Kieran had come home.
*
Jordan was waiting for Jemma in the grand hall impatiently. Dressed in a glorious silver and lavender surcoat with the front of her hair pulled loosely to the crown of her head, she paced back and forth near the dais wringing her hands. When her cousin finally entered the massive room with her brothers and daughter, Jordan rushed to her.
“What took ye so long.” she demanded.
Jemma smiled. “Oh, Jordi, my Da and Kieran have finally come to terms,” she gushed. “I am ever so thankful.”
Jordan’s face went soft and happy. “What wonderful news.” she said. “But ye knew it would happen. Who could resist Kieran’s gentle soul? My Da is mad for the man, too.”
The two women watched a moment as Cord and Ian seated Mary Alys between. Then Jordan suddenly remembered why she had been so eager.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I nearly forgot to tell ye. Paris came to escort Callie to dinner tonight. Jemma, ye should have seen him. Dressed like a god.”
Jemma’s face lit up like the sun. “He did? Where are they?”
“Not here,” Jordan announced scandalously. “He musta taken her for a walk. William and my Da are out and about looking for them now. It seems William has stepped into Uncle Nathaniel’s shoes and has taken it upon himself to protect Callie’s virtue.”
Jemma giggled. “When ye first told me he had eyes for her, I dinna believe ye until I saw it for myself. Who would have known he was capable of noticing someone other than himself?”
“Well, I think it ’tis wonderful,” Jordan said with a confident nod. “They suit each other.”
Dinner was in full swing by the time Paris and Caladora entered the hall, followed several feet later by William and Thomas. The musicians played softly as the diners partook of the feast and William smiled at his wife as he took his seat beside her.
Jordan watched him get comfortable and take a drink from his cup.
“Well?” she demanded softly.
A servant put a trencher in front of him and he broke apart a huge chunk of bread.
“Well what?” he played dumb.
She flamed good-naturedly. “English!”
He grinned and took a bite of pork, chewing politely before answering his wife. “We found them on the wall. Nothing shattering.”
She grabbed him by the tunic. “William de Wolfe, I am going to throttle ye if ye dunna tell me of Paris’ intentions toward my cousin.”
He kissed her nose and smiled deep into her eyes. She smiled back but did not release him. “Love, everyone is going to think that you are intent on pounding me here and now. Besides, you are mussing my tunic.” When she mock-pouted and let go, he leaned over and took another bite. “You had it correct with your first observation, madam. Paris likes your cousin.”
“I knew it!” she cried triumphantly, then looked innocent as people glanced up at her sudden outburst. When they looked back to their meal, she sat back in her chair and whispered. “I knew it. I told ye, did I not?”
“Aye, you did but he has yet to marry her, so do not get too excited,” he told her, mopping at his trencher with a piece of bread.
She simply grinned smugly, making a face at him when he glanced over at her. He shook his head and continued his meal and she watched him contentedly, having already eaten more than she should have.
God, she loved him. Then her smile faded a bit, with the tensions over with, he would be going back to London soon and her heart was deeply saddened with the thought that she would be leaving her beloved family once again. On her other side her father sat eating, quietly conversing with Adam now and again. She watched him a moment, too, and noticed he was a bit subdued. Just the excitement of it all, she assumed.
“What’s the matter, Da?” she leaned over, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Thomas looked at her, an instant smile on his lips. “Nothing. Why?”
She gazed back. “Ye’re quiet. Arena ye happy that we’re all together again?”
He nodded emphatically. “Of course I am,” the bite he had in his hand slowed a bit. “But I was thinking…, oh, never mind what I was thinking. Tell me when we are going to see this great Castle Questing?”
She shook her head. “Do not distract me. What were ye thinking?”
Thomas was hesitant. He shrugged, took a bite, and then shrugged again. “I was remembering when ye and yer cousins would dance the jig for us on cold nights. Remember? Lord, the three of ye could dance the devil right off of his throne.” His eyes took on a distant, soft look. “Ever since the three of ye were bairns. I guess this fine meal and music made me think of it. I miss those times, lass.”
