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

by Kathryn Le Veque

Paris slapped on his helmet and quickly latched it to the lip extending from his breast plate. Behind them, the other knights began screaming orders and she could see the column begin to dissolve and head for the surrounding wooded areas.

  Her infatuation with William dissolved as fear shot through her. Sweet Jesu,’ she had been so caught up with the captain that she hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation.

  “What is happening?” she demanded warily.

  William reined his huge horse beside Jason. He still had yet to even look at her.

  “I want you to take Lady Jordan and ride for hell to Northwood,” he ordered the young knight. “We shall try to buy you enough time to reach safety.”

  “Are they Scots?” Jordan asked loudly so that he would have to respond. “Then mayhap I know them. One word from me will send them away.”

  He turned to her, his face obscured by the helmet. “My lady, there are near six-hundred of them, twice the rank I carry. They have crossed the English border after us and I doubt one word from you would send them away.”

  She looked at him a long moment and he saw her face go pale. “Are they bearing Scott tartan?” she whispered in a strangled voice.

  “Aye,” he said, spurring his horse after his men.

  Jordan’s breath caught in her throat. She ran hot and cold with the knowledge that her father had betrayed her. Sweet Jesu,’ was it possible? She had always known her father to be just and fair, and simply could not comprehend that the man had gone back on his word. It wasn’t true.

  Her mind was reeling with disbelief. It was a horrible, vicious mistake on William’s part. Mayhap it only looked like Scott tartan to the untrained eye. But even as she thought that, she knew it was impossible; William had been fighting the border wars long enough to know the difference.

  Her heart broke into a hundred pieces. But she would not truly believe it until she saw it for herself, she had to see it for herself.

  If the worst were true, then she was no longer a peace offering but an enemy captive. She would certainly spend the rest of her life locked up in the tower, forgotten and hated. She had to find a way to get away from the knight that held her and join the battle for two reasons – to see if it was indeed her father’s army and, if so, to join them to save her own life.

  Sadly she knew that if it were true, if it were her father’s army, then she would lose a great deal of respect for him. To live at Northwood as a prisoner or at Langton in shame was not much of a choice.

  But she had to know. Her mind began to form a plan borne from desperation. A thought occurred to her; she was a woman, wasn’t she? Weren’t they said to have irresistible wiles?

  Her eyes narrowed cunningly and she stealthily removed a soft kerchief from inside her cloak and, as casually as she could muster, let it fall to the ground.

  “Sir knight,” she said sweetly. “I seemed to have dropped my handkerchief. Would ye be good enough to retrieve it for me?”

  Jason seemed to take delight in touching her inappropriately. His hands were on her waist, her hips, and her buttocks as she sat against him. In fact, he caressed her buttocks rather provocatively, and she was disgusted and was horribly unnerved. When he tried to grab her right breast, she clamped an arm down and thwarted his attempt. Laughing low in his throat, he slid off the destrier and bent down to pick up the kerchief.

  His backside was turned up to her and the opportunity was too good to waste. Planting her foot against the armor, she pushed as hard as she could. Jason, weighted down by a hundred pounds of armor, went rolling with the momentum.

  Digging her heels into the destrier as hard as she could, Jordan reined the animal in the direction the army had taken and prayed she could control the massive animal long enough to reach it safely. She had to know.

  The horse had pounded out nearly two miles when she began to hear the unmistakable sounds of a battle. Screaming, yelling, and clanging of metal on metal floated on the still-thick air. Jordan paused, trying to follow the sounds. Her face was pinched from the exertion and the cold air, and her hair was kinking up in the damp mist and was sticking to her face, but she ignored it. Kicking the horse in the ribs, she reined it back into the woods. The sounds were definitely emanating from in there.

  She broke from the road and through a bank of trees, racing through the dense forest before coming through the other side and into a clearing. Her heart was pounding wildly from fear as she yanked the snorting animal to a halt, taking a moment to survey the scene.

