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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  William stumbled to his feet like a drunkard. “They killed her, Paris. He just told me where to find her body.”

  Paris went white as chalk. “God have mercy,” he breathed. “We’ll go find her right now.”

  William was nearly unable to function without help, but somehow they fought their way back across the chaotic bailey and climbed back across the ladder.

  “Where now?” Paris demanded.

  William swung about woodenly, facing north. “He said in the gully to the north,” he mumbled. “Between two bushes and a rock.”

  Not bothering to find their destriers, they alternately walked and fought their way north. William was in a daze, fighting because he had to, every move from automatic and unthinking. He was so sick in his heart that he would have liked nothing better than to crawl into a hole somewhere and die. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he remembered Scott and Troy.

  He had sons to live for, sons from Jordan’s womb. God, he could not live without her, but his boys needed him. As much as he wanted to be selfish and take his own life, he knew he could not leave his beautiful sons alone in this world. They needed their father.

  To the north of the keep was indeed a wide, secluded gully. William and Paris, followed now by Jason and Michael, ran headlong into the trees and down the incline, sliding and tripping as they descended to the bottom. There were trees aplenty surrounding them and William kept his dulled senses alert for two bushes and a boulder.

  God, he had to find her and hold her. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with seeing her ravaged corpse, but he had to find her. Anguish and agony threatened to explode in his chest. Pain such as he had never known meant to cripple him, but he fought against it as he searched for his wife’s grave.

  Then, they were upon lt. There was no mistaking the sign; two large bushes side-by-side with a boulder to one side of them; half of the boulder buried in the slope that led up to McKenna Keep.

  The four of them began searching, kicking at the dirt, looking for the signs of a newly dug grave. But the ground was hard and undisturbed. Puzzled, they ceased exploring for the moment.

  “Are you sure he said this was her grave?” Paris asked.

  William nodded. “He told me to find her here.”

  Michael had begun probing the boulder, running his fingers along the edge of it. “My lord,” he said after a moment. “The ground is giving way. ’Tis very loose.”

  William and Paris were instantly at the boulder. “Do you think she’s under this thing?” Paris asked of no one in particular, horrified at the mere thought.

  William could not even allow himself the thought of the horror that idea provoked. He, too, ran his fingers along the edge and felt the dirt give way. He shook at the boulder and was amazed to find it unusually light.

  “Let’s see if we can move this aside,” he said, his voice dull.

  The knights positioned themselves around the rock when suddenly, out of the cover of the trees, there was a loud booming yell that sent their hair standing on end. The first thought racing into all four minds was an ambush, and they immediately whirled with swords in hand.

  Jason, the closest knight to the attacker, barely had time to react when a sword caught him in the back of the neck, cutting through his mail and nearly severing his head from his body. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  William, broadsword arcing, cut the offender down with a deft blow to the chest. The man wore no armor and was cleanly gutted, dead, too, as he hit the ground.

  Two men dead in mere seconds. William and his men braced themselves for more enemy soldiers, but the trees were quiet except for the hum of lichen and the sounds of the distant battle.

  Michael knelt to Jason as William and Paris stood over the dead Scot; they knew Jason was beyond help. The Scot was a fat man bearing McKenna tartan; older with a scraggly beard and dirty hair. He wore a few pieces of armor but nothing functional, and he wore no scabbard for his sword. He looked half-dressed to them and they wondered what he was doing hanging out in the trees, away from the battle like a coward. They assumed he was an old fool, too old to fight but not too old to pretend he might be of some use.

  They had no idea they were gazing on the remains of Dunbar McKenna.

  Turning away from the Scot, William passed a lingering glance at Jason Gray. Young, foolish, but a good knight, he was deeply sorry. Michael was bent praying over the young lad, making the sign of the cross when he had finished. Over his shoulder he heard Paris mumbling a prayer and making the sign of the cross as well.

  As regretful as William was, he could not spare the emotion for the knight. The only praying he would be doing would be for his wife, when he found her. He moved back to the boulder.

