Kieran stepped back, avoiding his gaze. “You are insane, Paris. You must be thinking of Deinwald. Or Michael. Or Marc. Hell, they could not take their eyes off her.”
Paris shook his head hard. “Deinwald would have taken Jemma over Jordan, and all Michael is interested in is another conquest. Marc, however, would be considerable competition.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Did Deinwald tell you that? Does he have an interest in Jemma?”
“Nay, he did not say a word. He fears you too much.” Paris waved him off, then gave him a sort of reproachful look. “I never thought you would lie to me, old friend.”
“I have not,” Kieran met his look steadily.
Before the argument could continue, both men caught sight of a shrouded figure moving toward them, a big female figure. They turned to Aloria as she approached.
“My lords,” she greeted. “I have just come from Lady Jordan’s rooms. She is packed and ready.”
“She is going to have to wait until morning,” Paris said firmly. “She will not be departing this night.”
Aloria nodded, glancing at the carriage. “She will be traveling in that? Well and good.”
Paris glanced at the carriage as well. “By damn, if she is going to have the babe on the road, then better to have it in a firm shelter,” he turned back to Aloria. “Will you be going with her?”
“Byron and Analiese are to accompany Lady de Wolfe,” she replied. “I will stay here and assist Sylvie with Lady Hage.”
Satisfied, Paris nodded. “How is Lady de Wolfe faring?”
Aloria shook her head. “Staunch and determined, I am afraid, to go to London,” she said sadly. “God himself could not keep her from going. She will not even go and visit Lady Hage because she is afraid her cousin will try and talk her out of this madness.”
“Jemma must be having fits,” Kieran muttered to Paris. “Well, I suppose I had better go and calm my wife down before she has that baby sooner than expected.” With a brief nod to Aloria, he was gone.
Paris and Aloria stood silently for several moments. Aloria cleared her throat softly. “Is the baron truly dying, my lord?”
“I am told so.”
Aloria sighed sadly. “She lives for him, you know. ’Twill surely kill her if he dies.”
Paris stiffened. “Nay, she will simply learn how to live without him. As we all will.”
Aloria stood there another moment or so before giving Paris a small curtsy and excusing herself. She was a few feet away when she suddenly stopped.
“Captain,” she faced Paris hesitantly. “In spite of my rough beginning here, the baron was never anything less than polite to me. I am truly sorry to hear of his fate and I will pray for his soul.”
Paris’ jaw began ticking again. “If you must pray, madam, pray for him to live. Pray that he lives to see his son.”
With an uncertain nod, she was gone. Paris, suddenly feeling very tired, turned back to the carriage. All that was needed was a fine team of horses. Ah, yes, he thought, forcing his fears down, I know of just the team.
To keep his mind occupied, he went on to select the steeds.
By dawn, the carriage was ready with an escort of fifty heavily-armed men. After saying goodbye to his tearful wife, Kieran went to Jordan’s chambers to retrieve her. Paris was there, sitting grimly at the foot of Jordan’s bed while she cinched up her smallest traveling bag.
Paris was not a happy man, but he had resigned himself to the inevitable. Kieran, not happy either, waited politely until Jordan was finished.
“There,” she turned to her husband’s second-in-command. “Ye can take that bag and put it in the carriage with me.”
Kieran nodded, picking up the bag. “Are you ready, Jordan?”
“Aye,” she replied, then passed a glance at Paris. “Wait for me in the bailey, please? Paris will bring me out.”
Kieran left with the bag, leaving Jordan alone with Paris again. When the room was empty, Jordan eyed the captain of the troops, knowing how guilty he was feeling.
“Paris,” she said softly. “I am sorry ye canna go with me. I wish ye could.”
“So do I,” he replied, looking up at her. “I would give anything to see William again and to keep you from harm, as I promised him.”
She smiled, moving close to him. Her huge belly was in between them, brushing against his arm.
“Kieran will take good care of me,” she said softly. “Paris, there aren’t words enough to thank ye for what ye have done. Ye have been my very best friend for the past few months and I am going to miss ye.”
As he looked back at her, he realized just how much he was going to miss her as well. He had become so accustom to being with her constantly that he was already beginning to feel a little lost. He reached out and took her soft white hand.
“I will miss you, too,” he was embarrassed that his voice sounded tight.
She put her hand on his blond head. “We share a common bond, Paris. We both love him with all our hearts. I shall send word to ye as soon as I can.”
He nodded, staring down at her hand and caressing it absently. He was afraid if he looked her in the eye he would start bawling like a babe.
Jordan sensed his emotions. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Dunna fret. I shall be fine and the babe will be fine. I promise not to have him on the road to London.”
“I shall hold you to that,” he replied softly. “William will kill me if anything happens to you.”
She grinned, tipping his head up to look at her. “Mayhap when he sees me, he will be angry enough to stay alive just long enough to belt ye for letting me out of yer sight.” Her smile softened as she gazed down into his worried blue eyes. “Dunna worry. Everything will be fine. I willna let William die without a fight.
