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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He quit the room, hoping he had done some good to ease the lad’s mind. But it was something Adam would have to deal with himself, no matter what anyone said. He felt it would be best if Adam delved back into the battle clean-up to clear his mind, but he would not suggest it until the morrow. Let the new earl get a good night’s sleep first, which was exactly what he was planning to do.

  He was home.

  *

  Nearly three weeks had passed since William had left London for the great wild north. Jordan ached for him every minute of the day, every time she held one of her sons. But the nights were the worst, sleeping alone in the great bed in the strange London apartments. She wanted to go home to Northwood desperately.

  In spite of her loneliness, she had somewhat enjoyed her stay at Windsor. Court life was busy and exciting, and Analiese had thrust herself into the mainstream of the bustle and came home every evening with scads of gossip. Watching Analiese at court made Jordan think that the woman had finally found her niche in life. She had blossomed in personality and character, although she had begun to keep strange company with some wildly painted women.

  Jordan, to fight off the boredom, had taken to gathering with Analiese and her new friends as well, attending church with them as well as various social functions. Word soon got around that the exquisite new woman was none other than The Wolf’s wife, and with William gone on the king’s work, Jordan soon found herself besieged with male admirers.

  At first she had ignored the attention and endured a great deal of teasing from Analiese. But soon, her patience was beginning to wear thin, as was the tolerance of Analiese’s new friends. Jealousy had begun to blossom for the beautiful Scot, but they dared not insult her, for fear of offending her husband.

  One of Jordan’s chief admirers was none other than Baron de Troiu. He had come to London on business and remained by request of the king. The earl’s troops had been involved in the battle for Northwood, but the man did not take a personal interest in leading his troops, and he was unconcerned with Captain Brockenhurst leading his men. Moreover, his support of Northwood made Jordan feel as if she had a friend in him, and she kept fairly steady company with him simply because she was lonely and he was a friendly, familiar face.

  She thought nothing of the cozy meals they would take together in her rooms or of the walks through the palace gardens. He was witty and wise and she liked to talk to him. He seemed very interested in what she had to say, much like William, and keeping company with the baron eased her aching heart and made her deeply long for her husband at the same time. It was a strange paradox.

  Jordan’s first mistake was her innocence. Never having been to court before, she had no knowledge of the intrigue that went on. Gossip was something fairly new to her, never once imagining that she would become the subject of some of the hottest rumors to hit Windsor in years. She thought Baron de Troiu to be her friend, and a friend only. To imagine having a liaison with him in William’s absence had never entered her mind.

  It was late in the morning and Jordan had been up since before dawn. Scott had the colic and she had spent hours walking trying to comfort the babe. Finally, he went back to sleep and she took the opportunity to bathe and wash her hair. She sat in front of her huge bronze dressing mirror, drying her hair in the warm room air, wondering how William was faring. Sweet Jesu,’ she missed him.

  On the dressing table was a note from de Troiu, requesting her presence for a ride later on that day. She thought it might be nice to get out in the air after the hellish night she’d had with Scott, but had yet to reply to the note. She suspected Daniel would be around to see her later that morning, as he usually did.

  Analiese entered the room, carrying an armful of freshly washed linens for the babies. She deposited them on the bed, wandering over to Jordan and taking the brush from her hands, taking over the job of drying Jordan’s hair.

  “I heard the baby this morn,” she said casually. “Thank God he sleeps.”

  Jordan nodded, watching her hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders with each stroke. “Aye,” she yawned. “I am exhausted. Scott is colicky most of the time, but Troy is a dream. And he even eats more than his brother.”

  Analiese nodded, watching Jordan’s hair as it caught the light. She eyed her friend a moment in the mirror. “Jordan, ’tis none of my business, of course, but you should know that there are… rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Jordan asked innocently.

  “About you and Baron de Troiu,” Analiese said. “You have been spending some time with him and….”

  Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Just what are ye saying?”

