He dismounted, pulling Jordan off after him. She was dazed, he could see, as she pulled herself away from him.
“I must see to my sons,” she said wearily.
Fortunately, the carriage and the babies were a few short yards away and he watched as she climbed into the coach and disappeared. Knowing her mind would be occupied and she would be calm for the moment, he took a deep breath himself to collect himself and began to see to his men.
After checking on the men who were mobile and establishing a perimeter patrol, he moved to where the wounded were being tended. He had been so caught up in Jordan that he had yet to notice just how many injured they carried.
He could see Byron and Paris kneeling on the ground, bent over an armored figure. Dread filled him when he saw that one of his knights was down.
Sir Broderick Marsh was severely wounded in the abdomen, at the weak point in the armor where the breastplate met the lower body protection. It was a huge, gaping wound and William could see that Byron was trying to pack the man’s intestines back into the cavity.
He stood over them as they worked, knowing there was no way to survive a wound of such magnitude. Broderick was a young, smaller knight who would not live to see his next day. He was conscious, however, and his brown eyes found William.
“How is your lady wife, my lord?” he asked weakly.
William forced a smile. “Well, thanks to my brave knights,” he said. “ ’Twas an honor to fight with you, Broderick.”
Broderick’s pale lips smiled. “My lord, the honor was entirely mine. I shall be able to tell my grandchildren that I fought with the mighty Wolf.”
William nodded curtly, turning away. Not two feet from Broderick sat Corin with Kieran bandaging his shoulder and upper arm. William frowned at him.
“What in the hell happened to you?” he demanded.
Corin looked sheepishly. “Caught a blade in the joint, my lord. Stuck me pretty good.”
Kieran glanced up and smiled at William, letting him know that the lad would suffer nothing more than a scar for his troubles. William put his hands on his hips in severely.
“Think not, Corin, that this excuses you from battle. You will remain fully functional. I will tolerate no sickly pups in my command.”
Corin smiled. “Aye, my lord.”
William had always found that sympathy on wounded men was an invitation to self-pity, and that was usually deadly. He may have sounded callous, but in his experience maintaining a positive, expectant attitude worked as well as medicine.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see his wife marching around him and pushing Kieran away.
“Why dinna ye tell me Corin was injured?” she demanded. “I would see to him.” With that, she proceeded to unwrap all of Kieran’s careful bandaging.
Kieran didn’t stop her, instead, going to stand by William. Jordan inspected the wound and seeing that it was indeed not life-threatening, cautiously rewrapped it.
William watched her confident movements, knowing it was all for his benefit and that she was really a quivering wreck. She was still covered with the earl’s blood and he knew that it had to greatly disturb her. But he let her go, tending to the wounded, walking among them and helping Byron dispense his medicines and potions. If it made her feel better to be busy, then he was content to allow it. But other than a few short words, she had yet to speak to him since the occurrence.
William hadn’t realized that the knights had gathered about him, watching Jordan just as he was.
“How does she fare, my lord?” Michael asked.
“She will be fine,” he replied, not sure how to answer him.
“She looks as if she has seen the worst of it,” Marc remarked. “Is that de Troiu’s blood?”
“Aye,” Ranulf replied grimly. He had seen the whole thing quite plainly. “She was true with her aim and her bravery. I do not know many women who would have had the presence of mind to do what she did.”
“Bravest damn thing I have ever seen a lady do,” Deinwald concurred with conviction. “She ended the melee right then and there.”
“De Troiu deserved what he got, the bastard,” Jason said firmly. “I envy Jordan being the one who got to kill him.”
William would hear no more. He broke away from his men and sought out his wife. Paris and Kieran passed glances at each other, imagining the depth of emotion he must be feeling at the moment. Their leader was the consummate warrior, but in the past year he had become a husband above all. What happened today shook him to his soul.
Jordan was helping Byron tend a severed finger when William came upon them.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
She looked up at him. “But…Byron needs me.”
“Nay, he does not,” William reached down and pulled her up. “Come with me.”
He led her back across the field of wounded and to a small tent that had been pitched for him. He gently pushed her inside, bellowing for hot water before he followed her.
“Sit down before you fall down,” he ordered tenderly.
She sank to the fur pallet that was there, allowing herself for the first time to feel her fatigue. She had fought it off for the sake of appearance and duty, but now in private, her exhaustion overwhelmed her.
“Oh, William,” she grasped her head in her hands.
His attention was always magnified when she called him by his Christian name. He continued to watch her lowered head, standing by the tent opening until a soldier brought him an iron pot of steaming water. He spoke a few words to the man before he disappeared and William turned back into the tent.
“Let us wash the blood off of you,” he said, kneeling down before her.
Using a linen rag, he began to clean his wife. His touch was as tender, as she knew it to be, as he rubbed off the dried blood. Her hair proved a little more of a challenge because it was literally everywhere. He took to rinsing water through it until the water ran clear.
“Tell me how my sons do?” he asked softly.
“They sleep,” she replied in a thin voice. “They slept through the entire battle.”
“I will check on them later,” he promised.
She smiled a little, watching him work with huge eyes. “Why did he do it?”
