After probing his face for a few minutes, she dropped her hands and met his questioning eyes.
“Well, yer nose is broken,” she said frankly. “But I think the rest of yer face was spared any major damage. I shall pack yer nose and bandage it so that it heals straight.”
She turned to look at William. “Where can I find some clean linen?”
He gave her a long look before moving from the tent. She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his gaze. Puzzled, she turned back to Jason. “I shall fix ye good as new.”
Jason looked worried and raised a timid hand to his face. “You are going to bandage my face?”
She laughed softly. “Dunna look so worried,” she said. “Ye’ll be wearing yer helmet anyway so no one will see ye.”
He nodded reluctantly, still touching his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Malcolm, Abner, Dougal and Tate skulked to the perimeter of the English encampment without any trouble at all. They took the time to case the entire camp, seeing where the guard was the weakest and were trying to determine just where The Wolf’s tent might be. It was agreed that most likely Jordan would not be in a tent of her own, and furthermore probably would be in his.
On the northeast perimeter, Abner and Tate slit the throats of two soldiers and dragged them into the forest. Abner took one of the dead men’s daggers before leaving the bodies. The four men dashed into the camp, staying low and diving for cover behind the first available tent. There was little activity, being as close to dawn as it was. Silently, they began to move for the larger of the tents situated in the middle of the camp.
*
Jordan was sleeping soundly but William was wide awake. He did not want to miss one minute of her softness and warmth in his arms, wondering how in the hell he was going to sleep alone again after this. ’Twas a terrible thing to be infatuated with his lord’s future wife.
He sighed miserably and she stirred, snuggling even closer in her sleep and making him all the more miserable. Her head was a half an inch from his mouth and he dared boldly to kiss her hair softly. He should not have done it, but he could not help himself. She was the sweetest thing he had ever experienced.
Sir Ranulf Kluge stuck his head into the tent. The oldest knight in William’s corps, he was thick and crusty and the best trainer of men in the realm.
“My lord?” he called softly.
William bolted from the bed, going to his knight. Jordan still slept limply, even with the jostling.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A moment, sire,” Ranulf beckoned him outside.
Jordan was alone, unaware of the mortal danger she was in. She slept even as the Scots skirted the edges of the tent, looking for a gap large enough between the ground and the staked edges that they could slip through. They wanted to make absolutely no noise or commotion, anything that would attract attention. The entire operation had to be noiseless and look as if one of the English had done it, and he would conveniently leave the dead soldier’s dagger as mute testimony.
There was a breach large enough that Tate could stick his head into. After a moment, he drew back excitedly and motioned to the tent. They had their target.
Tate and Dougal went in first, being the smallest. Malcolm followed, leaving Abner still outside.
The tent was dark except for the fading brazier in the middle of the floor lay Jordan, covered with furs and sleeping deeply. Malcolm took a deep breath, he did not want to slay her. Mayhap if he only kidnapped her, the point would still mean the same. Without Abner pushing him endlessly, Malcolm came to his own decision, he would take Jordan now. They would decide what to do with her later. He simply could not kill his own kin.
He pounced on her and she nearly jumped through the roof. His hand over her mouth, sealing off her screams, he put his face close to hers so that she would see who had her.
Jordan could not help but see who it was. Her eyes opened wide with surprise and fear at the sight of her cousin’s sweaty face. It never occurred to her that he had come to kill her, but she did believe he had come to bring her home.
She did not want to go home. She shook her head at him, her muffled cries managing to squeeze out from between his closed fingers.
“Be quiet.” Malcolm hissed into her ear. “Do ye want the whole of England to hear ye?”
She did, in fact, because she needed help. She did not want to get Malcolm into trouble, but she could not comply with his wishes.
Malcolm hauled her to her feet as she tripped over her bed robe, putting a dagger at her neck. Panic filled her veins as she wondered why Malcolm had a knife at her throat and it began to occur to her that Malcolm was not here to take her home. He was here to kill her.
Malcolm… the black sheep of the family. He had never fit in with the Scotts and he had never tried. He spent most of his time away from the keep doing God only knew what and had caused his parents great grief. He was strange and volatile. She realized that he was going against her father’s alliance with the English, and that he would do anything to sabotage it. Yet with all of her panic, she had to get control of herself if she were going to survive this. She had to remain calm and not allow Malcolm to suspect what was racing through her mind.
She put her shaky hand on his, hoping he would think she was going with his plan and take his hand away. Tate and Dougal, having taken a few of William’s possessions for keepsakes, began backing out of the break in the tent. Malcolm began to move, too, and in his distraction pulled his hand away from her mouth slightly.
It was all she needed.
“William!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
What happened next occurred with blinding speed. Abner, hearing her scream, used his dagger to slit open the entire side of the tent to create a quick exit for his men. William, several feet away from his tent listening to Ranulf and Corin, moved faster than anyone could ever remember seeing a mortal man move. He was into the tent like a dark shadow, his huge fists dropping Dougal where he stood and grabbing Malcolm around the neck in the same motion.
