The Wolfe (105 page)

Kieran stood still a moment, staring
at the ground before putting both hands to his head in a gesture of pure
helplessness.

“What in the hell happened?” he
hissed.

William didn’t want to voice the
possibilities. They were too disturbing and he didn’t want to invite panic, not
at the moment.

Kieran walked over to his horse and
wearily leaned on the animal, his arms stretched across the saddle. The sounds
of the night drifted across the cold air, and William kept straining his ears,
listening for a scream somewhere in the distance. But he heard nothing and
found he was numb with shock.

“If we have a son we are going to
name him Alec,” Kieran said faintly.

William stirred in the saddle. “After
your brother? He would be pleased.”

Kieran nodded. “I wish Jemma could
have known him.”

William cocked a slow eyebrow. “They
would have killed each other, Kieran. Alec was the most arrogant man I have
ever met and Jemma would have taken a blade to him with that temper of hers.”

Kieran was forced to smile. “Mayhap.
But I would have liked for them to have known each other nonetheless.”

William looked at him. “How is it
that a man with your mild temper is attracted to firebrands? Your brother was
certainly no saint, although he was an excellent knight, and you happened to
marry the wildest woman in Scotland.”

Kieran snorted. “Because I have the
patience for them. God is wise when he chooses our relatives for us.”

Down the road they could see a
company of knights bearing torches converging on them. Kieran mounted quickly
and they rode to meet them.

“Leave the horses here for the moment,”
William ordered his men. “We are tracking hoof prints and I do not want our own
confusing us.”

The men dismounted and handed off
the destriers to the soldiers that had come with them. Bearing torches bright
enough to light up a city, they began to slowly and methodically studying the
mucky road. Since each blacksmith put a certain seal on his shoes, they knew
what they were looking for.

They searched the immediate stretch
of road and found nothing. Spreading out, they continued to search, gradually
moving down the road until Northwood was nearly gone from view. By that time,
the other knights began to question the value of continuing the search since
nothing had been discovered yet, but persevered because of William and Kieran.

Other than the standing orders,
William had yet to say another word to them. If he was so sure they were going
to find a clue to the disappearance of his wife and Lady Jemma, then they would
continue searching for his sake. William, they had learned, was rarely, if
ever, wrong.

Suddenly, William stopped and
dropped to a crouch at the very edge of the road. Kieran saw him and was
immediately at his side.

“What is it?” he demanded.

William’s fingers were lightly
tracing the ground. “Here - look,” he said. “Northwood crests on these shoes.” His
despair was quickly turning into excitement. “They came out of the forest,
here, and then continue up the road.”

By this time, all of the knights
were by his side, indeed studying the tracks.

“There are only two sets,” Jason
said helpfully. “One ‘fore the other, in a line. They go north.”

William stood up, staring at the
tracks for a long minute, not saying a word. A slow horror was creeping over
him as he realized what had actually happened. There were no kidnappers, no
murderers. There was no blood because there had been no struggle. Jordan had
been adamant about going alone, alone, she said. And the dresses weren’t ripped
because they had been easily discarded.  Dear God… he knew what had happened.

“
Damnation!
” he exploded,
kicking at the ground furiously.

The knights looked at him in
astonishment. He was so furious he clenched his fists and swung away from them
just so they would not see his veins bulging.

“What?” Kieran demanded insistently,
his hands outstretched as if pleading for an answer.  “What is it?”

William whirled to his second,
jabbing a finger in his face. “They have not been abducted, Kieran. They have
bloody well launched themselves to Langton. It all makes sense now, all of it.”

Kieran stared back at him in disbelief.
“Langton? What in the hell are you talking about.”

William was daft with anger. “I
shall tell you what I am talking about,” he seethed. “Your devious little wife
somehow convinced Jordan to ride with her to Langton. Only Jemma could think of
such a foolish scheme.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what
you say about my wife,” he warned calmly.

“It is true!” William fired back at
him. “Jordan is not capable of this kind of deception, but we know from
experience that Jemma is certainly sly and conniving enough. And Jordan, being
as goddamn gullible as she is, listened to her.”

Kieran watched William smack his
huge fist into the palm of his hand angrily, raging like a mad dog. They were
all concerned and upset, but that did not excuse the insult dealt to Jemma.

”You will not blame Jemma for this,”
he said lowly.

Paris, standing a few feet away,
heard the tone and groaned inwardly. The last thing they needed was a fight. He
stepped closer, just in case.

“Why not? ‘Tis her fault.” William
raged.

Kieran was struggling with his
temper, a rare occurrence. “If that is true, then Jordan did not have to go,” he
said with a tick in his jaw. “She can think for herself, or so you have said.”

William glared at Kieran the likes
of which no one, including Paris, had ever seen. He was so damn angry that he
was irrational.  “Kieran, if anything happens to Jordan because of your wife’s
stupidity, I shall kill the bitch myself. I swear it.”

Oh, God
. The knight’s
surrounding them tensed with apprehension, waiting for the next move. Even
Paris was frightened. Kieran and William could do substantial physical damage
to one another.

Kieran’s eyes widened at the threat;
his temper could no longer be controlled. He was armed; William was not. In a
fit of uncharacteristic rage, he unsheathed his sword with a resounding clang.

“Defend yourself!” he roared.

Paris unsheathed his sword, bringing
it to bear directly in front of William to fend off Kieran’s blow. William,
however, had not so much as flinched and met Kieran’s gaze with deadly
hostility.