He gazed at her, swallowed up by her stare. “Because he was a fool.”
“Did he want me that badly or did he feel that ye shamed him with yer aggressive behavior the night he came to call on me?”
“Probably both,” William replied, rubbing at an ugly black clot. “De Troiu was a vain, arrogant man, but I never believed he was stupid. He had always been a great ally of Northwood.”
She lowered her gaze, wanting this day to be over with. She didn’t want to think about de Troiu anymore nor talk about what happened. She just wanted to put it all behind.
The soldier returned then and William went to the opening, retrieving the bundle in the man’s arms, Jordan glanced up at it.
“What is it that ye have?” she asked softly.
He knelt down and unrolled the package. She immediately recognized her brush, a cake of soap, all wrapped in her pretty purple satin surcoat.
“I thought you might want to change out of that dress,” he said, looking at her with a smile.
Sweet Jesu,’ she was lucky to have him. She returned his smile gratefully. “Aye, I would, English.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
William, his wife, and their entourage reached Northwood the next day near dusk.
Jordan sat with her husband, her eyes widening at the sight of mighty Northwood. The fortress sat silhouetted against a black, stormy sky, looking even more foreboding than she could ever remember and belying the true warmth of the castle’s interior. But it was the outer wall she saw, only half repaired, and the complete desolate terrain surrounding her that made the fortress appear so utterly raped. Even the trees that shielded the small lake she loved so well were barren and dead, and the lake was a mucky bog.
Yet in spite of the appearance, she could not imagine that returning to Langton after all this time would be any sweeter. She was glad to be home and her thoughts immediately turned to her cousin.
She was shocked at the sight of the outer bailey. There were few peasants trying to rebuild. The majority of the outer buildings were destroyed as well as the outer village. Her stomach twisted with the misery of their plight.
“English, what happened to all of the peasants?” her voice echoed with disbelief.
“Gone or killed,” he replied. “But there are quite a few left. We will rebuild.”
She hadn’t really imagined the severity of the destruction until it hit her at this very moment. She was sickened.
“This is terrible,” she shook her head slowly.
“Aye,” he answered, thinking of the empty hulk of Langton. He still had yet to tell her what he had found.
Jordan slid off the destrier, looking about her with awed horror. The tanner’s shop and the cobbler; everything was gone. She remembered how nice they had been to her and she was absolutely devastated.
“Where is the tanner? And the blacksmith?” she turned to her husband, demanding answers. “What happened to them?”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I just do not know, love. Things were still chaotic when I left for London.”
They heard screaming. Jordan’s head snapped in the direction of the castle to see Jemma barreling through the inner gates toward her. She yelled something in Gaelic and Jordan laughed in delight.
“What did she say?” William demanded with a smile.
“She wants to know where my little devils are,” his wife replied.
Kieran was closer to his wife than Jordan and was the recipient of a flying tackle. He grunted with the force of the small woman and staggered back a step, hugging her fiercely to him. She smacked him on the side of the helmet, scolding him in Gaelic for not removing it so she could kiss him. Although he had no idea what she had said, intuitively he set her on her feet and removed his helm. With a grin, he proceeded to kiss her so deeply that the other knights applauded with approval. Jordan just smiled.
When Jemma had caught her breath, she pulled herself from her husband’s arms and immediately raced to her cousin. The women came together in a clash of material and squeals, babbling in Gaelic and no one could understand a word they were saying.
“Kieran, we must learn Gaelic,” William commented to his second. “For all we know, they are plotting to escape us.”
Kieran wiggled his brows. “Mayhap it is better if we do not. If we learn their native tongue, they’ll be able to order us about in two languages. I prefer to remain ignorant.”
“Where are those bairns, Jordan?” Jemma finally demanded in English, well aware of her husband’s remark.
Jordan took her hand and led her back to the carriage. Jemma accepted the first twin, Scott, as if he were made of solid gold. She alternately fawned over one and then the other, declaring them to be perfect. Kieran and William had come up behind them, William eyeing his second to see if there was any particular emotion watching his wife cradle a babe. There was none.
“And look at the beautiful dark-haired bairn that ye have.” Jemma exclaimed. “Is this the one ye named for my nemesis? Why on earth, Jordi, did ye saddle the babe with a namesake like him?”
Paris pulled off his helmet and scowled at Jemma, as was usual. “The child is most fortunate, banshee, and never forget it.”
Jemma thrust up her chin at him arrogantly, but not before he caught a glimpse of a smile. “Come, Jordan, let’s take the bairns inside. ’Tis cold out here.”
The babies were overwrapped like a Christmas goose, obviously not feeling the elements, but Jordan heartily agreed. Jordan, Jemma, Byron, and the wet nurse crossed back through the outer bailey and into the castle, leaving the knights to attend their duties.
Jordan insisted on sleeping in the apartments she had originally occupied when she had first come to Northwood. She wanted nothing to do with the apartments the earl had given her after their ‘wedding’, even though they were more spacious. Kieran and Jemma now occupied them.