  “Help me with this,” he said hoarsely.

  Paris and Michael obeyed, moving to different positions around the rock and throwing their backs into it. After the first couple of shoves, the boulder finally budged ever so slightly. Encouraged, and with a fear fed by adrenalin, William barked inspiring words as they rocked in unison, slowly moving the boulder bit by bit.

  They stopped for a moment and re-examined the slope surrounding the boulder and discovered that there was some sort of cave or hole underneath it. Bile rose in William’s throat when he saw that they were getting closer. Above them, in the distance, they could still hear the sounds of a fierce battle and the smoke in the air grew heavier.

  “Again,” William was filled with dread. But he had to get to her.

  “How in the hell did they get this rock here?” Paris demanded with a grunt. “Seems like an awful bit of trouble to me just to cover a grave.”

  Michael gave a loud groan as they pushed in unison and the boulder gave a bit more. “It must’ve taken twenty of the bastards to carry it here.”

  “Shut up and keep pushing.” William grunted.

  After several laborious, endless minutes, they had managed to move the stone about two feet, enough room for them to do what needed to be done.

  William rested against the stone for a brief moment, feeling the horror of what he was about to see sweeping over him but fighting against it. He had to remain in control just a while longer. He noticed that Paris and Michael had stood back, allowing him the first few moments of the discovery to himself.

  With a sigh of utter reluctance, he stood away from the gap and gazed down into it, seeing nothing. With tremendous hesitation, his heart pounding in his ears, he crouched down and peered into the inky hole. Jordan’s face confronted him almost immediately.

  But she wasn’t dead. She was on her hands and knees, looking up at him.

  “William!” she gasped in surprise.

  William was so stunned that he fell back onto his arse. Shock was not a pertinent term; astonishment was a more fitting description. Utter astonishment. Dear God, she was alive.

  Not being able to see his face through his helmet, Jordan was unaware of his amazement. In fact, she wasn’t all that surprised to see him, for she thought Malcolm had sought William out and sent him to rescue her.

  “Dunna sit there!” she demanded irritably. “Help me out of this hole. ’Tis not good for a pregnant woman to be crawling around on the damp ground, all cold and dirty. I shall catch my death while ye loll on yer behind, English.”

  He began to shake violently. When he lifted his hands to his helmet, she could see that they were shaking and when he ripped off his helm and she saw the astonishment on his face, she was genuinely puzzled and concerned.

  “Are ye all right?” she asked softly. “What is wrong?”

  He chuckled, coming out as more of a cough. What is wrong, she asks? Suddenly he was back on his knees, pulling her from the tunnel and clutching her to him with a death grip. Jordan threw her arms around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. But, truly, she had never been honestly worried; she had always known he would come for her.

  “William,” she tried to push away from him but he was squeezing her too hard. “English, I canna bre
athe.”

  “God, Jordan.” he whispered huskily into her hair, his voice filled with tears. “Are you all right, love?”

  “I am fine. Oh, English, I knew ye’d come!” She pushed against him hard enough to be able to look into his eye. “Did Malcolm find ye? Where is he?”

  William was dazed and confused, delighted and overwhelmed. “What are you talking about?”

  “My cousin, Malcolm,” she repeated patiently. “He helped Callie and I escape to the little room back there,” she pointed back down the tunnel. “He said he had to go and unblock the secret exit.” She shook her head at him with puzzlement. “Dinna he find ye and ask ye to help him? He knew ye had come for me, too.”

  William stared at her with amazement and growing horror. “He helped you?”

  “Aye, he did,” she replied with a nod. She looked incredibly beautiful and composed. He was a wreck.

  He shook his head slowly, his mind boggled. “Oh, my God,” he mumbled. “Jordan, I thought he had killed you. I found him in the bailey and ran him through. With his dying breath he told me to find you in the gully to the north, between two bushes and under a boulder. My God, I thought he was talking about your grave.”

  She stared back at him, “Nay,” she whispered in horror, then louder. “Nay! William, he was telling you where to find me. ’Tis the secret passage from the wall.”

