The soldier bowed and dashed off. Without another thought, William returned his attention to the wall.
A half hour later the soldier was back. “My lord, they have still not come out.”
William glanced overhead, noting that the sun was low and soon the gates would be closing. He was sure nothing was wrong, that the women had simply lost track of the time and he did not want to go pounding into the trees upsetting them. The last thing he wanted on his hands was an angry, pregnant wife. With a wry frown, he scratched his head.
“Notify me when the sergeant intends to close the gates,” he told the man. “If they still have not returned, then I will go and fetch them. You have not seen any movement at all?”
“None, my lord,” the soldier replied.
Women. He shook his head at their thoughtlessness and dismissed the soldier. They were probably sitting on the ground gabbing their heads off and forgetting about everything else. He had to smile at himself, afraid of upsetting his wife. What on earth was he afraid of? That she would slug him? Or, worse, yet, that she would cry? Most likely the latter was the reason. He hated to see her cry.
Paris had scared him with horror stories of her mood swings during pregnancy, he realized with a chuckle. But Paris always did manage to blow things out of proportion… didn’t he?
The soldier returned not an hour later to inform him that the gates were preparing to be secured and his wife still had not returned. With a muttered curse, William told to the soldier to hold the gates and went to the stables. The stable master met him, leading a saddled warmblood.
“My lord.” the older man exclaimed. “Your wife and Sir Kieran’s wife have not yet returned from their ride and I was….”
“Give me the horse,” William took the reins irritably. “I shall go find them.”
The warmblood was a big, hearty animal built for stamina. William galloped the horse from the outer bailey and out into the fields beyond, taking the general direction that the sentries had indicated. Dammit, he would find them and give them a good tongue-lashing for being so inconsiderate. Then he would take Jordan to bed and make love to her, if she was still speaking to him.
An hour later he was still searching. The sky had grown dark and there were a multitude of torches blazing atop the walls waiting for him to return. With the gates still open, they were vulnerable and anxious.
Kieran and Michael saddled up and rode out to find him. They met him on the road coming back.
“What’s wrong?” Kieran demanded.
William’s face was gray. “They are nowhere to be found. But I found these.” He held up two dirty riding dresses.
Kieran felt sick as he gazed back at his wife’s burgundy garment. “Oh, God, William,” he whispered urgently. “What in the hell has happened?”
The hand clutching the dresses fell limply to his side. “I let them go riding. Alone.” He could not believe this was happening. “They begged to go by themselves and I saw no harm in it as long as they stayed within sight of the castle.”
Kieran could see how miserable William was with his confession. He, too, was rapidly slipping into fear and agony.
“Where are they, then?” he demanded.
“I do not know; I found these dresses half-buried under some dead leaves.” William was having a difficult time controlling himself. “But we search now. Michael, mount the knights and bring as many torches as you can carry. The horses are gone, too, and we can track them by their shoes providing it doesn’t rain. Come; we have no time to waste.”
He and Kieran went back down the road to where William had come across the dresses. They could see fairly well in the full moonlight as Kieran dismounted and began hunting around with grim determination.
“You will find nothing,” William said dully. “There is no blood, no signs of a struggle. The dresses aren’t even ripped.”
Kieran stood still a moment, staring at the ground before putting both hands to his head in a gesture of pure helplessness.
“What in the hell happened?” he hissed.
William didn’t want to voice the possibilities. They were too disturbing and he didn’t want to invite panic, not at the moment.
Kieran walked over to his horse and wearily leaned on the animal, his arms stretched across the saddle. The sounds of the night drifted across the cold air, and William kept straining his ears, listening for a scream somewhere in the distance. But he heard nothing and found he was numb with shock.
“If we have a son we are going to name him Alec,” Kieran said faintly.
William stirred in the saddle. “After your brother? He would be pleased.”
Kieran nodded. “I wish Jemma could have known him.”
William cocked a slow eyebrow. “They would have killed each other, Kieran. Alec was the most arrogant man I have ever met and Jemma would have taken a blade to him with that temper of hers.”
Kieran was forced to smile. “Mayhap. But I would have liked for them to have known each other nonetheless.”
William looked at him. “How is it that a man with your mild temper is attracted to firebrands? Your brother was certainly no saint, although he was an excellent knight, and you happened to marry the wildest woman in Scotland.”
Kieran snorted. “Because I have the patience for them. God is wise when he chooses our relatives for us.”
Down the road they could see a company of knights bearing torches converging on them. Kieran mounted quickly and they rode to meet them.
“Leave the horses here for the moment,” William ordered his men. “We are tracking hoof prints and I do not want our own confusing us.”
The men dismounted and handed off the destriers to the soldiers that had come with them. Bearing torches bright enough to light up a city, they began to slowly and methodically studying the mucky road. Since each blacksmith put a certain seal on his shoes, they knew what they were looking for.
They searched the immediate stretch of road and found nothing. Spreading out, they continued to search, gradually moving down the road until Northwood was nearly gone from view. By that time, the other knights began to question the value of continuing the search since nothing had been discovered yet, but they persevered because of William and Kieran.