Jordan’s eyes were big and moist as she watched him. He had lost so much. She did so want to see him happy again.
“We will have more of the same, I promise ye,” she said softly.
Releasing her father, she rose and walked past her husband and Paris to where Caladora and Jemma sat. Leaning down, she whispered something to her cousins and the two women promptly rose and followed her off the dais, winding their way around another table and several soldiers as they quit the room.
The men left at the table stared in confusion at the doorway the ladies had just passed through.
“Now where do ye suppose they’re going?” Thomas demanded, turning to William.
He shrugged. “Knowing my wife, it could be anything. If they do not come back in a few minutes, I shall go look for them.”
Paris pulled his chair closer to William. He had been so involved in Caladora all evening that he had barely said a word to the earl. William caught his friend moving closer but focused on his food.
“So you decided to speak to me?” he asked casually, devouring his helping of herbed squab.
“As a last resort, yes,” Paris replied, nursing a cup of wine in his hands. “Where in the hell did they go?”
“I have no idea,” William replied. “Probably to pump Caladora for information.”
“What sort of information?” Paris’ eyes narrowed.
“Oh, you know,” William shrugged. “How she wants her wedding surcoat to look and what sort of flowers she would like in the chapel; those kinds of things.”
William waited for an uproar and was mildly surprised when none was forthcoming. He glanced over at Paris, wiping his hands on a napkin, and was confronted with an expression he had never seen before on the man. It startled him; he knew exactly what it meant.
“Oh…no,” he said with amused horror. “Do not tell me….”
Paris, who had been staring quite thoughtfully off into space, suddenly looked at William and cocked his eyebrow. “Do not tell you what?”
William shook his head slowly. “Do not feed me that innocent line. I have seen that expression before; on me when I look at my wife. What are you thinking?”
Paris prepared to retort but suddenly lost his train of thought. “Oh, hell, I do not know,” he suddenly chuckled. “You know, that was exactly what you said to me the first time I asked you what you were feeling for Jordan. Remember?”
William nodded, sipping his wine. “I remember.”
Paris laughed again. “At times I think I am going insane,” he said. “My God, I have only known the woman three days and I do not know which way is up anymore.”
William smiled broadly. “I know exactly, and I do mean exactly, how you feel. Terrifying and wonderful at the same time.”
Paris’ smile suddenly faded. “I am not suited for marriage, William.”
“If you do not marry her, someone else will. Can you live with that thought?” William asked gently.
Paris’ eyes scanned the room, his mind mulling over the question. He took another drink of wine. “Nay.”
William nodded, satisfied. “Strange that we would fall in love with Scots. A country we have spent a good deal of our adult life fighting.” It was more an observation. “Tell me, what qualities do you find most appealing in Lady Caladora?”
“Other than her obvious beauty, there are many appealing things,” Paris said, somewhat quieter. “She reminds me a lot of Jordan in certain ways. But your wife has a certain strength to her that Lady Caladora lacks. She is more timid, more delicate. Your wife would do well on her own, but Caladora is very dependent. Now that she has lost her parents and brothers, she feels quite lost.” He brushed at his boot absently as it rested up on the table. “She has a heart and mind as open as the heavens and I find that very appealing. And every time she looks at me I feel like a giddy lad with his first crush.”
As amused and touched as Paris had been when William’s feelings for Jordan developed, it was now William’s turn to feel the same.
“And you want to protect her,” he read his friend’s mind. “She is a sweet, fragile, warm woman and you feel towards her as you have felt towards none other.”
Paris nodded faintly, still not meeting William’s eye. “All of the Scott women must be witches. They have captured all of us under their spell.”
William sat back in his chair, watching the goings on of the room in companionable silence with Paris. They understood each other perfectly.