With the twins safely tucked away in the smaller bedchamber for the night, Jordan’s fatigue had caught up with her and she yawned sleepily as she crossed the adjoining antechamber and into the bower she shared with her husband. She had noticed earlier that there was a different bed filling the room and the vanity was missing, but she didn’t linger on it. She was simply glad to be back, feeling content and warm and delighted with her life. There was nothing more in this world she could possibly want or need for.
The kitten Mary Alys had given her so long ago was now a full grown fat white cat. The cat had claimed this room as his own and awaited his mistress from his comfortable spot atop William’s pillow. Jordan smiled at the animal and scratched his ears, bringing forth rumbles of purring.
“Ye had better remove yer fat body, George,” she told the tom. “Or William will be having cat stew for his morning meal.”
The cat purred louder, dashing her apprehension that the animal would not remember her. George was a loyal as her knights.
She climbed under the covers, fully intending to wait for William to join her, but drifted off to sleep before her head even hit the pillow. George, not to be left out, moved to her and curled up against her arms.
When William came to bed several hours later and found the cat cuddled against his wife, he put his hands on his hips.
“George, you will remove yourself,” he whispered severely. The cat yawned, looked up at him and began to purr loudly. He made a wry face.
“Do not try to sweet-talk me, you hairy little rodent,” he pointed at the door. “Go.”
The feline stretched and amazingly, rose. Satisfied the cat was doing as it had been ordered, he proceeded to remove all of his clothing. However, when he turned around he saw that the cat had taken up position on his pillow. He frowned.
“Damn cat,” he hissed.
“English, quit fighting with George and just come to bed,” Jordan said, her voice muffled into the bedclothes.
He obeyed, but he slid into bed on the opposite side of his wife and shoved her over against the cat. She didn’t protest, grinning as George stood indignantly at being shuffled and then tried to lie back down on her face. William saw the animal’s intention and reached over Jordan to shove the cat clear off the bed.
“Stupid beast,” he muttered.
Snuggled in William’s arms with a faint smile on her lips, Jordan drifted off to sleep again. George jumped back on the bed and draped himself across William’s feet, prompting a murmured curse but naught much else. He was nearly asleep, too.
*
The following morning Jordan awoke in William’s arms, not even remembering the pleasure of being enveloped in them. She twisted a little, relishing the warm security of his body.
“Are you awake?” he asked into her hair.
She nodded, pulling away to smile sleepily at him. “Aye. Did George bother ye overmuch last night?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I am going to roast that cat over a pit someday.”
She grinned and pressed against him. “He loves ye, English. What took ye so long last night?”
“There was much to go over with Brockenhurst and Will,” he replied vaguely.
He didn’t mention he had informed Captain Brockenhurst on the fate of his liege. Brockenhurst, being a sensible and level-headed man, was appalled at the story but truthfully not surprised. Earl de Troiu was a sort of parallel to Alexander in a sense, though not as bad. The captain was genuinely sorry with the turn of events, but he was not the least remorseful that de Troiu was dead.
In fact, Brockenhurst told William that the army that had attacked them in the forest was a sort of loyalist guard to de Troiu, troops that only the earl commanded. He forbade his captain access to the hundred-man company of mostly German mercenaries.
Payton-Forrester had left that v
ery night, taking his three hundred men with him back to Beverley. William had thanked him profusely for his loyalty but his friend had waved him off, swearing that he would demand the favor be returned someday. William had promised him he would come when called.
He realized with happiness how very blessed he was; with fine knights who served him, friends that were tremendously loyal, and a wife he loved madly. The titles and the favor of the king seemed secondary to the things that truly mattered to him, things that at one time he had never truly appreciated. Surely he was the most fortunate man in England.
“But ye’re here now,” Jordan broke into his train of thought and he caught the unmistakable seductive tone.
He cuddled her. “Indeed.”
She snuggled against him, smiling as he kissed her hair, her neck, and inevitably they made love; twice, as the sun rose in the remarkably cloudless sky. Then they rose, bathed, and dressed leisurely.
Jordan wore a heavy brocade surcoat in a rich brown color and pulled her luscious hair back, securing it at the nape of her neck. William liked her with her hair loosely restrained; he liked to see her face revealed. She noticed that he had not donned his armor, as he did ritually every day. He was wearing black breeches, thigh-high black boots and a fine linen tunic. He looked absolutely dashing.
Jordan had plans for the day. First, she would take the twins and visit Jemma. Then, she and her cousin would take the children for a walk in the sunshine so she could get a better look at what the Scots did to the fortress. Then, they would call on Adam. Then,…
William put up his hands listening to her schedule. “Are you sure you will be able to accomplish all of this in a single day? Why are you running yourself ragged?”
“I am not,” she insisted, going to the nursery with William in pursuit. “I simply have a great many things that I wish to do today. Will ye join us?”
“For a while,” he said, picking up Scott. “But I, too, have many things to do today.”
She gathered Troy against her, smiling at him dotingly. “Like what, pray tell?”
“Things that would not interest you,” he said, meaning it was none of her business. She gave him a reproachful glare and he returned with a pleasant smile. “Come, wife. Let us go disturb your cousin.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 112