  William’s mouth opened and closed shut tightly with the horror of the mistake he had made. He had killed Malcolm thinking the man had slain his wife when, in fact, he should have pledged him his life. But he hadn’t known any better.

  “Oh, Jordan,” he breathed. “I am so sorry, love. I killed him. I thought he was responsible for everything.”

  Her eyes were filled with tears. “He was responsible for a lot of it, But in the end he helped Callie and I, out of guilt, I think. If it wasna for him, we would still be holed up in the barred room.”

  William exhaled sharply, dealing with the overwhelming knowledge. As bad as he felt about killing Malcolm, the only thing that mattered was that Jordan was alive and well, and in his arms. His joy overrode his guilt as he gazed back at her.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” he smiled with tentative joy.

  She nodded, wiping at her eyes and returning his smile. “Aye, I am.”

  He kissed her reverently, her face, her eyes. She sighed raggedly at his touch, new tears of joy stinging her eyes. Her courage was fading, replaced by the dependent need for her husband. There was no longer any need for her to show courage and she was quickly becoming an emotional bundle.

  “I ought to bend you over my knee right here,” he whispered against her temple. “How could you have done something so foolish?”

  “I wanted to see my Da and ye wouldna take me,” she answered, her throat tight. “They killed him, too.”

  “Nay, they did not,” William replied. “We found him on the road. He is quite well.”

  She gazed back at him; now, it was her turn to be astonished. “He lives? Oh, English, ’tis a miracle. The last I saw of him, he was surrounded by a dozen McKenna soldiers.”

  “I assure you, he is very much alive,” her husband said. “Come now, stand up. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  He pulled his wife gently to her feet and she was immediately confronted with the bodies of Jason and Dunbar. She screamed, burying her face in William’s armor.

  He patted her gently. “Jason felt no pain. He is a knight and death is a part of that vocation.”

  “I know.” she cried, muffled, into his breastplate. “Who killed Dunbar?”

  He pulled her face up to look at him. “You know that man?”

  She nodded hesitantly. “ ’Tis Dunbar McKenna. Was the fight a fierce one?”

  William glanced at Paris and Michael in wonder. “Not verily,” he replied. He had killed the infamous Dunbar McKenna and had unknowingly accomplished what he had set out to do. But he didn’t dwell on it; it was over and he simply wanted to get his wife to safety.

  “Let’s go,” he said to her.

  “Wait,” she pulled away from him and poked her head back into the tunnel opening. “Callie? Come out now. ’Tis safe.”

  There was some rustling inside the tunnel, growing louder. “Who’s there, Jordan? Who are ye talking to?”

  “My husband, ye silly goose.” she called back. “Hurry up.”

  Caladora Scott emerged from the tunnel a few seconds later, and the knights had a good look at the third Scott woman. Her hair was a glorious shade of golden red, thick and faintly wavy. When she stood her full height, she was at least a head taller than her cousin and with the same beautiful pale green eyes. She was a very lovely girl, graceful and slim, with incredibly white skin.

  Jordan took her cousin’s hand and smiled at her husband. “This is my cousin, Lady Caladora Scott. Callie, this is my husband, William de Wolfe, Baron Kilham.”

  Caladora’s big eyes widened. “Ye’re The Wolf?” she blurted. “Ye dunna look at all like I imagined.”

  The knights chuckled softly. “I hope that is good, my lady,” William smiled at her.

  Embarrassed, Caladora blushed prettily and lowered her gaze. “I am sorry, ’tis not what I meant to say. ’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, sire.”

  “And you, my lady,” William said, wishing there was more time for formalities, but he had to get the women to safety. “Paris, Michael, find the destriers. We shall take them out on horseback.”

  Jordan happened to catch of glimpse of Paris’ face as he left then. His gaze lingered exceedingly long on Caladora, and Jordan was alerted to his thoughts. Amidst the pain and shock of the day, she felt a ray of joy and had to hide her grin.