Seated at a table to their right was Roan and his cousin, Andrew. William watched the two men for a few moments until Andrew caught his glance and raised his cup to him in silent homage. William nodded back vaguely.
“You do not like him,” Paris commented.
“He leered at my wife,” William mumbled.
Paris smiled. “We all leer at your wife, William. There is nothing wrong with a man appreciating a beautiful woman.”
“Not that man,” William studied his wine.
Paris frowned, amused. “What is it about him that threatens you so? For three days you have been quite cold to the man who rode to your aid.”
“I didn’t ask him to come,” William said defensively, letting his eyes rest back on d’Vant. “Have you ever heard of the Red Fury, Paris?”
“Of course, who hasn’t? He’s the greatest mercenary soldier in all of England; Scotland, too. He’s legendary.” He suddenly peered closer at his friend. “He threatens you, doesn’t he? You feel threatened by the man because his reputation nearly equals yours.”
“Ridiculous,” William snorted. “There is no one greater than I.”
Paris looked at him, agape. Then he began to chuckle, shaking his head. “That,” he snickered, “is the first time I have ever heard your ego come forth. So all of the praise and titles finally went to your head, eh? Well, I will say that no one in the country is entitled to brag as you are.”
William rolled his eye at him irritably. “Shut your mouth.”
Paris laughed aloud. “Ah, William, you constantly amaze and please me.”
As if on cue, Andrew d’Vant rose on his long legs and went to the table where William and Paris were sitting. Paris was friendly enough, but William was standoffish.
“My lords,” d’Vant said in his deep voice. “I wish to thank you for the hospitality extended to myself and to my men. ’Twas well worth the trip here.”
“It was our privilege,” Paris replied. William barely nodded.
Andrew, undaunted by William’s icy reaction, continued. “On the morrow we will take our leave of Northwood,” he said. “But I wanted to let you know, one warrior to another, that should you ever require my assistance, then do not hesitate to notify me. Roan knows where I can be reached.”
William suddenly stood up, his gaze still cool. “And my offer still stands. I will repay Roan’s debt whenever and wherever required.”
Andrew nodded. “I appreciate that, for my cousin’s sake, my lord,” he replied. Having no more to say, he bowed swiftly and moved on to thank Adam.
Paris stood up beside William. “You were a cold bastard.”
William turned to glare at him but Paris only smiled, wandering away from him and down from the dais. William turned back to watch Andrew convey his thanks to Adam, watching the warrior’s impeccable manners. Mayhap Paris was right and he did feel threatened by a man with as great a reputation as his own. Mayhap d’Vant wasn’t such a bad person, considering William held his cousin Roan in great esteem. But what makes one person dislike another? He thought hard and really could not see any hard evidence that would cause him to dislike d’Vant. Was it, then, a type of professional envy?
He sighed. Mayhap he should apologize for his lack of manners over the past few days. He didn’t want the Red Fury thinking he was a horse’s arse.
When Andrew quit the hall and went out into the bailey, William followed. He caught up with the man halfway through the outer bailey.
Andrew stood off against William, his feet planted apart and waiting expectantly for The Wolf to speak. William eyed him before beginning.
“It has been suggested that I have been cold to you because I am envious of your reputation because it is near my own,” he said flatly. “But I think it is because my wife flirted with you. In either case, I will apologize for giving you the impression that I lack manners. I truly do hope your stay at Northwood was pleasant and I again thank you for coming to my assistance.”
D’Vant openly studied William. “You know, I have been hearing about you for several years and those people have sworn that no greater soldier has ever lived. If there is anyone who should be envious, it should be me. For that and for the fact that your wife is most beautiful. You have a great deal in this life, baron.”
William felt a bit humbled being praised by the man. “I consider myself fortunate as well,” he replied awkwardly. Feeling the conversation lag and having said what he had intended to, he excused himself and strode away. A call from Andrew stopped him.
