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

by Kathryn Le Veque

“Shut yer yap and come here,” she snapped, taking his hands and placing them on her lower back. “Down there. Aye, that is good.”

  He made a wry face as he rubbed her strained muscles through her surcoat, silently cursing William for saddling him with this duty. But he could see for himself how uncomfortable she was. She was absolutely massive, bigger than Jemma, easily. He wondered seriously if she carried more than one babe. He’d never seen a pregnant woman so large. In his opinion, it should be Jordan confined to a bed as well, but Sylvie said there was no need as long as she was feeling well.

  He was rubbing firmly as requested when suddenly the trumpets atop the wall sounded, announcing incoming riders. Paris, concern furrowing his brow, went to the window to look. He could see for himself the band of tiny black dots in the distance.

  Michael entered the room. “Paris, we have incoming.”

  “I know,” Paris moved passed him. “Come on, man, let’s go see who it is.”

  Jordan didn’t care who it was. ’Twas too early for William’s arrival, and from her new apartments she could not see the main gates or the outer bailey, so she sat down once again and resumed her embroidery on the small dressing gown Analiese had made for the baby.

  She must have fallen asleep for when she awoke, Paris was entering her room. He had the strangest look on his face. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Paris?” she asked “Ye look queer.”

  Truth was, Paris looked shocked. He took a few steps into the room and she immediately noticed that someone followed him.

  It was Kieran.

  Her mouth opened wide in delight. “Kieran. Where is William?”

  Kieran smiled feebly. “My lady, you look ripe to bursting. As does your cousin. Have you been well?”

  “I am fine,” she immediately noticed he had avoided her first question. Her initial delight was quickly cooling into something so dark and sinister she did not even want to think about it. “Kieran, where is William?”

  “In London, my lady,” he replied softly, coming into the room. Paris closed the door and followed him.

  “Isna he coming, too?” she asked.

  She was aware that Paris had moved to stand beside her chair. Kieran pulled up a chair to sit in front of her. She studied his face, he looked pale and weary and not at all like himself. Her concern was igniting something far more powerful in the pit of her belly.

  “What is wrong, Kieran. Where is William?” It was a calm, deliberate statement. She wanted an answer.

  Kieran glanced up at Paris before answering her. “He is in London, as I said.” He let out a sigh, running his hand over his short cropped hair. “God, Jordan, I wish there was an easy way to tell you this, but I cannot think of one. Forgive me for being blunt and insensitive. I am here because William was wounded in a skirmish three weeks ago.”

  Her stomach lurched. He had been wounded before, severely, she told herself quickly. He will survive. “How badly?” she asked calmly.

  Kieran looked at her and she could read the pain in his eyes. “Bad, my lady,” he whispered. “We were fighting Welsh usurpers and were overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. There were so many that it was as if the mountains were alive with them. William was magnificent, as always, showing no signs of weariness, even though we had been fighting for nearly three days. We thought the heat of the battle had passed and we relaxed a bit; nothing unusual about that. William had raised his faceplate to wipe his brow when he was hit out of nowhere from a crossbow.”

  She continued to stare at him calmly, fighting to maintain herself. It was the most desperate fight of her life. “Where was he hit?”

  “In the face,” Kieran said in a raspy voice. “The arrow took out his left eye. He was lucky to have survived at all.”

  She sat there a moment, her face draining of all color, and her hands gripped the arms of the chair like a vise. She was trying to will all of her efforts into controlling herself, but tears came in spite of her fervent attempt. She vaguely felt Paris’ hands on her shoulders.

  “But he lives and that is all that matters,” she whispered.

  Kieran sighed, his shoulders sagging. “He lives, but barely,” he murmured. “We nearly lost him to the fever, but it broke. Now he cannot seem to regain his strength. I do not know if he’s going to survive, Jordan. The king’s personal physician has spent day and night with him and even he doesn’t know. We have called a priest for him three times already.”