“I know.” He looked into her face, seeing the face William loved so well and knowing exactly why he did love her so. It would be so easy to…. “Kieran will be wondering where you are,” he said softly. “ ’Tis time to go.”
She nodded. But her hand was still on his face and she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Then we shouldna keep him waiting.”
Feeling sad and depressed, Paris stood up and extended his arm to her “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”
She accepted it warmly and together they went down to the bailey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The journey to London was thankfully uneventful. Weary and exhausted, Kieran helped an equally exhausted Jordan from the carriage. She stretched the fatigue from her body, gazing about at the magnificent courtyard of Windsor Castle. She could scarce believe she had actually arrived.
Kieran had brought the party in to the northern entrance, crossing through the Great Park and entering through the twin portcullises of the King’s Gate. The bailey, a vast open thing bustling with activity, should have enthralled Jordan, but she could not muster the excitement. She was focused on one thing; her husband. He was here, within this place, and she had to see him.
Byron and Analiese exited the carriage, standing close to their mistress, as Kieran began shouting orders to the soldiers. The knights accompanying him picked up the orders and suddenly there were soldiers mobilizing and moving from the courtyard, leaving Jordan alone with her carriage, her companions, and her wagons.
“How are you feeling?” Kieran asked her gently.
“Fine,” she said shortly. “Where is William?”
He took her arm and led her through the entrance of the Earl Marshall’s Tower. She found herself staring at the many, many people they passed, all dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen. The courtiers stared back at her as well, but she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious with her enormous belly.
Jordan was tingling with apprehension, afraid of what she would find when she finally came face to face with her husband. She wished Kieran would run, fly, anything to reach William immediately.
Down a corridor they ran head-on into the king himself. Henry looked surprised
to see her on Kieran’s arm, looking her over with growing pleasure.
“Lady de Longley,” his voice was soft but unmistakably powerful. “A genuine pleasure.”
Jordan curtsied and had to be helped up by Kieran. “My lord king.”
Henry pulled back her heavy cloak, revealing her stomach. He snorted. “God’s Blood, John must have planted an entire population in that belly.”
Jordan flushed, she was angry, tired, and upset to the core. She discreetly pulled her cloak back around her and looked the king in the eye.
“Might I have a word with ye in private, sire?” she requested with controlled fury, although she was shaking profusely. “ ’Twill take but a moment and is most important.”
After a slight hesitation, the king nodded. “Only a minute. I have duties to attend to.”
He drew her into a small antechamber not far from where they met, leaving everyone else still congregated in the corridor.
Kieran watched the closed door like a hawk, wondering what in the hell Jordan was telling the king. He could guess what it was but refused to believe it. Truth was, he was afraid to believe it. He had no idea how the king was going to react.
The minutes drew long. Analiese passed Kieran a couple of worried glances as Byron inspected the artwork lining the hall, ignoring the strange stares of the king’s perfumed courtiers. The corridor was silent save the sounds of servants and soldiers in the distance.
Deinwald rounded a corner and nearly ran headlong into Kieran.
“I saw you ride in,” he exclaimed. “I have been looking all over this bloody maze for you.”
“How is William?” Kieran fired at him.
Deinwald looked grave. “They have called another priest. He has been with him for a while now.”
Analiese closed her eyes and lowered her head. Byron picked up his bag and went to Deinwald.
“Take me to him, Sir Deinwald. There is not a moment to waste,” he instructed firmly.
Deinwald looked torn. “Byron.…”
Byron pointed a gnarled white finger at him. “No argument. Take me now.”
Kieran nodded briefly and Deinwald complied, leading Byron back the way he had come.
“Dear God, Kieran,” Analiese moaned. “He is not really going to die, is he?”
Kieran sighed. “Not if Jordan has anything to say about it. What in the hell is taking them so long?”
As if she had heard them, Jordan suddenly emerged from the room. She was alone and Kieran went to her immediately.
“Take me to my husband. Now.”
He didn’t hesitate.
*
William’s chambers were dim and smelled strangely. Jordan’s nose wrinkled when she entered the dark antechamber, glancing about. It was a lovely room, but it didn’t suit him, she thought. All of her determination fled and now she simply felt frightened. She wanted to see him so badly but was scared to death of what she would find. But no matter; he was her husband and he needed her.
“He is in here,” Kieran whispered, pointing to the partially open door on the left.
Taking a deep breath and praying for courage, Jordan plunged through the door.
There were several people in the room. Her eyes immediately found the bed and the large, still figure lying upon it. Her heart went into her throat when she saw William; he was as white as the sheets upon which he lay, his glossy dark hair dirty and plastered to his head. His head was turned away from her so that she could not see the majority of his face and her imagination began to run wild. Fear and anticipation coupled and her body began to tremble.
Byron was on the other side of the bed, examining William closely. Not taking her eyes from her husband, Jordan removed her heavy cloak and took slow, halting steps to the edge of the bed.
“Byron?” she rasped.
Byron studied him a moment longer before answering. “The eye and socket are healing well enough. There are no signs of infection,” he said softly. “But he has been greatly weakened by this wound.”
