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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Tears spilled over onto her white cheeks. “I hate ye, Kieran. Go away and leave me be.”

  He could not stand seeing her like this; his heart was absolutely breaking.

  “You do not hate me and I will not leave,” he said quietly. “I am your husband and I will not ever leave you.”

  She began to sob loudly with grief, pain, and sadness. The last of his armor came off and he stripped off his tunic, revealing magnificently muscled chest and arms. When he sat on the bed, she screamed and bolted from the mattress.

  “Get away from me!” she yelled at him. “Dunna ever touch me again. Ye caused me this pain, ye bastard, by planting yer seed in me. ’Tis yer fault, all of this, and I shall hate ye until I die!”

  So now he had it. Everything she was afraid of, the reason why she professed her hate for him. She blamed him for the pregnancy and leading her through this tragedy. He was beginning to struggle with his control.

  “Jemma,” he said with gentle firmness. “I know you are hurting, sweetheart, but I am hurting, too. That babe meant as much to me as it did to you. But what happened was God’s will and we must accept it. The babe is gone and venting your anger on me will not bring her back.”

  Jemma’s dark head snapped to him. He could read the horrible, wrenching pain in the depths of the amber eyes and he was filled with the same naked agony. Her crying lessened, but she turned away from him, softly moaning in anguish. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to run to her and cradle her in his arms. He so wanted to comfort her, and he needed comforting in return.

  “There is no God,” Jemma finally whispered. “God doesna allow babies to die before their mothers have the joy of seeing the color of their eyes, or their first smile, or feel them tug hungrily at their breasts. Nay, Kieran; there is no God; only the devil to cause so much grief.”

  His eyes stung with tears then. God, if he could only take her own pain upon him he would have done so in a heartbeat. He could not bear to see her so distraught.

  “I love you, Jemma,” he said again, his voice tight. “There will be other children for us, I promise.”

  “I dunna want other children. I want my daughter!” she screamed as loud as she could, her hands clenched into hard little fists. Suddenly, she threw herself down on the floor and began clawing at the stone. “I want my bonny lass, Kieran! Why did she die? Why?”

  Kieran flew off the bed, snatching her to him whether or not she wanted him to. She was being violent toward herself, bloodying her fingertips on the stone but the moment he touched her, her rigid body went soft and limp against him and she clung to him as if she was drowning.

  Her tears came freely, wetting his chest as he cradled her tightly, and his own tears fell silently on her hair.

  They stayed together on the floor for an eternity, holding each other in the dark as if nothing else mattered in the whole world but their grief. Jemma cried until there were no tears left, reduced to a shaking, quivering shell in Kieran’s massive arms.

  Her anger towards him had been great. She had blamed him for everything and his absence only served to feed her anger. He didn’t care for her or the babe, she was sure, otherwise he would have been with her for the birth. He only cared about his own pleasure, putting his seed in her and unconcerned with the end result. She was terrified that if he touched her again she would bear another dead babe. She would kill herself if that happened. She could suffer no worse pain.

  Except if she lost Kieran. Even with her black rage toward him, she loved him more than anything on earth. Lord, he made her feel safe and secure in his enormous arms and when he made love to her, there was nothing sweeter. His gentle nature made her melt, his wisdom constantly amazed her. Oh, yes, she loved him and she knew deep down in her heart that he was not to blame, but somehow it had helped her own grief to focus her pain on something.

  He was here now and that was all that mattered. Nothing could ever harm her again so long as he was with her. She had spent three weeks in the black hole of despair and suddenly she felt as if there were a light at the end of it all, beckoning her away from her grief. It was at that moment she began the long, slow road to recovery.

  “Let me see yer neck,” she said finally, with a faint, raspy voice.

  With everything they had gone through, it was the last request he expected to hear. Obediently, he tilted his head and revealed the thick scar that ran along the top of his left shoulder and onto his neck. It was long and purple. Jemma ran a finger along it, inspecting it closely.

  “So this nearly killed ye?” she whispered, hiccupping.

  “Aye,” he gazed at her lovely, pale face.

  “What happened to the man who did this to ye?”

  He raised his eyebrow faintly. “William tore him apart with his bare hands.”

  Her eyes widened and she stopped fingering the scar. “He did?”

  Kieran nodded. “Aye, sweetheart, he most certainly did. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Jemma swallowed, returning to the scar. “Ye dinna faint when it happened?”

  Kieran’s eyes took on a far-away look, remembering a most unpleasant happening. “Only later, after I had lost so much blood. But I was quite lucid on the battlefield, even as Deinwald and William tried to stop the blood loss. But once I went unconscious, I stayed out for several days. They thought I was dead.”

  Dead. Like their daughter. Jemma’s amber eyes met his and she touched his face, running her fingers over his smooth lips.

  “What if ye had died, Kieran?” she whispered. “What if I lost both you and our babe? How would I live?”

  He didn’t want to think about that. His big hands clasped her head, touching her hair for the first time. “What did you do to your hair, sweetheart?”

  She lowered her gaze, embarrassed and pained and regretful. “I cut it.”

  “I can see that,” he smiled faintly, letting her know that he wasn’t angry with her. “When?”