Malcolm released Jordan as William fell on top of him. Abner, panic-stricken that The Wolf was only a few short feet away and realizing that the entire camp was alerted now, took off at a dead run. Corin tore after him, running as only a young man can, while Ranulf felled Tate with a crushing blow to the jaw.
The warning horns went off all around the camp and the soldiers were up and moving, ready to take on the army of invaders they were sure were upon them.
Paris heard the horns and bolted from bed. Jemma, alarmed, watched his face fearfully as he pulled on his boots and strapped on his sword. He was grim and severe, not at all like the knight she had come to know over the past couple of hours. He looked deadly. He turned to her.
“Get up,” he said. “I shall not leave you alone.”
Back in William’s tent, Jordan was crying hysterically as William grappled with Malcolm. However, it took only a few seconds for William to pound the man once in the temple and leave him passed out on the floor. Swiftly, he rose and went to Jordan to see if she was injured. To his astonishment, she threw herself at him and clung to him for dear life.
“Are you all right?” he demanded hoarsely.
Tears wetting her cheeks, Jordan could only nod. Before she could speak, the tent flap flew open and the majority of William’s knights were there, swords in hand and ready to do battle.
Brusque Ranulf took charge, thrusting Dougal at Kieran and jerking Tate to his feet for Michael. Deinwald went to stand over Malcolm, looking severely at the man.
“What in the hell happened?” Deinwald demanded.
William looked at Jordan for an explanation. She swallowed, struggling to calm her tears.
“That is my cousin, Malcolm,” she said in a shaky voice. “He came to me and put a knife to my throat.”
“How in the hell did he get into the camp?” William wondered, then jerked his head at Deinwald. “Better check the posts, man, and see who i
s missing.”
“Aye, my lord,” Deinwald was gone.
With the tent clearing and men on the move, William turned his attention to Jordan.
“Why?” he asked, “did he want to kidnap you? To take you back to Langton?”
Before she could answer, he turned back to the other knights. “I would wager good money he had something to do with the attack on us yesterday morn. Put those other bastards in irons. I shall deal with them in a minute.”
“What about him?” Ranulf pointed to semi-conscious Malcolm.
William’s face was like ice. “I shall deal with him now.”
Ranulf and Marc hoisted Malcolm to his knees, flanking the man with their swords in hand.
Paris entered the tent with Jemma clutched in one hand. It took Jemma all of one second to see her brother on his knees in the middle of the tent and she went mad.
“Malcolm.” she shrieked. “Sweet Jesus, what in the name of hell are ye doing here?”
Paris looked confused but glared dangerously at the figure on his knees. “Who is that?” he asked to anyone who would answer him.
“My brother.” Jemma yelled.
“My cousin.” Jordan cried on her heels.
Paris pointed to the man with his sword. “Is this why the alarm sounded?”
“Aye,” William replied. “Better go calm the troops. Might as well get them assembled, too. It’ll be dawn in an hour or so.”
“Malcolm Scott, what in the bloody hell are ye doing here?” Jemma demanded again.
Jordan was still crying. “I shall tell ye, Jemma,” she sniffled. “He was going to kill me. He held a dirk at my throat.”
Jemma’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Is that true, Malcolm?” she asked, outraged. “I shall kill ye myself, ye little bastard. What goes on in your brainless head?”
William did not need Jemma’s anger. He had quite enough of his own. “Take her out,” he told Paris.
Jemma protested loudly as Paris literally carried her from the tent. He could feel Jordan shaking behind him and turned to her, gently guiding her onto a stool.
“Sit here and try to calm yourself,” he said in a low voice. “I shall take care of your cousin.”
Before he could turn away from her, she reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Dunna kill him, English,” she whispered.
His brows drew together. “That is for me to decide, my lady.”
She shook her head. “Ye misunderstand,” she said softly. “He is…not right sometimes. Please dunna kill him, I beg ye. No matter what he has done, he is still my kin.”
Momentarily, he was lost in those pale green eyes. He had to tear himself away or he would be done for.
“I shall do what needs to be done,” he said, squeezing her hand briefly before pulling away.
William fixed his attention on Malcolm. The young Scot was still pale but very lucid. He and William gazed at each other with equal hostility.
“What were you doing here, little man?” William delivered the first insult.
Malcolm stiffened. “I was going to take Jordan home.”
“With a knife at her throat?” William countered sternly. “Try again. And no more lies or I swear I will cut out your tongue.”
“I was trying to frighten her into submission.” Malcolm was telling the half-truth. “I wasna going to kill her. She is my kin and she belongs at Langton.”
William looked at him with contempt. “She belongs where her father says she belongs,” he said. “Was it you who led that bloody attack on my forces today?”
Malcolm’s indecision gave him away, even though he delayed for no more than a split second.
“What attack? I came here with my loyal friends to free Jordan. There were only four of us.”
William knew he was lying through his teeth. “I see,” he said. “Strange that you are wearing your tartan in battle dress. In fact, I caught a glimpse of your friends as well and they are all dressed in the same manner. Just like the army we fought this morning.”
Malcolm’s jaw moved and he dropped his eyes. He paused a few moments before continuing. “Then the rumors I heard were true. ’Twas Uncle Thomas ye musta fought this morning. I heard he was planning an attack from the rear, but I dinna want to believe it.”