  The fog partially shrouded the armies, making them appear like ghostly figures. She could see very little except for a select few men sword fighting. With sweaty palms, she steered the animal along the edge of the trees, making her way north to where she thought the Scott skirmish lines might be. If her father were here, she had to find him.

  There were a few fighting soldiers near her; she strained to get a good look at them in the mist and saw that, indeed, a couple were wearing Scott tartan. She felt bile rising in her throat; Sweet Jesu,’ was it true, then? Was her father a liar? She felt sick, wishing she could turn the horse and ride as far as it would take her until they both tumbled into the sea and she was free from her misery. But not before she told her father what she thought of him. All of his cursed talk of honor.

  The horse was snorting and dancing furiously. Like any good warhorse, he heard the battle and wanted to be in the middle of it. It wasn’t too much longer before he pitched her off and went charging headlong into the fog.

  Jordan picked herself off the wet earth and muttered a silent curse at the daft animal. She continued along her original path, her cloth shoes quickly becoming soaked from the wet grass. She was so distraught that she did not notice she had lost feeling in her toes.

  Suddenly, she caught a glimpse that sent her head to spinning; McKenna hunting tartan. She was more puzzled than ever. The McKenna were not allies of the Scotts. In fact, they were fairly close to being an enemy. What on earth was going on here? She knew for a fact that her father would have never sought out the McKenna for their assistance. Or maybe he did. She didn’t know anything for sure anymore.

  The sun filtered through the mist and revealed the battle as if a curtain had suddenly been lifted. It was much larger than Jordan had thought and she was frightened anew as she viewed the unfurling scene.

  Clinging to the trees, she picked her way along the perimeter, trying to recognize any of the Scot soldiers. Her despondency was growing as she saw that she could recognize no one, yet they were fighting in her tartan. Her tartan. Who were these men?

  Confused, she grasped hold of a Scot pine as if it could keep her from collapsing to the ground in a heap. Her gaze was desperate as she watched the battle unfold before her. Far off to her right she caught sight of one of William’s knights cutting a man in two. From the sheer size, she guessed him to be Sir Kieran.

  Glints from armor reflected in the rapidly brightening sunlight, catching her attention. She could pick out more knights now, most on horseback, a couple on foot. She wanted to find at least one of them, to tell them she had no idea who these soldiers were, but they were too far away and she knew it would be foolish to leave the safety of the trees. She had to get a message to William so that he would not think her family was dishonorable.

  And then, suddenly, he was there.

  William sat atop his great warhorse, partially shrouded by the fog, wielding his sword like the archangel Gabriel. She watched, horrified and fascinated, as he fought effortlessly, dispatching enemy soldiers like untried boys. It almost appeared as if he were toying with them, but the force by which men were sent to the ground was evidence of the pure power from William’s sword.

  He was a phantom warrior sent from the bowels of hell. His battle armor gave him a gargoyle-like appearance through the haze. Many an enemy would engage him. Sparks were flying as metal crashed upon metal with bone-jarring force, yet he would cut down one man easily and move on to the next.

  One opposing soldier
came up on his blind side, lashing out with his huge sword. Jordan’s hand flew to her mouth; she was sure the man would make contact. Instead, she saw William bend forward just enough for the sword to miss before answering with a back-handed parry that caught the man in the back of the neck, bringing instant death.

  Her mouth hung open, agape. William would have had to have had eyes in the back of his skull to have landed a blow like that.

  Jordan had seen battles before, but never in her life had she seen a soldier that moved with such grace and such strength. The more she watched, the more she realized that he was almost moving casually, as if he were completely at ease with what he was doing.

  Half the time he kept his shield lowered; he was so skilled that it was almost an unnecessary piece of equipment.

  William was deliberate in his fighting. He seemed to have eyes and ears all over his person, for there was not a man who could sneak up on him unnoticed. He set a pattern, making sure he threw his enemy off-balance before delivering a quick, final blow. It was simple strategy that took little time if executed right. Even his destrier was a fighting machine; all hooves and teeth. Even though the man and his animal were fighting separately, they moved as one. Never once did William jostle in the saddle.