  Analiese looked at Jordan in the mirror. “I am not saying anything. I am simply repeating what is already being said. There are those who suspect that there is more going on than simply friendship.”

  Jordan leapt from the chair, angrily facing Analiese. “Dunna even say what ye have heard, Analiese de Longley, for it is a bloody lie. I love my husband and I would never, ever…even entertain what ye’re suggesting.”

  Analiese truly thought she was doing Jordan a favor by telling her what she had heard. She put up her hands in appeal. “I was not suggesting it, Jordan, I was simply trying to tell you what I had heard.”

  Jordan was flaming mad. “Who told ye these vicious lies, Analiese? Tell me who it is and I will cut out their tongue.”

  “It wasn’t one person in particular,” Analiese told her. “The whole castle is talking about it, and de Troiu is not doing anything to stop the rumors. He has made it well known that he wants you.”

  Jordan stomped her foot to release some of her pent-up anger. “Wants me?” she repeated, outraged. “ ’Tis ridiculous! I am a married woman and I love my husband!”

  Analiese nodded patiently. “I know you do, but….”

  Jordan cut her off. “How dare he say such things! He knows I am devoted to William!”

  Analiese let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. “He isn’t entirely to blame, you know,” she said as if Jordan should have thought of such things. “You have been spending a good deal of time with him. Alone.”

  “I thought he was my friend.” Jordan said, angry and pleading at the same time. “He was so nice to me at Northwood and when we met here at court I thought it would be nice to have someone to talk to other than those silly friends that follow ye around.” She suddenly stopped raging and looked at Analiese. Realization came over her and she sank down on the bed beside her friend. “Oh, no, Analiese… what is it that I have done? I never meant…I mean, at no time did I ever even…oh, damn.”

  Analiese looked at her. “I know, Jordan,” she said, comfortingly. “I know you well enough to know that your intentions were purely innocent. But everyone else thinks that you are an adulteress and de Troiu could not be more pleased and proud.”

  Jordan felt sick. Because of her naiveté, William was shamed. Damn de Troiu! If he only hadn’t come to London, if she only hadn’t been so eager for a friend, if only…. But the blame lay with her regardless. What would happen when William found out? She could only shudder at the possibilities.

  She had to tell him before he heard from other sources. She knew he was fighting heavily and she should not distract him with such nonsense, but she had to tell him. She had to beg him to let her come home, away from this den of sin. So what if there was fighting, she’d been in battles before. She wanted to go home, to take her babies home where they belonged. She had to get the hell away from de Troiu.

  “I have got to get a message to William,” she murmured decisively. “Analiese, find me a bit of parchment and a quill. I have got to write to William and beg him to bring me home.”

  Analiese rose and went into the antechamber, returning in a moment with the requested items. As Jordan sat huddled over the table and carefully wrote out her message, Analiese watched her with some hesitation.

  “When you return, Jordan,” she began softly. “I would remain here at court. I like it here.
”

  Jordan glanced up at her, not surprised by the declaration. “You fit in here, Analiese, I do not.”

  She probably should have calmed down before she wrote the message, for in the end it looked as if she was in mortal danger if he did not allow her to come home. She did not mince words when she wrote of de Troiu, painting him out to be some sort of incubus and she his hapless victim which, in fact, she nearly was.

  Rereading the message and pleased with its urgent note, she sanded it, sealed it well, and carried it out into the hall where one of the king’s guards stood watch.

  William had left four of the king’s knights who had served with him in Wales at her disposal, but she had avoided becoming friendly with them. They weren’t her knights, the knights she had left at Northwood. The men in the hall were strangers. When she appeared in the corridor demanding a messenger, at once a man rushed to find her a proper carrier.

  Her missive was off within the hour, tearing at high speed for the northern wilds of England.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  William was actually enjoying the first real sleep he’d had in weeks. He was sleeping in the bedchamber that had been Jordan’s for so long, sleeping in the bed that had once cradled her supple body. He was sleeping deeply, without dreaming, when a loud rap on the door startled him awake. Habitually, he reached for the sword beside him.