Jordan snapped out of her stupor. She jumped up from the chair, her pretty face flushed. “That’s a bloody lie and well ye know it,” she said, shaking her fist at him. “My Da would never be so dishonorable.”
“I am sorry to be the one to tell ye, Jordi, but yer Da has been planning the attack since he agreed on the treaty terms,” Malcolm insisted. William noticed how sweat was beading on the man’s brow. “He thought he could take the army by surprise to show yer King Henry just what he thought of his attempts at peace.”
“Ye’re lying.” she shrieked. “I swear I shall cut yer heart out for this blasphemy, Malcolm. Ye’re a dead man.”
William could not think with Jordan so agitated. Quickly, he turned and pulled her against him as he moved for the tent flap. Outside, Michael was standing guard.
“Take her,” William thrust Jordan at him. “Take her to your tent until I come for her.”
Michael nodded and took Jordan’s arm. He led her a few tents away and held back the flap for her. She entered the cold and dark tent, sniffling and shivering. The past two days had been heaven and hell and she was spent emotionally. That, combined with the lack of sleep, was making her daft. Walking woodenly to the center of the tent, she collapsed onto her bottom and hugged her legs for warmth and comfort.
Michael de Bocage gazed at her bowed head. She was certainly having a rough time of it, no matter how hard they were all trying to keep her safe and comfortable. He would have liked to talk to her, maybe to get to know his future mistress a little better, but William was always around her and made it difficult. He knew William was following his orders by keeping her with him at all times, but to Michael, there seemed to more to it than that. He would never voice his opinion, of course, but that was what he thought. He could not say he blamed the man, though.
Michael was as tall as a tree. William was well over six feet, and Michael was at least two or three inches taller than him. He was as wide as a tree, too, but had a waistline a woman would envy. Even for his size and obvious strength, Jordan had noticed that he did not move as gracefully as some of the other knights. He was a bit clumsy.
He and Kieran seemed to be rather close, as William and Paris were, for she noticed they were always riding together or working in a pair.
Michael went to his brazier and using a flint, tried to breathe some life into it. “Just a m-moment, my lady, and it shall be warm.”
She looked at him, realizing he had a stammer to his speech. But she was so miserable that she had not the strength nor the desire to answer. She watched him as he started the blaze, noticing that the back of his dark hair was shorn very short while the longer front fell like a curtain over his eyes. He kept sweeping it away with his hand. And his eyes, as they reflected the light, were a deep blue. He was a handsome man.
The fire in the brazier began to burn brightly and he smiled happily at her. “There, I told you,” he said. “You m-may go to sleep now if you wish. We will not be ready to leave for another hour at least.”
“Thank ye, my lord,” she said without energy. “But I am not tired.”
She put her head down on her raised knees, merely intending to rest her eyes. In five minutes she was asleep.
*
Paris had taken Jemma directly back to his tent. She was agitated, but not from being handled like a sack over his shoulder. Her brother was in deep trouble and she was puzzled, angry, and frightened. As soon as Paris sat her on the ground, she moved away from him and began pacing nervously.
“What is Sir William going to do to Malcolm?” she demanded.
Paris eyed her, taking the time to strap on the rest of his armor he had left behind in his haste. “ ’Tis difficult to say, my lady.�
�
It was no answer and they both knew it. She was growing more frightened by the moment. She realized if she were going to get any answers, then she was going to have to calm herself and speak civilly to the English knight.
“Will he kill him?” she asked with quiet urgency.
Paris strapped on his cuirass and his breastplate. “That, my lady, will be for the captain to decide. I cannot speculate on his ruling.”
Jemma watched him as he once again became an armor-clad English warrior, a killing machine. Hated Sassenach, she thought. And her brother was on his knees in a nest of them. Of course he was a dead man; she knew that from the first. But why had he attacked Jordan? She was desperately confused, wanting to know her brother’s mind. Even though he was her kin, she didn’t know him at all.
She started to ask Paris another question but found her throat constricting. Much to her shame, hot tears trickled onto her cheeks and she turned away quickly so he would not see her humiliation.
Paris knew she was crying without even seeing her. He had an uncanny intuition when it came to women. Without a word he went to her, placing his large hands on her shoulders and guiding her into a collapsible chair. She didn’t resist his efforts.
“I have to go out for a while,” he said gently. “While I am out, I will go and see how your brother is faring and let you know. All right?”
She nodded, sniffing and wiping at her face. He re-evaluated her, sitting calmly without all of that spit and fire, she was really quite vulnerable. And very pretty.
“Why do not you get some sleep?” he encouraged quietly. “It will do you good.”
She nodded, rising and going to the corner of the tent where her borrowed satchel lay.
“Nay, my lady, I meant my bed,” Paris clarified.
She looked at him and her watery eyes flashed momentarily. “I will be sleeping alone, sir knight.”
He sighed, seeing the real Jemma return before him. “Aye, as alone as Job,” he replied with sarcasm. “Which is precisely who I feel like at this moment.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 55