  She was shaking violently, her mind racing. William was dying. Sweet Jesu,’ it wasn’t possible. He had promised to return to her. He had promised!

  Her mind flew back to the moment she first met him when he lay dying on the dark rich earth of Scotland; a lifetime ago, it seemed. She had tended him and he had recovered. When she nearly died from the fever, he had tended her and she had lived. He had never left her.

  Now he needed her again and she would go to him. He would live for her. He had to. Determination such as she had never known filled her, blocking out everything else in its violent wake.

  Rising unsteadily but with conviction, she fixed Kieran with an icy glare. “You will take me to him.”

  “Out of the question,” Paris told her as gently as he could. “You cannot travel.”

  She whirled on Paris like a rabid dog. “I tended his wound once before; the thigh wound that should have killed him,” she snarled. “I will tend him now and he will live. I am going if I have to walk every step of the way.”

  Paris’ jaw ticked. “I cannot allow it.”

  “Go to hell.” she hissed, turning away from him. “Kieran, ye get a meal and rest. I shall send my servant to ye when I am ready.”

  Kieran was stricken. “Jordan, be reasonable,” he said helplessly. He did not want to have a shouting match with her. “You cannot travel in your current state. I think….”

  Jordan cut him off. “I shall send for ye,” she repeated through clenched teeth. She glanced at the expressions of the two men, not liking what she was seeing. Her anger cooled to stone-hard grit with steadfastness of epic proportions. When she spoke again, her voice was low. “Listen to me, knights, and listen well. William needs me and I am going to him. If ye try and stop me, ye will be very sorry. Nothing can stop me, so ye may either help me or ye be in my way. And if ye be in my way, I will kill ye.”

  She disappeared into her bedchamber, and Kieran and Paris looked at each other after a moment.

  “What now?” Kieran asked with desperation.

  Paris scratched his head and kicked the chair, as emotional as Kieran had ever seen him. “She’s going to have the babe on the road if she goes,” he muttered. “Damnation!”

  Kieran was feeling his exhaustion. He had ridden all the way from London in six days, and from Wales before that. He was tired to the bone.

  “She’s going to go regardless of what you tell her, Paris,” he said quietly.

  “Then what would you suggest, Kieran?” Paris demanded harshly. “For I am out of answers. If she goes, I cannot go with her and I would be breaking my promise to William to protect her always.”

  “Why can’t you go?” Kieran asked.

  Paris sat heavily, rubbing his forehead between two fingers. He was so damned tired, too. “The Scots are fortifying their defenses across the border,” he replied wearily. “Our scouts say that they are amassing. We cannot get a message to Laird Scott because the Scot line cuts between us. They are isolating clan Scott for an attack. I am needed here now more than ever.”

  Kieran let out a long sigh. “Damn,” he mumbled. “Have you sent word to Beverley and Deauxville Mount?”

  “Aye, yesterday,” Paris replied, then looked up at his friend. “Why is it that everything always happens at once? I am growing old before my time.”

  “You were already old,” Kieran said, scratching at his neck and grunting wearily. “Now, then, I am going to find the priest and have him marry Jemma and I before I leave. I shall be in her bedchamber should you need me.
”

  “Aye,” Paris replied. As Kieran headed for the door, Paris called out to him. “Welcome back, Kieran.”

  Kieran grinned weakly. “Thank you, I think,” he said, quitting the room.

  Jordan was ready to leave by early afternoon. With help from her maids she had packed her clothes, including surcoats for after the birth of the baby, all of the baby clothes she had made, and a few clothes for William. She didn’t know why she packed his things, but she did. Mayhap it was for some measure of comfort, however small.

  Sylvie was beside herself. She followed Jordan about as she packed, raving and pleading with her not to go to London. When she resorted to begging, Jordan had enough of the whimpering and chased her away. She was so grimly resolute to see William that she would have walked through God himself to get to him.

  Sylvie left her mistress, but not before she laid into Paris. Paris listened calmly enough, agreeing with the woman but pointing out that unless they were going to physically restrain the countess, there was no way to keep her from going.