Byron’s nondescript eyes met hers for a moment and she gazed sadly at him. Then her eyes drifted back to her husband’s still body. He was breathing slow and labored, and when she reached down to feel his pulse; his skin was clammy and his heart rate was slow. It took her a moment to realize that he had given up the fight. He was not fighting to live.
She was suddenly seized with a fury she had never before experienced. He was not going to die. Damn him! His eye was healing, but still he was not recovering. Why?
Jordan wanted to be alone with him, to feel him against her, to tell him how much she loved him. Even if he could not hear her, she would tell him with every breath she took. He had to know she was there and if he was not going to fight for his life, she certainly was. She would not let him give up.
There were too many people in the room, all breathing down her back at once. Her irritation exploded.
“Get out,” she snapped, looking up at the faces she did not recognize. When they stared back at her blankly, she became infuriated. “Are ye deaf? I said get out! Get the hell out of here, all of ye. Ye damnable vultures; I shall not have ye in here waiting for his last breath.”
Byron knew she wasn’t talking about him but he obeyed anyway, herding the priest and the royal physician with him as he went. Kieran and Deinwald began to bully the occupants on the other side of the room, quelling their protests until the entire room was clear.
When the smelly, dark room was vacant, Kieran stood at the door. He watched Jordan’s back as she gazed down at William, sadness tugging at his heart. He wished to God there was something more he could do.
“I shall be in the next room should you require me, Lady de Wolfe,” he said softly and closed the door.
Jordan stared down at William for a long, long time, ignoring the ache in her back and her general fatigue. Slowly, quietly, she went around to the other side of the bed so she could see his face. She was apprehensive, of course, a strange and unknown fear. But the minute she laid eyes on his beautiful face, she knew her fears were for naught. It really was her William.
The tears came then. She sat on the bed, putting her hands on his face, cooing softly to him. There was a large patch over his left eye. She bent over, kissing his face, her tears falling on his cheeks. Gingerly, she lifted up the patch to reveal the new part of him she had not yet seen.
There was no shock, nothing horrible confronting her. A thick purple scar ran crossways across his eye, starting near his nose and ending right over the brow bone. The eye was closed, a little sunken, but nothing catastrophic. Jordan gazed at it a long time to become familiar with it, seeing from the angle of the wound that indeed it could have been much worse. She leaned down and kissed the eye twice before replacing the linen patch.
She was exhausted. She wanted to lay with him, whether or not he knew she was there. Talking to him the whole while, she removed her clothes bit by bit until her glorious and naked pregnant form was revealed. Before she realized it, she was singing softly to him as she crawled beneath the sheets, the first touch of their flesh bringing tears anew, but this time they were tears of contentment. God, it had been so long.
She lay with him the entire afternoon, singing softly with his head pulled against her breast. She took his limp hand and placed it on her massive belly, telling him of the baby’s habits. She laughed when she told him he kicked like a mule and liked to keep her awake during the night with his kicking and punching.
All afternoon and into the night she sang, exhausting herself all the more but desperate beyond words to let him know how much she loved him, how much his child loved him. Surely he would hear her and it would give him the will to fight.
When Kieran came in well after dark to light the tallow candle, she smiled wanly at him from where she lay, cuddled against William’s pale form. It struck Kieran as particularly pathetic and he left the room with tears in his eyes.
Jordan slept intermittently through the night, waking to talk to him, to feel h
is head, to smooth his brow. When the baby kicked painfully, she grabbed his hand to lay it on the spot so that he could feel the new life within her, the life they had created with their love.
She fell asleep again and awoke shortly before dawn. William hadn’t moved; his breathing still deep and regular. There had been no change since her arrival and it was suddenly too much for her to take; her bravery fled and she buried her face in the top of his head, sobbing deep, wracking sobs that came from her very soul. She had thought he would wake when he heard her voice, but he hadn’t.
Mayhap she had been wrong. Mayhap he was going to die no matter what she did. She would not let him go. He could not leave her, not when she loved him more than her own life. Her grief turned to anger and she began pounding on his back, yelling at him, yelling at God for being so cruel and then begging Him for mercy in the same breath. She would have gladly traded her own life for William’s.
“Damn ye, William,” she wept, slapping his cheek. “Ye canna leave me. Ye dragged me back from the pits of hell to return to ye and now I forbid ye to leave me. I willna let ye!”
She dissolved into a flood of hysterics, washing his hair with her tears. She kissed the inky locks, tasting her own salty wetness, rubbing her hands against his skin.
“I love ye, English,” she whispered so desperately. “Dunna leave me. Dunna leave yer son.”
Exhausted beyond her limit, she fell into a deep, heavy sleep, his face buried in valley between her breasts.
*
Something was tickling her. She twitched, scratched at her nose, but it was persistent. Then it was as if the whole bed moved and she startled herself awake, seized with horrid fear that William had died and that they were trying remove him from the bed.
Her eyes flew open. William was still on the bed, but he had moved. He was lying on his side, facing her. Her heart soared with euphoria and when she lifted her eyes to his face, she was stunned to see that he was gazing back at her with one sleepy-looking eye.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 98
