Her husband’s gauntleted hand found its way to her rounded belly. “How fares my daughter?”
She smiled, putting her hand atop his. “Daughter, is it?”
“Aye,” he replied firmly. “I have two sons. ’Tis time for a daughter.”
“Is that so?” she said. “And what will we call this female, for I have only chosen male names.”
“Catherine,” he replied softly. “We will call her Catherine.”
Jordan grinned. “As ye say. I will name the boys and ye can name the girls.”
“Done,” he said with finality. “Now answer me. Is the babe well?”
“Aye, the babe is,” she said, leaning against him. “Considering the brainlessness of her mother, she is unscathed.”
“Thank God for that,” he said sincerely. “I am eager to see my beautiful daughter. I can only hope she is not as willful a wench as her mother.”
Jordan patted his hand, although he could not feel it through the armor. “If the babe is a boy, I will call him Patrick,” she announced.
He laughed all the way back to the wagons.
*
With his wife safe and McKenna Keep burning to the ground, William called a retreat. His army had done great damage to the Scot forces as it was, and since Jordan had been rescued unharmed, William found his resolve weakening in his desire to kill every Scot that still lived. He simply wanted to return her home and be done with this episode.
But his wife had other plans.
“English, ye canna leave now,” she insisted.
She was standing on the ground, her arm around her father’s waist, looking up at him with those bottomless green eyes.
“And why not, may I ask?” he did not like being ordered about, especially in battle, and especially by his wife.
“Because our kin are still in the dungeons!” she told him. “Ye must save them before they burn.”
Thomas obviously did not know this; they had done nothing but hug for the past several minutes with virtually no exchange of words.
“Who’s alive, Jordan?” he demanded.
“Uncle Matthew, Cord and Ian,” she said. “Malcolm said they were in the dungeons.”
Jemma jumped from the wagon next to where they were standing, her amber eyes bright. “My Da is alive, Jordi?” she exclaimed, then looked to her husband, astride his animal next to his liege. “Oh, Kieran, please!”
William knew at that moment the choice was made for him. There was no way Kieran was going to deny his wife’s request, especially since it was her father. And William would not deny her, either.
Reining his horse sharply, he turned to his wife a split second before he dashed off. “Stay to the wagons,” he ordered. “I shall be back.”
He and Kieran commandeered Michael, Deinwald, Roan and Marc, as they fought their way back through the dispersing crowd. William sent Corin and Adam back to organize the wounded and to get the wagons, while leaving Ranulf and Paris to finish the withdrawal on the battlefield.
“We’ll need a guide,” William told Kieran. “Find me a prisoner.”
’Twas not a difficult task. Kieran and Michael plunged into the sea of retreating soldiers and came back several minutes later with a burly Scot in a torn and bloodied plaid. Michael had the big man by the hair.
William guided his horse over to the captive. “Are you familiar with this keep?”
The man looked up at him. The anger and hatred in his eyes were evident. “Rot in hell, ye bloody bastard.”
William unsheathed his sword and pressed the tip against the man’s neck. When the soldier didn’t move, he pushed harder until a trickle of blood seeped down the man’s neck. He continued to apply pressure, pushing the blade deeper and deeper into the man’s throat.
“I intend to do this until I push it out the other side,” he informed the man evenly. “ ’Twould be much easier on you to answer a few simple questions.”
The pain was growing excruciating. The soldier tried to twist away but Michael would not hear of it. “Never!” the man yelled.
William continued to push, having opened up a substantial wound that was growing bigger by the moment. Blood was gushing everywhere. A moaned escaped the man’s lips until he bore all that he could.
“Aye, I know the keep.” he blurted finally.
William immediately withdrew his sword and the man grabbed his bloodied neck. “That’s better,” William said. “Tell me where the dungeons are.”
“There is an entrance just inside of the keep entry,” the Scot gasped.
William glanced up at the burning structure. That portion of the keep had already burned, with smoke rising like dancing snakes into the early dawn sky. He wondered if everyone in the dungeons hadn’t already burned to death or died of breathing the smoke.
Motioning Michael to release the man, the knights took off at a gallop, racing for the hastily bridged moat. Dismounting, they clumsily climbed the ladders, for balancing in armor was no easy feat, and entered the nearly deserted bailey.
“God, this place smells worse than Northwood’s moat,” Michael commented as they made their way through bodies and debris.
“This whole damn place reeks of feces,” Roan agreed. “Even the smoke smells of it.”
The front doors were gone, burned to ashes. Swords drawn, William led the way in and was immediately aware of a huge yawning doorway to his left, with giant broad stone steps leading down into the darkness.
“Damn,” he muttered, peering down the well. “Strange place to keep dungeons. Someone fetch a torch.”
Deinwald found pieces of wood that still held a flame on them and they cautiously descended into the bowels of the castle.
The first landing was far below, leading in two directions. The smell of smoke was extremely heavy, but it was bearable. William split his men.
“Deinwald, Roan, to me,” he said. “Kieran, you take Michael and Marc and search that way. Yell if you find anything.”
They went their separate ways, keeping alert as the corridor narrowed, and warped doors soon became apparent.