  “Do not bother.” It was Ranulf. “I have not come to gut you; I simply bear a message. From your wife.”

  “Jordan?” William was instantly awake, snatching the parchment from Ranulf’s hand. He tore at the seal. “God, I hope everything is all right. I haven’t had the time to send her a message yet….”

  He began to read. Immediately, his face darkened and the veins at his temples began to throb. Ranulf had never seen such an instantaneous reaction on his lord and wondered what in the hell the message said. Whatever it was, it was not good. He instinctively stepped back from him.

  “Damnation,” William growled. He rolled up the vellum and it went sailing into the wall. “Damnation!” He roared again, shooting from the bed.

  “I shall assemble the men for London,” Ranulf said without being asked.

  William didn’t respond to him. Instead, he did something so completely unexpected and so completely out of character, that Ranulf had to jump out of the way or risk serious injury.

  Baron de Wolfe proceeded to demolish the entire room with his bare hands, breaking the huge support beams on the bed as if they were made of rotted wood and swinging the broken pieces against the walls, crumbling stone and mortar. He picked up his sword and slashed the mattress until nothing was left but feathers and tattered bits of cloth. The dressing table Jordan had used fell victim to his sword as he hacked it into kindling before tossing the sword away from him and nearly goring Ranulf with the blind launch.

  He raged and he rampaged like a mad man, smashing and destroying and obliterating everything he could get his hands on until there was nothing left in the room but scattered, broken remnants of once fine furnishings.

  As disturbing as it was for Ranulf to witness this kind of open fury, he found that the most disturbing thing of all was that William had not uttered a sound through the entire display. All of the release, all of the anger, was in his hands. It was as if he were trying to kill something, someone, with his bare hands and only then would he be sated.

  But Ranulf knew the wisdom of his lord. By taking his blind rage out on the furniture, it prevented him murdering the focus of his fury, which could have indeed been Ranulf considering he was the bearer of some obviously devastating news. Thank God that even in his anger, the man had sense.

  Ranulf caught someone coming into the antechamber from the corner of his eye. Paris was storming in, his face grim with concern. He had heard the noise clear down on the next floor. Ranulf put up a quieting hand, motioning for him not to speak. Paris looked greatly perplexed as he surveyed the destroyed room, with William now motionless near the demolished bed. Everything was in tatters.

  William’s arms were braced against the wall and he was leaning into them, sweat and dust coating his naked back. His hands were bloodied and he looked as if he had seen the wrong end of a fight. But he was struggling to calm himself and to steady his breathing. He had never lost his control, as he just did, and found it hard to believe that he had allowed himself such a demonstration of his fury. Yet he was not ashamed, nor was he remorseful, for had de Troiu been in the room, he would have destroyed him.

  “William,” Paris said with quiet firmness. “What is going on?”

  William waited to answer until he was sure he could reply without flying into a rage again.

  “Give him the missive, Ranulf,” he muttered.

  Ranulf dug under a pile of bedding and retrieved the message for Paris, who read it with nearly the same reaction, except that he didn’t destroy the room. When Paris looked up at William in complete disbelief, Ranulf decided he’d had enough with guessing games and took the missive from Paris and read it.

  “Damnation!” Ranulf shouted with more emotion than the man had ever exhibited. “That bastard of a man after Lady Jordan? I’ll skin the whoreskin myself and cut off the manhood he values so dear!” He stormed into the antechamber, still shouting uproarious threats for de Troiu. Somewhere in the midst of the raging they heard glass breaking.

  Paris flinched as a piece of glass came sailing into the room, moving away from the door and over to William. Even with Ranulf’s tantrum, William was visibly calming.

  “What now?” Paris asked of him.