Other than the standing orders, William had yet to say another word to them. If he was so sure they were going to find a clue to the disappearance of his wife and Lady Jemma, then they would continue searching for his sake. William, they had learned, was rarely, if ever, wrong.
Suddenly, William stopped and dropped to a crouch at the very edge of the road. Kieran saw him and was immediately at his side.
“What is it?” he demanded.
William’s fingers were lightly tracing the ground. “Here! Look,” he said. “Northwood crests on these shoes.” His despair was quickly turning into excitement. “They came out of the forest, here, and then continue up the road.”
By this time, all of the knights were by his side, indeed studying the tracks.
“There are only two sets,” Jason said helpfully. “One ’fore the other, in a line. They go north.”
William stood up, staring at the tracks for a long minute, not saying a word. A slow horror was creeping over him as he realized what had actually happened. There were no kidnappers and no murderers. There was no blood because there had been no struggle. Jordan had been adamant about going alone. Alone, she said. And the dresses weren’t ripped because they had been easily discarded. Dear God… he knew what had happened.
“Damnation!” he exploded, kicking at the ground furiously.
The knights looked at him in astonishment. He was so furious he clenched his fists and swung away from them just so they would not see his veins bulging.
“What?” Kieran demanded insistently, his hands outstretched as if pleading for an answer. “What is it?”
William whirled to his second, jabbing a finger in his face. “They have not been abducted, Kieran. They have bloody well launched themselves to Lang
ton. It all makes sense now, all of it.”
Kieran stared back at him in disbelief. “Langton? What in the hell are you talking about.”
William was daft with anger. “I shall tell you what I am talking about,” he seethed. “Your devious little wife somehow convinced Jordan to ride with her to Langton. Only Jemma could think of such a foolish scheme.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what you say about my wife,” he warned calmly.
“It is true!” William fired back at him. “Jordan is not capable of this kind of deception, but we know from experience that Jemma is certainly sly and conniving enough. And Jordan, being as goddamn gullible as she is, listened to her.”
Kieran watched William smack his huge fist into the palm of his hand angrily, raging like a mad dog. They were all concerned and upset, but that did not excuse the insult dealt to Jemma.
“You will not blame Jemma for this,” he said lowly.
Paris, standing a few feet away, heard the tone and groaned inwardly. The last thing they needed was a fight. He stepped closer, just in case.
“Why not? ’Tis her fault.” William raged.
Kieran was struggling with his temper, a rare occurrence. “If that is true, then Jordan did not have to go,” he said with a tick in his jaw. “She can think for herself, or so you have said.”
William glared at Kieran the likes of which no one, including Paris, had ever seen. He was so damn angry that he was irrational. “Kieran, if anything happens to Jordan because of your wife’s stupidity, I shall kill the bitch myself. I swear it.”
Oh, God. The knight’s surrounding them tensed with apprehension, waiting for the next move. Even Paris was frightened. Kieran and William could do substantial physical damage to one another.
Kieran’s eyes widened at the threat; his temper could no longer be controlled. He was armed; William was not. In a fit of uncharacteristic rage, he unsheathed his sword with a resounding clang.
“Defend yourself!” he roared.
Paris unsheathed his sword, bringing it to bear directly in front of William to fend off Kieran’s blow. William, however, had not so much as flinched and met Kieran’s gaze with deadly hostility.
Kieran brought the blade down and Paris found himself fending off the heaviest blow he had ever had the misfortune to receive. He knew Kieran to be remarkably strong, but the strength behind the blow was super-human. Sparks flew brightly into the night air, a few of them landing on William, as Paris staggered. But William had yet to even so much as step back a pace.
The knights had no idea how to react. They jumped back, out of the line of fire, wildly concerned for the situation. Should they jump in or not? Ranulf, wisely, motioned them all back and away. To lend aid would mean to take sides, and that must not happen.
Paris yelled at William to move, but the earl was not listening. Kieran raised his sword again and Paris physically threw himself in front of William, a double-handed grip on his sword as he prepared to fend off another bone-rocking blow. The glint of steel flashed before him as Kieran brought the sword down, and Paris braced himself.
But the impact never came. Suddenly, the sword was sailing out of Kieran’s hand and into the darkness, landing heavily several yards away. Kieran put his hands on his face and swung away from William, staggering back onto the road like a drunken man.
Paris, swallowing hard with relief and surprise, realized he was shaking. He was fully prepared for the battle of his life and was astonished to see it suddenly ended. When he turned to look at William, the baron was already walking past him and toward the slumped figure standing on the road.
Then William did something he had never done in front of his knights. He showed an onslaught of weak, human emotion. He grabbed Kieran and hugged the man fiercely. Kieran responded instantly, holding William with ferocious grip.
“Forgive me, Kieran,” William whispered into the man’s shoulder. “I am always unstable when it comes to my wife. Forgive me my words; I did not mean them.”
Kieran simply nodded, giving William a firm squeeze before they stood apart.
“I am scared, too,” he whispered.
William shook his head slowly. “God, ever since I met that woman I have done things I believed myself incapable of.” He sighed. “Jemma is not to blame alone. I am sure Jordan had quite a hand in this, as well. I guess what angers me the most is that I could have stopped them and I didn’t.”
