots who had turned to make a stand before crossing the border into Scotland but the king’s soldiers were making short work of them.
He met up with Kieran as the man was engaging a burly Scot with a mace. The enemy was very good with the spiky ball but he was no match for the king’s champion and his second. When the Scot hit the ground in a splash of blood, Kieran and William pulled their steeds alongside one another and raised their faceplates.
“Get back to Northwood,” William ordered him over the noise. “Your wife needs you.”
Kieran almost refused, for he knew work here was not yet finished, but he reconsidered. He was desperate to see Jemma.
“Aye, my lord,” he nodded, slapping down the visor and spurring his horse south.
William watched him for a brief second before lowering his visor and reining his animal into the heart of the resistance. He didn’t particularly want to fight anymore; he simply wanted to chase the bastards back where they came from. He could see Michael and Corin taking some heat from a group of particularly zealous combatants and turned in their direction.
Michael received a blow to the back of the skull from a mace that damn near tore his head off. William spurred his destrier forward in a rush of armor and leather, using his legs entirely to guide the animal as he came up on the enemy soldier that was preparing to take Michael’s life. When the man raised his dagger, William was there to drive his broadsword right between his ribs.
Michael was reeling from the blow, having difficulty regaining his seat. William rode up and gave him a shove, righting him in the saddle. A glance at the man’s helmet showed a huge dent in the back of it. He could see blood staining the mail hood.
“Are you all right?” William demanded with concern.
Michael put a gauntleted hand to his head. “Aye, I think so,” he replied. “At least I still have a head on my shoulders.”
William eyed him critically. He knew from experience how disorienting a blow like that could be. “Get back to Northwood,” he ordered him. “We can handle this motley crew without you.”
“Nay, my lord, I can still fight,” Michael insisted weakly.
“That was not a request, Michael, but an order.”
Michael flipped up his visor, his face pale with the shock but his eyes lucid enough. “My lord, it has been months since I have fought under your command. When Kieran came to Northwood a few wee
ks ago, I never thought to see you on the battlefield again. Surely you will not deny me the privilege of serving under you one more time.”
William paused, struggling with his dancing destrier. “Very well,” he said, a note of pleasure in his voice. “But stay back, will you? Another blow like that and we’ll be taking you back in pieces.”
Michael grinned and closed his visor. “Thank you, baron.”
The Scots, however, had dug in a bit and driving them back into their own country was proving a little more difficult than William had anticipated. But as the battle raged, he was aware that he felt whole again. His knights were fighting around him; the men he had learned to trust with his very life, men that he was comfortable with, and he felt invincible. The whole time he had been fighting in Wales with the king’s knights, as good as they were, he could not recall feeling this comfortable. He didn’t know those men or their skills, not the way he knew his own men.
These were, in fact, his men. He would take them with him to Questing; he knew that now without a doubt. Adam, of course, would have to remain at Northwood as the new earl, but the rest were going with him. He knew he would have to do something he was going to hate to do, and that would be to use his name and influence to get what he wanted, but so be it.
Several yards away Ranulf and Deinwald were engaging the enemy, alternately yelling at each other and screaming at the Scots. He had to smile; he knew how happy they were to see one another even though one could never tell by the tone of their voices.
William found himself engaging several Scots, all trying to beat him off of his horse. With some difficulty, he met their swords and clubs, fending off blows but receiving a few strong enough to dent his armor. He was quite involved in his fight, but not so focused that he did not hear the approach of another destrier. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paris riding to assist him, swinging his broadsword like an avenging angel.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 103