  She shrugged, touching it absently. “During a rage,” she muttered. “I took a dagger to kill myself but I dinna have the nerve. So I chopped off my hair instead. Aloria tried to stop me, but I stabbed her in the arm. When it was all over, we both sat on the floor covered by my hair and wept together.”

  Kieran sighed heavily, running his fingers through her hair. “It will grow. Actually, I rather like it. It frames your face nicely.”

  She looked ashamed. “I look like a boy.”

  He pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. “I can vouch that you are most certainly not a boy.”

  She felt him, his warmth and strength, and all of her anger and hatred and agony melted with him. He was returned now, and she would lean on his strength. She no longer had to bear her burden alone.

  “I was in labor for nearly two days,” she said, her voice cracking as she relived the agony. “When Sylvie finally pulled the babe free, the cord was wrapped around her neck and she was blue. Sylvie wunna let me see her until I screamed at her.” She felt him kiss the top of her head. “By that time she was clean and she wasna blue anymore. She looked as if she were sleeping, like an angel. The priest christened her Bridget Hage and we buried her the next day.”

  She felt something wet on her head and looked up to see his face streaked with tears. Tenderly, she reached up and wiped them away.

  “My brave knight,” she cooed softly. “I never thought to see ye cry.”

  “I have never had a reason to,” he replied. He pulled her close to him once again, feeling her warmth next to his skin. He didn’t want to talk anymore; he simply wanted to hold her.

  “Tell me of Jordan,” she asked after a moment. “Did she have the babe?”

  “Aye,” Kieran replied, hoping the news would cheer her up. “Twin boys more than two weeks ago.”

  He felt her stiffen in his arms. “Twins?” Before he could stop her, she pulled away roughly and looked at him in disbelief. “Twins? Jordan has two children and I have none?”

  This was not the reaction he was pre
pared for. He could see another storm erupting and pulled her hard to him, pinning her small body against his great one.

  “Aye, she has two healthy sons and you must not hate her for her good fortune,” he said into her hair. “It could have easily been the reverse of the situation. Would you want her to hate you for bearing a healthy daughter if her children had died?”

  She was still against him but he could feel her rapid breathing. It was a minute before she spoke again. “I dunna hate her, Kieran, but I would be lying if I said that I wasna jealous. I did so want to bear you a son, not a dead daughter.”

  “You will bear me a son,” he said firmly, kissing her to emphasize his statement. “And another daughter. In fact, our manse will be near to bursting with all of the children you will bear me.”

  “Then ye dunna feel me… worthless?” she asked timidly.

  He held her back, glaring at her. “Worthless?” he repeated incredulously. “By damn, woman, you are worth tenfold of any other woman in the country. You are worth more to me than anything else in this life. How can you think such a thing?”

  Jemma was subdued, not meeting his eye as her fingers played with the smooth skin of his chest. “Because I feel as if I have failed ye. Jordan bore two healthy sons, but I could only manage a stillborn.”

  “Shut up about Jordan,” he said gruffly. “You and her are two different women, not one to be compared to the other. And do not even imagine that you have failed me in any way, Jemma. You have surpassed my wildest dreams.”

  She looked up at him then and he was relieved and pleased to see a flicker of familiar flame in the amber eyes. God, she looked so pale and worn from her ordeal as she reached up and ran her fingers over his cropped hair.

  “I do love ye, Sassenach,” she whispered. “I dinna mean the things I said to ye.”

  “I know you did not,” he said gently. ’Twas time to move from the most depressing subject. “Now, the first order of business is to get you bathed and fed, and then possibly I will take you for a walk.”

  “But what of the battle?” she wanted to know. “Surely yer men need ye back to fight with them.”

  “You need me more,” he touched her cheek. “There are more soldiers and knights defending Northwood than the Scots have ever seen, and with William leading….”

  She jumped, interrupting him. “William is leading them? But I thought but you said….”

  “He did not die,” he supplied with a grin. “Thank God for Jordan and her Scot stubbornness. She would not let him die.”

  Jemma graced him with a faint smile. “She loves him too much to let him die. I wanted so badly to go with her to London when ye said he was injured. I was a-feared he would die and she would be all alone with no one to comfort her,” she let out a sigh, nodding as the news sunk in. “Aye, thank God for Jordi’s stubbornness. And English’s strength.”

  “English?” Kieran lifted a brow. “How do you know about that?”

  She gave him an impatient expression. “Good Lord, man, I am her cousin. I know everything about them.”

  He smiled, rising from the floor with her in his arms. Jemma wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing that his great strength was once again holding her. She let her hand drift over his shoulder as he turned to the bed, caressing his skin. He felt so good to her and she had missed him dreadfully.

  “The babe was huge, like her father,” she said distantly. “I pray that the rest of our children aren’t so large. I had a hell of a time pushing her out through that small hole.”

  He smiled and lay her down on the bed, lying beside her and half covering her small form with his big body. His hands stroked her face, her arms, and drifted lightly over her slightly rounded tummy.

  “That small hole is my greatest source of pleasure,” he whispered seductively into her ear, sending shudders drilling through her. “It suits me quite nicely, as do you, Lady Hage.”