  Jordan was so busy packing that she missed Jemma’s wedding. In fact, she wasn’t even told of it until Analiese came spilling into her rooms and blurted it out. There was quite a bit of excitement coming from Analiese. Then, she saw Jordan’s trunks and bags and her chatter turned to questions.

  Jordan was tired of pretenses and lying. Since the earl was dead and she was going to London, there was no reason to lie to anymore. Especially to Analiese. The woman had become her trusted friend.

  “I am going to London to see William,” Jordan said firmly.

  Analiese was shocked a puzzled. “But why? Of course, I realize he is near death, but why is it so necessary for you to go to him?”

  Jordan swallowed hard, trying not to lose her nerve. “Because…because I dinna marry your father as ye thought, Analiese.”

  Analiese’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I was there, Jordan, and witnessed everything.”

  “What you witnessed was a grand blessing, not a wedding mass,” she said, as she tugged on her friend’s hand and directed her into a chair. She held her hands tightly, gazing into that pale and average face. “William and I loved each other from nearly the day we met. Yer father discovered this secret and arranged for us to be wed, in secret. We were wed the day before the king arrived, and the ceremony ye witnessed was nothing more than a farce.” Her face softened as she gazed at Analiese’s stunned expression. “I am sorry I have never told ye until now. I was afraid to, knowing how ye felt about William.”

  Analiese swallowed hard, desperately trying to comprehend what she was being told. “You didn’t trust me?”

  “Of course I trust ye.” Jordan insisted. “This has nothing to do with trust. ’Tis just…I knew that ye loved William and I dinna want ye hating me, ’tis all.”

  Analiese sat a moment, contemplating everything. Aye, she had loved William once and supposed in some way, she always would. But that was past and she squared her shoulders firmly.

  “I was always very fond of William, but he is beneath my station and therefore it was a waste of time to dream of what could never be.” She forced herself to smile and took Jordan’s hand. “Then this child is his, not my father’s?”

  Jordan nodded. “Aye,” she peered closer at her friend. “Are ye angry with me?”

  Analiese shook her head and rose from the chair. “Never. I am truly happy that you and William have found happiness. You know, I always thought there might be something between you two, as much as you attempted to deny it. But I guess I never really believed it until now.” Her plain face washed with concern. “Oh, Jordan, I am so sorry he’s ill. Of course you must go to him.”

  The focus has shifted from Analiese back to Jordan and she felt her pain blossoming again. How fortunate that Analiese took the news so well, for she truly didn’t think she was emotionally strong enough to fend off a tirade.

  “Alexander doesna know about William and me, but Adam does,” she said softly, fixing Analiese with a sincere stare. “Alexander mustna know.”

  “He will not hear it from me,” Analiese said firmly.

  In fact, she had ceased speaking to her brother altogether some time back. He had become distant and odd, a bitter shell of a man who was self-centered and mean. She used to be able to communicate with him better than anyone, but no longer. Oddly enough, she didn’t particularly regret it.

  Moving her thoughts away from her churlish brother, she noticed Jordan’s trunks. “What can I help you with?” she said. “It appears as if you are mostly packed.”

  Relieved and weary, Jordan turned her attention back to her baggage and Analiese helped Jordan finish packing. When she was finished, she did something remarkable; she asked to accompany her to London in Jemma’s stead. Jordan was more than glad to have her go, relieved beyond words that they were still friends in spite of the great falsehood between them. It proved that their relationship was indeed more than superficial.

  Byron joined them not an hour later, carrying a larger than usual black bag. Jordan looked at him curiously.

  “Where are ye going with that thing?” she asked.

  “With you, my lady,” he replied, planting himself in a chair. “Sylvie must stay here with Jemma, and I must go with you. Besides, there is no telling what that charlatan, who calls himself the king’s physician, has done to The Wolf. I will probably have to lift spells and bleed him to make him well again.”