  Jordan began to watch William through new eyes. She knew him to be powerful and respected, but now she actually knew why. A slow smile spread across her lips; he was absolutely magnificent.

  As she continued to watch, he began to fight a man with a strange, spiky metal staff who was nearly as tall as he was from where he sat on his horse. William was laying blow after powerful blow on the upheld staff but was making no headway. It was like striking a tree.

  Suddenly, the enemy swung the great staff sideways and caught William in the back. He teetered for a moment but regained his balance. Meanwhile, the giant had landed two more shattering blows to William’s back and was making it near impossible for him to fully regain his seat.

  Panic surged through Jordan like nothing she had ever experienced. She wildly thought to run to him and attack the giant from behind, just enough to distract the man so that William could kill him. But she wasn’t near large or strong enough. She continued to watch in mounting horror as the huge enemy pounded William with his massive staff.

  Then, for a few moments, William appeared to gain the upper hand, deftly fending off the smashing blows while landing one good enough to send blood spurting. Jordan almost relaxed until the giant unexpectedly brought up his staff and caught William square in the head, powerful enough to send his helmet spinning into the air.

  Jordan screamed at the top of her lungs, loud and shrill. She was convinced that she had just seen William beheaded and her hands flew to her face as if she could block out the visual impression. But in her mind’s eye it was as real as rain. She began to weep uncontrollably, horrified at what she had just witnessed.

  She was so grief-stricken that she didn’t hear the shouts from the knights, informing each other that, somehow, Lady Jordan was on the outskirts of the battlefield. Inevitably, each one of them began to fight their way toward her.

  But William was far from dead. The blow knocked him backwards on his horse and even as dazed as he was, he managed to bring his sword around and drive it sideways into the giant’s ribs as easily as slicing mutton.

  But he had heard the scream and the shouts from Kieran and Michael, knowing it was Jordan who had emitted such a terrifying shriek. God be damned. He had ordered her to Northwood; what in the bloody hell was she doing here, in the middle of a battle? He was going to take her over his knee when he caught up to her and….

  Oh, God… she was here in a battle.

  Angry as hell and scared to death for her safety, he managed to halfway right himself in the saddle. Twisting his spinning head, he could see her over by the trees. Fear surged through him like a hurricane.

  “Jordan!” he bellowed.

  Her hands flew off her face in stunned disbelief. “William!” she screamed.

  He was trying without much success to regain his balance; his head weighed a hundred pounds. He had to get to her with an urgency he had never known before. Behind him, a destrier blew past with a rush and headed straight for her. Without even looking up he knew it was Paris; he recognized the animal’s legs.

  Jordan was fixed on William as if he were the only man on earth and failed to notice Paris as he bore down upon her. Like an avenging angel, he swept her into his arms and rode madly for the woods, the road, and beyond.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The battle was over for the moment. Malcolm was only glad that the English had not taken any captives because the McKenna soldiers were a stupid lot and it would not take much for one, or all of them, to spill the truth. But it was a chance Malcolm and Dunbar had been willing to risk for the opportunity that was at stake.

  When the battle had dwindled and Abner had called a retreat, Malcolm and the others had skulked back into the woods where most of the soldiers were sent back to McKenna Keep. A few of them, however, had remained hidden in the woods, pacing the English army’s moves.

  They sat underneath a group of damp, dense trees, wrapped in their hunting tartans; waiting for Malcolm and Abner’s next orders. There were eight men in all; all swarthy Scots; all filled with hate for the English. They listened intently while Malcolm and Abner reasoned out another plan.

  “I say that the attack was successful,” Malcolm was saying. “We wounded quite a number of the bastards.”

  Abner, his blond hair wet with filth and the dampness in the air, shook his head. “Aye, but we lost a fair number of our own, including Ralph. He was my Da’s greatest warrior.”