  Caladora suddenly gasped and Jordan knew she had seen the bodies, especially Dunbar’s.

  “He is dead, Callie,” she said softly. “He canna hurt us again.”

  William put his big body protectively between the women and the two dead men, shielding them from the unpleasantness. Pulling his wife against him and saying a silent prayer of thanks to God for her safety, he waited for his men to return. His thanks and his relief went beyond words.

  Caladora studied William’s face intently as he held Jordan against him, and she was astonished at the depth of emotions she read. Without even knowing him, she could see that everything Jordan had told her was true. They were very much in love, and Caladora was thrilled and jealous at the same time. Would she ever be so lucky?

  A short while later, Paris returned astride his destrier, leading William’s. William let go of Jordan long enough to take Caladora’s arm to lead her to Paris.

  “You take Lady Caladora and guard her with your miserable life,” he told him, his humor and demeanor returning with the reclamation of his wife.

  Paris flipped up his visor, his blue eyes soft on Caladora. “Without question, my lord.”

  Jordan, standing next to William’s mount, smiled as her husband gently lifted her cousin into Paris’ waiting arms.

  “Paris?” she called to him. “Ye must not call this cousin names as ye do the other. Promise to be nice to her or you will have to deal with me.”

  He glanced over at her and smiled. “ ’Tis good to see you, too, Lady de Wolfe,” he said. “I expect a proper greeting when there is time.”

  Jordan laughed. “Later,” she said as William came back over to her. “But first, I will introduce ye to my cousin so that she is not riding with a stranger. Caladora, the knight with his arm around ye is Sir Paris de Norville, Captain of Northwood.”

  Caladora twisted about, meeting Paris’ incredible blue eyes. “Sir knight, ’tis an honor to meet ye.”

  He nodded, closing his visor. He felt a little giddy. “Tell me, my lady, do you have a nickname?”

  Jordan heard her cousin laughing as Sir Paris reined his horse back up the slopes of the gully.

  The battle around McKenna Keep was still in full swing. Caladora and Jordan, protected behind shields and swords, were nonetheless terrified at t
he sounds of fighting around them, as the knights pushed through the melee in their attempt to reach the safety of the wagons.

  At one point, Paris was the recipient of a barrage of sword chops, crashing down on the shield he held over Caladora. She screamed in fright, prompting William to spur his animal forward and help Paris fight off his attacker. Deinwald and Kieran rushed to their aid and provided effective protection all the way through the skirmish.

  When they pushed through and finally reached the safety of the trees, Jordan’s head came up from her protective ball and she scanned her surroundings. The first thing she saw was Kieran’s smiling face.

  “Kieran!” she exclaimed thankfully.

  “Aye, my lady,” he nodded. “William, do I get to spank her now?”

  “Spank me?” Jordan repeated in outrage, turning to look at her husband.

  “I shall be the first, mind you,” William replied to his knight. “Then you may have a turn. Just as I get a turn at your wife.”

  “Kieran?” Caladora’s head came up as well; she knew who Kieran was. “Jemma’s Kieran?”

  “ ’Tis him!” Jordan called out in delight, forgetting about the spanking and pointing to the massive man astride the dancing red destrier.

  Caladora’s pretty face brightened. “Jemma’s Kieran!” she said in delight.

  Kieran smiled but looked puzzled until Jordan introduced him to her cousin. Then, he looked genuinely happy. “Lady Caladora,” he said. “My wife will be thrilled to see you.”

  Jordan turned to her husband. “Where is Jemma, English?”

  “In the wagons,” he replied.

  “Ye brought her along?” Jordan asked in amazement.

  He nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I could spare no one to take her back to Northwood. She is resting with your father.”

  “Da,” Jordan murmured thankfully. “Take me to them, please? I would give my Da a hug.”

  William urged his horse forward, through the trees. Here, away from the fighting and dying, the peace of dawn was evident. It was hard to believe such peacefulness existed so close to destruction, and Jordan inhaled the damp clean scent of the Scot pines deeply. She still found it difficult to believe she was actually free.