  William’s arms came down from the wall. “I will send someone to London to retrieve my wife.”

  “What of de Troiu?” Paris asked warily.

  William was almost too calm now. “I considered Daniel my friend once.”

  Paris looked at him, aware that William would not meet his eye.

  “The man signed his own death warrant the minute he laid eyes on your wife,” he said in a low voice. “Even at her wedding to de Longley, he seemed overly solicitous. But what of Henry? Surely he will have something to say about all of this?”

  William shrugged. “Henry has too many other pressing problems to worry over two feuding barons.”

  “I shall ride for London and retrieve Jordan myself,” Paris said.

  “Nay, as captain of the forces you cannot,” William said, trying to right a broken chair and finally giving up. “Henry knows you and he would want to know why you are away from your province. Which is why I cannot go, he would not let me return to Northwood if he thought things were calm enough that I tend to a personal errand.”

  “Who goes, then?” Paris demanded.

  William looked at him. “Where is Payton-Forrester?”

  Paris scowled. “Him? Why in the hell do you need him, with all of your loyal vassals here at Northwood?”

  “That,” William jabbed a finger at him, “is precisely why. All of my vassals are too close to the situation, they would all have the exact same reaction as we did when we read the missive, and murder would be foremost on their minds. When de Troiu meets God, it will be by my hands alone. We need someone with a lesser interest to retrieve my wife.”

  Paris nodded grimly, both men calm and steady again. Even Ranulf had stopped his raging and was calmly standing in the doorway.

  “Ranulf, send a missive back with the messenger and address it to the knights guarding my wife, especially Sir Roan d’Vant.” William was wiping away the splintered wood from his knuckles. “Tell Roan that they are to prevent Baron de Troiu from contacting my wife at all costs. He is not to go near her. Also inform them that I will be sending someone to bring her back to Northwood shortly, and that I wish for the knights protecting Jordan to accompany her home as well.”

  “As you command, my lord.”

  Paris turned to his friend when the knight was gone. “You do not blame her, do you?”

  William shook his head. “Nay, Paris, I think I know my wife well enough to k
now that whatever she might have done to encourage him, she was completely innocent. Hell, you said yourself he was after her at the wedding. Even Michael commented on it.” He shook the dust and splinters from his hair. “Jordan is so damn trusting. She sees only the good in people and overlooks their flaws, which in de Troiu’s case is the fact that he is a rake. She probably just enjoyed having someone she knew to talk to.”

  “And de Troiu took advantage of her trusting nature,” Paris growled. “The man is a goddamn vulture.”

  William went into the antechamber, pouring water in the basin to clean the cuts on his hands. Paris followed him, pouring himself a cup of wine.

  “I suppose what made me the most angry is that I am not there to defend my wife,” William said after a few moments. “She is living in Sodom and I am not there to protect her from people like de Troiu. Now everyone, including the king, most likely thinks ill of her, when it simply isn’t true.”

  Paris sipped his wine. “I have no doubt that you will set them all straight when you return,” he said. “But you had absolutely no choice whether or not to leave her in London. She had just given birth and could not be moved, and you were mobilizing an army. ’Twas bad circumstances.”

  William looked up at his friend, pain deep in the hazel-gold depths. “I want her back here with me,” he said quietly. “I miss her, Paris. I miss my children. De Troiu is going to die for the slander he has caused, I swear it.”

  Paris set down the cup. “I know,” he said, then brushed at the dirt on William’s shoulder. “Hell, man, you’d better take a bath. You look like a peasant with all of that dirt. And you smell bad, too.”

  William cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am surprised you can smell me over yourself,” he quipped, once again feeling in control of himself.

  He took the longest bath he could ever remember taking.

  *

  Nearly two weeks after the first attack was launched, Northwood finally began digging out from beneath the rubble. The weather actually cleared a bit, but it was still freezing and blustery as soldiers and knights and peasants worked side by side to repair their once-proud fortress.