Kieran brought the blade down and
Paris found himself fending off the heaviest blow he had ever had the
misfortune to receive. He knew Kieran to be remarkably strong, but the strength
behind the blow was super-human. Sparks flew brightly into the night air, a few
of them landing on William, as Paris staggered. But William had yet to even so
much as step back a pace.

The knights had no idea how to
react. They jumped back, out of the line of fire, wildly concerned for the
situation. Should they jump in or not? Ranulf, wisely, motioned them all back
and away. To lend aid would mean to take sides, and that must not happen.

Paris yelled at William to move, but
the earl was not listening. Kieran raised his sword again and Paris physically
threw himself in front of William, a double-handed grip on his sword as he
prepared to fend off another bone-rocking blow. The glint of steel flashed
before him as Kieran brought the sword down, and Paris braced himself.

But the impact never came. Suddenly,
the sword was sailing out of Kieran’s hand and into the darkness, landing
heavily several yards away. Kieran put his hands on his face and swung away
from William, staggering back onto the road like a drunken man.

Paris, swallowing hard with relief
and surprise, realized he was shaking. He was fully prepared for the battle of
his life and was astonished to see it suddenly ended. When he turned to look at
William, the baron was already walking past him and toward the slumped figure
standing on the road.

Then William did something he had
never done in front of his knights. He showed an onslaught of weak, human
emotion. He grabbed Kieran and hugged the man fiercely. Kieran responded
instantly, holding William with ferocious grip.

“Forgive me, Kieran,” William
whispered into the man’s shoulder. “I am always unstable when it comes to my
wife. Forgive me my words; I did not mean them.”

Kieran simply nodded, giving William
a firm squeeze before they stood apart.

“I am scared, too,” he whispered.

William shook his head slowly. “God,
ever since I met that woman I have done things I believed myself incapable of.”
He sighed. “Jemma is not to blame alone. I am sure Jordan had quite a hand in
this, as well. I guess what angers me the most is that I could have stopped
them and I didn’t.”

“You are not a mind reader,” Kieran
replied wearily. “Although I have wondered at times. You did what I, or any of
us, would have done. Do not be angry with yourself.”

William put a companionable hand on
the side of Kieran’s head, smiling weakly at him. “You were going to kill me?”

Kieran looked sheepish. “I was
thinking on it.”

William grinned and gave him a light
slap on the skull. “I never knew you had it in you, old friend.”

Kieran made a wry face. “As you
said, I am unstable when it comes to my wife.”

William’s smile faded. “Then we must
move. We have a lot of ground to cover to catch those little vixens.”

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Roan d’Vant sat alone in the knight’s
quarters, in complete battle armor as he sat hunched over vellum with a quill
in his hand. He was writing a letter, mayhap the most important letter he would
ever write.

It was to his cousin, Andrew d’Vant.
Andrew was a mercenary soldier, leader of a mercenary army nearly eight hundred
men strong. Andrew fought purely for the money involved. Although born as the
second son of Earl Alston, near Carlisle, he was not English. Neither was he
Welsh, nor Scot. He was whatever money said he was.

Roan had a bad feeling about the
battle march into Scotland to retrieve Lady Jordan. He wasn’t paranoid as a
rule, but he had seen the destruction the Scots had made and was positive, as
was William, that the war wasn’t over yet. The clans were still banded
together, somewhere in the south of Scotland, and he was somehow sure they
would run into them. And knowing how the men were feeling about the Scots right
now, there would most likely be no survivors on either side. A clash would
prove to be one of the most violent in history.

He told his cousin of the situation,
of the intentions of The Wolf, and told him exactly where they were going. He
asked that Andrew mobilize his army and meet them at Langton to support their
movements.

Roan was not personally rich,
although his family was extremely wealthy and powerful as heirs to St. Austell
Castle in Cornwall. He could offer Andrew very little monetarily and hoped that
the fact that their fathers were first cousins would hold some bearing. He
hoped that blood was more valuable than money, although he doubted it. The man
was in the business purely for the value of it, and he was one of the best damn
swordsman Roan had ever seen.

Putting the vellum into a sack, he
also stuffed in a banner he managed to confiscate bearing the king’s crest,
hoping Andrew would fly it as he approached so that William would not attack
the man before Roan had a chance to explain what he had done.

Yet Andrew D’Vant was somewhat of a
legend as well, for his army was huge and well-know and had fought all over the
civilized world. His cousin’s nickname, the Red Fury, stemmed from the fact
that the massive, towering man has auburn hair and fought with a demonic anger.
He was sure William had heard of him and only hoped he didn’t sever his head
from his body for acting out of the chain of command.

Why Roan was doing this was simple,
really, even with a thousand men, their army would not outnumber the clans and Roan
had no desire to die in Scotland. With the addition of his cousin’s army for
support, ‘twas a good chance that few English would die and mayhap the Scots,
seeing the size of the quelling army, would forcibly disband.

He sent the messenger off to the
southwest, heading for Andrew’s seldom-used keep. It was the only place he knew
to begin looking for the man and prayed fervently that he could be found in
time, and that the terms were agreeable.

***

Neither woman stopped to see the
pure foolishness of their situation. Two women, alone, was bad enough. But two
pregnant women, traveling alone, and at night, was insane. The situation was
compounded by the fact the Jemma was feeling lousy and they’d already had to
stop twice.

Finally, weary to the bone, the
stopped the horses in a patch of trees that was particularly dense and shielding.
Jemma fell asleep for about an hour while Jordan stood vigilant watch, and then
Jordan took her turn resting while Jemma stood nervously in the dead leaves,
jumping at any little sound.