“My lord,” he said, “Mayhap someday you will do me the honor of meeting me on the practice field. If you best me in a fight, will you stop being jealous of me?”
William fought off a grin. “Aye, that I might,” he said, adding “Mayhap the sooner the better.”
“You are wise,” Andrew said. I do not respect men, either, unless I have seen them fight, or have fought against them. Yet with you I will make an exception to that rule. Your reputation is too well known for me not to be in awe of you.”
William looked at him thoughtfully. He retraced his steps, leisurely, coming to rest in front of the Red Fury. Slowly, he raised his head and met his gaze. “I am feeling out of practice. It has been three whole days since I last bore a sword. What are your feelings, man?”
A glint came to Andrew’s soft brown eyes. “The same, my lord.”
William nodded decisively. “After you.”
Sweeping his arm in the direction of the practice field, Andrew grinned and they proceeded there, together.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
’Twas not hard to hear the sound of metal on metal in the warm night air. The soldiers who were on patrol, plus hundreds of d’Vant’s men, found themselves circled around the practice field, eagerly watching the Red Fury and The Wolf go at it. Each man trying to out-do the other without cutting his opponent’s head off was quite a feat.
William had the strength of ten men, but Andrew was quicker. He would move like a shadow and strike, only to be met with a blow that rattled his teeth. William, on the other hand, felt as if he were fighting Perseus and his magic sword. Andrew was so fast he was nearly invisible.
On and on they continued, striking, parrying, counter-striking with unbelievable skill and accuracy. Early on, William was deeply impressed with Andrew’s abilities. There was no doubt in his mind as to why the man was called the Red Fury, and furthermore, he doubted that any of his knights could have bested the man. He was that good.
Back in the dining hall, the word began to spread like wildfire: The Wolf and the Red Fury were battling it out to the death. Paris was the first to bolt for the door, followed closely by the rest of William’s knights and then by the majority of the diners.
Jordan, Jemma and Caladora descended the stairs from the second floor, intent on returning to the dining hall, only
to be nearly trampled by the stampede of people. They were clad in Scott tartan, traditionally dressed for the dance of swords. The dance was to be a surprise for their kin as a celebration, but they were alarmed at the flight of the diners, tearing out into the inner bailey. Instantly, they assumed the worst.
“Another attack!” Caladora gasped.
Jordan, a bit more rational than the other two, shook her head. “Nay, Callie, for if that were true, they wouldna be rushing outside. Something else is going on.”
But there was nearly no one left to ask. Jordan grabbed a serving wench who knew absolutely nothing and so, puzzled, the three of them proceeded outside to see for themselves.
A few sentries were standing congregated by the door. But their attention was to the northeast, in the direction of the training field, the knight’s quarters, and the stables.
“What goes on, man?” Jordan demanded, sounding remarkably like her husband.
The soldier looked down at her and his eyes widened. Not only was The Wolf’s wife standing before him, but she was naked but for slippers below the knee.
“A fight, my lady,” he stammered. “The Wolf and the Red Fury.”
Jordan’s eyes bugged and without so much as a thanks she gathered her skirt and took off at a dead run in the direction the soldier had indicated. The sentries found themselves riveted to the flight of slim white legs, indeed a rare treat.
Practically everyone at Northwood was crowded around the field. The three women tried to push their way through the crowd but, having no luck, decided quickly to mount the wall. That would give them a bird’s eye view of what was going on.
Jordan ascended the stairs like a madwoman, pushing and scolding soldiers who were not quick enough to move out of her way. She hit the top of the wall running, dodging men and equipment alike until she circled around the wall and was able to see what was happening. And what she saw shocked her.
Her husband and Andrew d’Vant were going at it like demons. They were grunting and groaning with the force of their efforts and Jordan could see the sweat dripping from her husband’s brow. Strangely neither man wore a helmet, so when the challenge had been issued, it must have been done with furious speed.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 123