“Break in the door,” William order his men when they came upon the first one.
They continued to break down every door in succession, sometimes finding prisoners, who they then released, and sometimes found nothing more than rotting corpses. The dungeons were quite vast and they descended into two more levels in their search.
It was a depressing maze, and William suddenly remembered how worried Jordan had been during their journey to Northwood about being thrown in the Tower. Hell, if all Scot dungeons were like this shit-hole, then no wonder she was afraid of being locked up to die. He didn’t even like being in here, and he was a mere visitor. He grimly pondered what shape Jordan’s relatives would be in when, and if, they found them.
Finally, they came to a door that was bolted twice. Deinwald and Roan struggled with the bolts, forcing William to throw his own tremendous strength to their aide, and eventually the bolts jolted free.
“Damn, who in the hell have they got locked in here?” Deinwald muttered.
“Probably just a relative,” Roan replied. “Grandmother got too sassy so they had to punish her.”
Deinwald actually grinned as the three of them struggled to open the door. It was black as night inside and William stuck his torch in.
“Grandmother?” he called into the darkness, bringing laughter from his men.
There was a pause.
“What in the bloody hell are ye talking about, man?” said a tired, angry voice.
William held the torch lower. There were three men, all filthy and coated with slime, glaring back at him from where that sat on wet straw. He recognized one of them in the form of Cord Scott.
“Matthew Scott and sons, I presume?” William asked.
The older man scowled at him. “Who wants to know?”
“ ’Tis The Wolf, Da,” said Cord, glancing up at William with a weak smile. “I know the man. He’s Jordi’s husband’s capta
in. Remember?”
Matthew Scott looked dazed. “The Wolf?” he repeated. “What is The Wolf doing at the McKenna Keep?”
“I came for my wife,” William said frankly as Deinwald and Roan moved around him to release the Scotts from their bindings.
“Who is yer wife?” Matthew was terribly confused.
“Jordan,” William said. “She is my wife, not the earl’s. Oh, hell, it’s a long story. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
The three Scotts were pitifully weak and stiff, and each knight found himself with a burden. They had to practically carry the men up the flights of stairs and when they hit the narrowed corridor, they ran headlong into Kieran and the others.
Kieran’s eyes were wide. “You found them.”
William nodded, transferring Matthew’s weight onto him. “This is Matthew Scott, Jemma’s father. You have some explaining to do, Kieran.”
William left them with a grin, leaving Matthew staring in confusion at the big knight. Kieran, suddenly faced with his father-in-law, was actually nervous.
“My lord,” his mouth had gone dry. “My name is Sir Kieran Hage.”
Matthew gazed back at him as they started to walk forward again. “My Jemma is safe?”
“Aye,” Kieran nodded. “She is.”
“Ask him if you can call him ‘Da,’” Deinwald snickered behind him, causing laughter from the other knights.
Matthew scowled, still quite dazed by everything that had happened. “Da? What in the hell is he talking about?”
Grinning, William led the way back up the broad stone steps.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The battle had fairly well dwindled by the time William and the others crossed the makeshift ladders. As ordered, there were no prisoners. William’s men had simply chased them off, back across the moors from whence they came. Yet the dead littered the ground like a macabre blanket, a hodge-podge sea of tartans intermingled here and there with that of English earl.
Paris and Ranulf were there to meet them as they crossed the moat, along with a couple of dozen soldiers. William was immediately alerted by the look on Paris’ face.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“An army approaches, William,” Paris said gravely.
William looked puzzled. “What army?”
“I do not know, but they are flying King Henry’s banner,” Paris replied.
William didn’t lose a moment. He bounded onto his destrier as Roan hastened to stop him.
“Wait, my lord!” he called out. “I believe I can explain.”
William frowned. “Explain what?”
“The army,” Roan grabbed his destrier from a nearby soldier. “I sent for them. As reinforcements.”
William didn’t say anything for a moment. “Define this statement, d’Vant.”
Roan took a breath to steady himself. “I was concerned when we came to Scotland to rescue your wife that we would be outnumbered, my lord,” he said evenly. “Being so far from London or any allied border earl troubled me, due to the fact that the Scots had been so fierce on their attack of Northwood. As a result of my concern for the success of this campaign, I wrote to my cousin, Andrew d’Vant. Mayhap you have heard of the Red Fury?”
William nodded slowly, calmly. “Aye, I have. The mercenary captain.”
Roan continued. “I asked that he support our efforts, my lord, should he be so inclined. His army is based north of Carlisle. I was not sure if he would receive the missive, but it appears that he has and has chosen to respond.” The man was feeling a good deal more nervous than he let on. “I realized what an important campaign this was, my lord. With everything you and your lovely wife have been through, I merely wanted to assure success. I meant no disrespect, nor was it my intention to undermine your command.”
William gazed back at him impassively. Roan was waiting for the sword to come flying out of its scabbard and straight into his sternum, but it was not forthcoming. William continued to stare at him for several long, apprehensive moments.