“You are not a mind reader,” Kieran replied wearily. “Although I have wondered at times. You did what I, or any of us, would have done. Do not be angry with yourself.”
William put a companionable hand on the side of Kieran’s head, smiling weakly at him. “You were going to kill me?”
Kieran looked sheepish. “I was thinking on it.”
William grinned and gave him a light slap on the skull. “I never knew you had it in you, old friend.”
Kieran made a wry face. “As you said, I am unstable when it comes to my wife.”
William’s smile faded. “Then we must move. We have a lot of ground to cover to catch those little vixens.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Roan d’Vant sat alone in the knight’s quarters, in complete battle armor as he sat hunched over vellum with a quill in his hand. He was writing a letter, mayhap the most important letter he would ever write.
It was to his cousin, Andrew d’Vant. Andrew was a mercenary soldier, leader of a mercenary army nearly eight hundred men strong. Andrew fought purely for the money involved. Although born as the second son of Earl Alston, near Carlisle, he was not English. Neither was he Welsh, nor Scot. He was whatever money said he was.
Roan had a bad feeling about the battle march into Scotland to retrieve Lady Jordan. He wasn’t paranoid as a rule, but he had seen the destruction the Scots had made and was positive, as was William, that the war wasn’t over yet. The clans were still banded together, somewhere in the south of Scotland, and he was somehow sure they would run into them. And knowing how the men were feeling about the Scots right now, there would most likely be no survivors on either side. A clash would prove to be one of the most violent in history.
He told his cousin of the situation, of the intentions of The Wolf, and told him exactly where they were going. He asked that Andrew mobilize his army and meet them at Langton to support their movements.
Roan was not personally rich, although his family was extremely wealthy and were powerful as heirs to St. Austell Castle in Cornwall. He could offer Andrew very little monetarily and hoped that the fact that their fathers were first cousins would hold some bearing. He hoped that blood was more valuable than money, although he doubted it. The man was in the business purely for the value of it, and he was one of the best damn swordsman Roan had ever seen.
Putting the vellum into a sack, he also stuffed in a banner he managed to confiscate bearing the king’s crest. He hoped Andrew would fly it as he approached so that William would not attack the man before Roan had a chance to explain what he had done.
Yet Andrew d’Vant was somewhat of a legend as well, for his army was huge and well-know and had fought all over the civilized world. His cousin’s nickname, the Red Fury, stemmed from the fact that the massive, towering man has auburn hair and fought with a demonic anger. He was sure William had heard of him and only hoped he didn’t sever his head from his body for acting out of the chain of command.
Why Roan was doing this was simple, really. Even with a thousand men, their army would not outnumber the clans, and Roan had no desire to die in Scotland. With the addition of his cousin’s army for support, ’twas a good chance that few English would die and mayhap the Scots, seeing the size of the quelling army, would forcibly disband.
He sent the messenger off to the southwest, headed for Andrew’s seldom-used keep. It was the only place he knew to begin looking for the man, and he prayed fervently that he could be found in time, and that the terms were agreeable.
*
Neither woman stopped to see the
pure foolishness of their situation. Two women, alone, was bad enough. But two pregnant women, traveling alone, and at night, was insane. The situation was compounded by the fact the Jemma was feeling lousy and they’d already had to stop twice.
Finally, weary to the bone, the stopped the horses in a patch of trees that was particularly dense and shielding. Jemma fell asleep for about an hour while Jordan stood vigilant watch, and then Jordan took her turn resting while Jemma stood nervously in the dead leaves, jumping at any little sound.
Close to dawn Jordan awoke from a dreamless sleep and they ate some bread before continuing on. Their greatest fear was that William and Kieran were closing the gap that separated them and that they would not make it to Langton at all. They had married clever men with deductive minds and they had no doubt that William and Kieran had figured out where they were headed. So with renewed determination, they pushed on.
They rode the entire morning without stopping, an amazing achievement. A bit of cheese and fruit for the nooning meal, and they were off again. The horses performed beautifully and when they crossed the no man’s land of Carter Bar, they thrilled with the knowledge that they were almost home. Muted heather coated the soft hills and suddenly they realized just how much they missed their country. As much as they had grown to love England, Scotland was home.
Before sunset they passed into familiar territory. This was Langton land, and Jordan nearly got down from the horse to kiss the earth. The smells, the sights, were the same as she had always remembered and her heart was crying for her father. They were almost home.
Another hour passed before the burnt-out structure of Langton came into view. Destroyed or not, it was the most beautiful sight they had ever seen, and both women shed happy tears. Jordan was thrilled, and imagined how surprised her father would be to see her and they spurred the horses into the final stretch.
The wall was down, bricks strewn about, but there was a clear passage in and out of the courtyard. The bodies had long since been gone but the entire place felt like a ghost yard. Timidly, Jordan and Jemma dismounted, their eyes still drinking in the sight of their beloved home. But they had known what to expect and were beyond tears of grief. Still, the shock was unnerving and left them with a hollow feeling in their souls.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 115