  The others nodded solemnly and Malcolm hoped they didn’t believe he was personally responsible. He cleared his throat.

  “Be that as it may, we still caught them by surprise,” he said. “I think our next step will be…will be to sneak in to the camp and take Jordan.”

  “Take her? Hell!” Abner snorted. “We slit her throat while she sleeps. The English will think that one of their own did it and Thomas Scott will declare a blood war on ’em.”

  Malcolm fixed Abner with a hard stare. “I wunna be a party to killing my own cousin.”

  Abner glared at him. “What ye want is of no matter. We will do what must be done.”

  Malcolm was silent. He was also outnumbered. He chewed his lip for a moment thoughtfully.

  “Then who does it?” he asked quietly. “It wunna be me.”

  Abner shrugged. “One of us’ll do it.”

  The lot of them were quiet for a long while, each staring into the darkness with their own thoughts. An owl hooted somewhere above their heads.

  “She left with the captain of the guard,” Malcolm said quietly. “The huge man on the grey destrier. Did ye see him on the battlefield? I bet he keeps her with him.”

  Abner nodded. “Aye, I saw him,” he said grimly. “He’s the one that killed Ralph. Almost sliced him clean through the middle with that big sword of his. Aye, he was the fiercest of all. Musta killed twenty of our men by himself.”

  “I wunna challenge him,” said one man. “If he’s with her, I wunna be the one to slit her throat. Most likely get mine will be slit instead.”

  Abner and Malcolm looked up, seeing that the others nodded in agreement.

  “What’s the matter with ye?” Abner demanded. “Have ye all become coward because of one English bastard?”

  “Abner, we’ve fought that man before, dunna ye remember? The one they call ‘The Wolf,’” another man said. “He’s got protection from the devil or something. Not one of us can even get close to the man before we’re cut down. I wunna fight him, I can say that. He’s strong enough on the field, but one on one I wunna fight him.”

  Abner stood up angrily. “Then ye’re no man of mine,” he snarled. “He’s just a man, like any other.”

  “He’s a man, all right, but not like any other,” said the first man He was a seasoned soldier and had see
n many years of the border wars. “I dunna know his Christian name, but they call him The Wolf because he’s damn near invincible. Ye canna kill him, and if he’s the one protecting Jordan, then we might as well go back to the keep.”

  Abner stood still a moment. “The Wolf. I have heard of the man. That was him?”

  “Aye,” the older soldier said. “I first saw him fight near 14 years ago when he was a lad. He was good then. Shoulda killed him when I had the chance.”

  “Not just him, but he had at least eight other knights that fought like demons,” another man piped up. “I dunna want to go up against any of them, not without proper armor or weapons.”

  Abner turned to Malcolm. “Ye say he took Jordan himself? What else did he say, man, ye were there?”

  Malcolm looked thoughtful. “He announced himself to Uncle Thomas, said his name was…Wolf. Sir William Wolf, I think. Then he took Jordan and left. That’s all there is to it.”

  The mood among the men was bleaker than it had been just moments earlier. None wanted to return to Dunbar McKenna and inform him of their failure, especially Malcolm. He took this mission very personally. Yet none wanted to confront The Wolf, either. Finally, Malcolm rose stiffly.

  “I shall go,” he said. “Jordan’s my kin. I shall go.”

  They all looked at him as he waited expectantly for someone to agree to go with him, yet no one wanted to.

  Abner let out a blustery sigh. “Then I shall go, too. Ye hold off The Wolf and I shall slit yer cousin’s throat. Tate, Dougal, come with us.”

  Malcolm looked as if he wanted to argue about Jordan’s fate, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want her killed, but sacrifices would have to be made. The man that Abner ordered to attend as well looked about as happy as he felt.

  “Come on, then,” he said after a moment. “Send the others back. We’ll finish the job.”

  The party split up; four men returning to the safety of the keep and four men descending into The Wolf’s lair. ’Twas not an appealing prospect for the latter.