  She closed her eyes, melting against his touch. “Dunna torture me, husband. ’Tis far too soon to make love to me.”

  “I know,” his face was buried in the crook of her neck. “But I can still hold you and feel you. Can’t I?”

  “I thought ye were going to get me a bath?” her hands were stroking his warm flesh wondrously, not wanting him to leave her for a moment.

  “Later,” he told her huskily.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  William, newly returned from Langton on the morn, found Adam in de Longley’s former bower. He entered the room slowly, his eye sweeping the room for any sign of the new earl and quickly came to rest on the massive high-back chair near the hearth. Even though the chair was facing away from him, he could see Adam’s long legs spilling over the side and the top of his red-gold hair as his head rested on one hand.

  “Adam,” William called to him softly.

  Adam startled, whirling to face Northwood’s former captain with astonishment. William knew immediately that the lad had thought he was dead, as had everyone else. He put up his hands quickly.

  “You see not a ghost, I assure you,” he said. “May I come in, my lord?”

  Adam nodded, still quite overwhelmed. “Sire, we thought you were dead.”

  William gave him a lopsided smile. “Indeed not. All that reminds me of that grievous injury is this pirate patch over my eye,” he said, strolling casually toward the lad. “My wife thinks it quite…sexy.”

  Adam smiled broadly, realizing he wasn’t seeing an apparition and glad his hero had not perished, as he had been told.

  “God’s bones, am I glad to see you,” he exclaimed softly.

  “And I, you,” he clapped the earl on the shoulder and bade him sit. William took the chair opposite him. “ ’Tis under tragic circumstances that I congratulate you on your new title and position. You will represent the de Longley name well. Your father would have been thrilled.”

  Adam’s smile faded and William could read the turmoil. He decided to get right to the point, for the young man’s sake. No use in pretending he didn’t know what had happened. “Tell me what happened with Alexander,” he asked gently.

  Adam’s handsome face was pale. He was a sensitive lad and had obviously suffered a great deal.

  “Alexander had become unreasonable after father died,” he began quietly. “He had power and a name, and he acted as if he were God. He began ordering all sorts of extravagant renovations to Northwood. He began planning a huge party. Then he decided that Northwood was so powerful that she need no longer be loyal to the crown.”

  “You mean he intended to declare himself independent of England?” William asked with astonishment.

  Adam nodded. “For all intent and purposes, yes. He thought father was foolish for all of the alliances he had built up when Northwood herself was so powerful,” he said, shaking his head. “He simply did not understand. The only thing Alexander had ever cared about was money and power, and to hell with the reality of how those things are achieved. He believed our king to be a stupid old man and unworthy to be his liege. I think he was bordering on madness.”

  William nodded grimly. “Alexander was always on the brink of insanity. But this is far beyond what I believed him capable of.”

  Adam sighed. “When I tried to talk to him, to reason with him, he would become enraged and throw things at me. He was mad, I tell you, and it soon became apparent that he did not want me around.”

  William sat silently, watching the young man’s agony. His appearance, as well as his manner, told William a great deal. First to lose his father and then to kill his brother, it was creating a tremendous sense of confusion within him.

  The young earl took a drink from the cup at his hand and continued. “I began to fear for my life, although Paris and the other knights swore they would protect me.” He shook his head, his eyes dull at the irony. “Protect me from my brother. Then it came one night. We had a fearsome argument over Northwood’s alliance to Langton. Alexander accused me of treason and all sorts of horrible things, and before I realiz
ed it he was coming at me with a dagger. God, it all happened so fast. I drew my sword and cut him down. I killed him.”

  “You defended yourself,” William said softly. “Alexander would have murdered you and you simply defended yourself. ’Tis no shame in that, Adam.”

  Adam looked miserable. “But I am a knight. With all of my training, I should have been able to disarm him instead of kill him. I should have thought before I swung my sword.”

  “Had you thought, you most likely would have died,” William said. “Adam, simply because you have been trained and knighted does not necessarily mean that you instantly achieve experience. To become a seasoned warrior takes time. You are blaming yourself for following your training and you should not.”

  Adam looked at the earl, thinking on his words. “But I killed my brother.”

  “Would you rather have died?” William shot back gently. “Why do you torture yourself for protecting your own life?”

  Adam lowered his gaze, looking very weary. Half of his agony was caused by the fact that he truly didn’t know his brother. He had only recently returned home and had not the chance to get acquainted with him, and even though he had been told such, he didn’t want to believe his brother was an utterly evil person. All of the knights at Northwood who had served John de Longley knew exactly what kind of person Alexander was. Adam simply did not want to believe ill of his only brother, even when the man came at him with a knife.

  He sighed. “Thank you, my lord. I value your words.”

  William rose from the chair. “And never forget, young earl, that I am never wrong,” he said, half-jesting. “If I may be so bold, ’tis time you come to grips with what has happened and get on with your life. You are the Earl of Teviot now, and a great responsibility has fallen on you. You have a great legacy to uphold.”

  Adam looked up at him, doubt and hope hand and hand in his expression. “I will do my best.”

  William put a hand on the young man’s shoulders. “That will be enough.”