  Jordan smiled a little, tremendously grateful to have Byron accompanying her. It seemed her traveling party was growing by the hour, with everyone afraid to let her go, and they were determined to do everything in their power to force her not to exert herself.

  None was more concerned about her than Paris. He knew she was going regardless of what he said or did, so he marched down to the stables and had the hands retrieve the large traveling carriage that had once been used by de Longley’s wife. It was a little worn from sheer disuse, but Paris put ten men to clean and repair the rig. If Jordan was indeed going, then it would be in the most comfortable possible way.

  Christ, he was scared. William, his best friend in the entire world, was dying and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. William had entrusted him with Jordan’s life, a duty that took priority over his obligations at Northwood. Heavy with child, she was his main concern. And now she was hell-bent on travelling to London to be by William’s side in his last hours. Paris felt like a failure.

  He felt as if he had no control over anything, as if everything was slipping away from him. What if William did die? What if Jordan had her babe on the road and something terrible happened to one, or both? He would be a worthless human being for failing in his responsibilities. And Paris, like William, was unused to failure.

  The carriage was readied in mere hours. With all of the people Paris had put to work on it, he had expected it sooner but was pleased just the same.

  Just after dusk he stood in the brightly lit stable yard watching the workmen put the finishing touches on the wheels. He hadn’t even eaten his dinner, yet he was not hungry. He was driven to have everything as perfect as he could possibly prepare it.

  Kieran joined him in the stable yard. Paris glanced at the man; he was tired to his very bone, and he began to feel the return of the pain in his heart. Looking at Kieran brought on memories of William and his current condition, but he fought it.

  “Well?” He looked at Kieran.

  “Well what?”

  “Are you a husband yet?”

  “Aye, that I am,” Kieran nodded with a grin. “Damn strangest wedding I have ever been to. The bride pregnant and abed, and the groom dirty, smelly, and unshaven. But we are married and that is all that matters.”

  “Sorry I could not have attended the happy occasion. And how is your wife faring?” Paris inquired.

  “Big as a house, but well,” he replied. “She complains her arse hurts her all the time and she is going to fat.”

  “She is highly
jealous that Jordan still has permission to roam about freely,” Paris said.

  “I know,” Kieran’s smile faded. “And she was insistent that we wait for Jordan to attend our ceremony. I had to tell her about William and she was nearly hysterical. She knows Jordan is going to London and she is adamant that she go with her.”

  “Impossible, of course,” Paris’ jaw ticked. “Jordan should not even be going.”

  Kieran let out a long, weary sigh. “Yet she is and there is nothing either one of us can do about it.” He crossed his arms and gazed out over the yard with its goats and cats and skinny dogs. “I do not want to deliver William’s child, Paris. The very thought that the lives of his wife and child are in my hands scares the hell out of me.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Paris returned softly. “I promised William I would look out for her, yet I am allowing her to make this long journey to London. But I cannot keep her here in good conscience, Kieran. If William does die and she was not there with him, then she will hate me the rest of her life. And I could not deal with that.”

  “My feelings exactly,” his friend replied, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, Paris, what if he does die? I know his only concern would be for the welfare of his wife and child. What will become of them?”

  “Nothing,” Paris said with grim determination. “I would marry her in that event.”

  Kieran looked at him. “You would?”

  Paris shrugged. It was well known to his close friends that marriage was on a par with the Black Death. To Paris it was to be avoided at all costs. “I would consider it,” he muttered.

  Kieran smiled. “You would do it and kill anyone who stood in your way. Do not lie to me, Paris. If William had not taken an interest in her, then you would have been after her like a hound after a rabbit.”

  Paris scowled at him. “And what about you? Thank God Jemma came along or you and William would have eventually come to blows. I saw the way you looked at her.”

  “I did no such thing,” Kieran snorted. “You are mad.”

  “You think so?” Paris pushed his way into Kieran’s face, his hands on his hips. “You can lie to William, but do not try to deceive me. I know better, Kieran. I know you were falling for Jordan, and falling hard.”