In faith, William wasn’t sure how to react. His first instinct was one of anger for the interference, but when he heard Roan’s explanation, he saw the reasons and the logic behind it. The knight didn’t want to risk them getting caught in a foreign land, locked in with no hope of returning alive. Yet going outside of the chain of command was unheard of, especially for The Wolf’s knights.
However, Roan was not one of The Wolf’s knights; he was one of Henry’s, and was very trusted and used to acting on his own. William took that into consideration.
Roan had damn near saved his life in Wales and William felt a certain amount of debt to the man. He knew he was not the ambitious sort and believed him when he said he did not mean to undermine William’s command. His anger faded.
“Then I appreciate your foresight, Roan,” he said steadily. “Fortunately, it seems that their assistance is unnecessary. You will ride with me.”
By the time William and his knights reached his army, the troops were forming another skirmish line and preparing to face the approaching army. Adam had the command, setting up perfectly formed ranks like any experienced general.
“My lord!” William called out to him. “Another fight may not be necessary. I believe I know who they are.”
Adam nodded, puzzled, but nonetheless ordered the troops to remain as they were as William, Roan, Paris and Kieran rode out across the vast moor, pounding toward the distant column of men.
Two riders broke off from the approaching army and rode out to meet them. All of the riders came to a halt several yards apart under the early morning sky, destriers dancing and kicking up dewed sod.
Roan flipped up his visor. “Andrew, you bastard.”
One of the men, dressed in flawless armor, pulled off his helmet and William studied the man with the rich auburn hair intently.
“Well, cousin, where in the hell is this fierce battle that threatens to tear Scotland apart?” he demanded.
Roan smiled. “Over with, fortunately. The Wolf’s troops were victorious and you, little man, were not needed after all.”
Andrew’s face cracked into a smile. “You dragged me all the way up here into the God-awful wilderness for nothing?” he asked incredulously. “I shall have your head for this.”
“Instead, consider that I have a great debt to you and will be eager to repay it,” Roan replied. “Truly, cousin, I appreciate your loyalty more than you can possibly know.”
“As do I,” William said formally. “I do not believe we have had the pleasure. I am William de Wolfe.”
Andrew looked at William. “The Wolf of the border? ’Tis I who have the pleasure, my lord. Your reputation and skills are legendary. I am glad to see that we are not needed, though I expected as much with you leading the army. I am Sir Andrew d’Vant, Sir Roan’s cousin.”
William nodded slightly, an arrogant nod. “I know you are usually paid for your services, my lord, but I must confess I came…unprepared for restitution.” He glanced sideways at Roan. “Yet I can offer you and your men food and lodging at Northwood in hopes that you will consider that payment enough for your efforts.”
Andrew passed a glance at his cousin as well. “You need not worry about payment, my lord, for that has been taken care of,” he replied. “However, I will accept your gracious offer just the same.”
William nodded curtly and reined his animal around, wondering how the man got a hold of Henry’s banner but suspecting just the same.
“Roan?” Andrew yelled at his cousin as he put his helmet on once again. “And just how in the hell do you expect to repay this favor? I have taken all of your money, and you have no men to speak of. Well?”
“I will repay Roan’s debt to you, my lord, when and where needed,” William answered for the knight, drawing surprise from all of them. He looked at Roan. “Your cousin has been a loyal and thoughtful vassal, and served me flawlessly in Wales. In fact, I practically owe the man my life and intend to demand from Hen
ry that Roan serve me permanently. Any debt he has to you becomes mine.”
Roan was stunned. “My lord?” he stammered. My God, he did not want this man to feel obligated to him in the least. He had simply meant to…
William waved him off. “Back to Northwood,” he bellowed.
*
Jordan rode with her husband back to Northwood. With over two thousand men in the caravan, it looked as if the entire fighting population of England was mobilizing. She was sure they made a strange and awesome sight.
She was happy. Truly happy. For everything that she had done, the end result was a pleasant one and she relaxed against her husband. She had her family, and although they had initially protested at returning to England with her, she had convinced them ’twas only for a short while to regain their strength before returning to rebuild Langton. And they would rebuild, with William’s help. He had pledged money, men and materials.
Dunbar was dead. So was Malcolm. She didn’t know what had become of Abner but she suspected he, too, lay dead on the moor. The clan chiefs, licking their wounds, had disbanded and returned to their various keeps, according to William’s spies. With Dunbar dead there was no reason to stay together.
Jordan still had a difficult time believing the stupidity of her countrymen sometimes. How could they have believed in victory when they knew they would be fighting The Wolf? ’Twas not only blind faith in her husband’s abilities, but she had somehow hoped her fellow Scots would be tired of war and death, as she was. But, she knew, as long as there was Scotland and England, there would be wars.
The day had grown remarkably warm but she was blissfully comfortable in her flowing white surcoat, draped like an angel atop William’s horse. Jemma, feeling much better after her ride from hell yesterday, rode with Kieran. Caladora rode back in the wagon with her other kin.
Her heart was so light it was a feather. Her concerns, her worries, were gone except for one. William would be returning to London now to resume his station as king’s champion and the thought depressed her. She would go with him to London, of course, even though she loathed the place, but she would not be separated from him. Never again.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 121
