The Wolfe (110 page)

Yet, so be it. By midnight they had
all agreed what needed to be done and assembling began immediately, outside in
the small bailey by the light of a thousand torches. Men were moving and
preparing, thinking that mayhap this time victory and glory would finally be
theirs. Their faith lay in their clan lands and in the mutual hatred for the
English.

They were tired of fighting; aye.
The bout with King Henry’s troops had weakened them considerably, but as true
hearty Scots, they were not entirely beat. They still had the drive and stamina
to try one last time. And they were seasoned, good soldiers lacking the peasants
they had employed in the first rounds of the battle for the border. But there
were two obvious flaws that would eventually defeat them, whether or not they
knew it.

Firstly, they put their faith in
Dunbar McKenna. Secondly, they would be fighting The Wolf. If the first didn’t
kill them, the second surely would.

***

Jordan, clean and bathed, her hair freshly
washed and dried and pulled softly back at the nape of her neck, was dressed in
a huge voluminous white linen surcoat that Malcolm had managed to scavenge. The
sleeves were long and full, closing tightly around her wrists to keep the draft
out. A tiny braided black and leather cord ran around the neckline, crossed
between her full breasts, and then continued to run beneath them before joining
in the back of the surcoat. It was actually a quite lovely and feminine thing
and she wondered where in the world Malcolm had managed to come across it. It
was even clean. With her black boots and black hose on for warmth, she was
extremely comfortable.

Caladora found it exceedingly
wonderful to have Jordan’s strength to lean on now. She was an unassertive
woman, though sweet as honey, but since Jordan’s arrival she’d had a bath, her
hair washed, and her old dirty surcoat taken away to be washed. Meanwhile,
Malcolm had scavenged a lovely peach-colored surcoat for her which was a
blessing in that it brought some color to her cheeks. Yet she, as well as
Jordan, were extremely curious where Malcolm got the dresses from. But they didn’t
ask for fear he stripped them from dead bodies.

And, they were suspicious for other
reasons. Why was he being so nice to them when he but killed the rest of their
kin?

Exhausted, Jordan and Caladora had
fallen asleep soon after the bath and small meal, crowded together on the small
bed but taking comfort in one another.

Jordan dreamed of William. He looked
as he did when they had first met, his left eye restored and his face perfect.
He was smiling at her, sitting in a large chair with a babe in his arms. Suddenly
there were a dozen children crawling around him, over him, and he was
delighted. ‘Twas a comforting dream that quickly faded into blackness, yet her
husband remained on her mind fully.

Even in her sleep, she knew he was
coming for her. She was as much a part of him as he was of her and she knew in
her heart they would be together again soon.

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

William stopped his army a mere two
miles from McKenna Keep. The knights slung their shields and unsheathed
broadswords, the bright moonlight gleaming wickedly off the steel. ‘Twas bright
enough to read by which was why William was not the least bit hesitant about
attacking at night.

McKenna Keep was shielded by a small
forest of trees, blocking the approaching army’s view of the keep as well as
blocking the keep’s view of them. Yet his spies told him the army was mobilized
around the outside of the wall and the bridge was down, which William thought
was extremely strange behavior if they knew his army was advancing.

“Why in the hell is the drawbridge
down if they are expecting us?” he demanded to Paris and Kieran.

“Mayhap they are not expecting us at
all,” Kieran said. “If the army is assembling on the outskirts of the keep,
mayhap it is for another reason. Such as, coincidentally, preparing to launch
another attack on English border earls?”

William nodded, “Of course. ‘Tis the
only explanation,” he said. “Lads, it seems as if we will be doing Northwood
and her allies a favor this night. Mayhap it is a good thing my wife was foolish
enough to get herself captured so that we could come here and destroy the
marauding army. Had she not been taken, we would have found out too late.”

He was making light of Jordan’s
situation, making it easier for him to deal with it. Paris nodded rapidly.

“She is a brilliant tactician,” he
agreed. “Mayhap your military prowess has rubbed off on her.”

“Aye, she planned this,” Kieran
wrestled with his chestnut destrier. “She is not so foolish, after all.”

Ranulf gave William the high-sign
that the troops were battle-ready and William raised his arm in response.

“Come, then,” he slammed his visor
down. “Let us rescue my foolish, brilliant wife and then we can all take a turn
spanking her lovely white bottom.”

Paris closed his visor, covering his
wolfish grin. “With pleasure.”

Using hand signals, the army moved
forward into the shelter of the trees, silently pacing themselves toward the
distant keep. William had the men in three rows of three hundred men each,
creating a wide band of men that would be impossible to escape around. They
were establishing an effective sweep; driving everything in their path into the
battle arena for annihilation.

William was not concerned that they
be silent, for at this point it was too late for the enemy to escape them
anyway. He almost wanted the Scots to hear him coming. To know that The Wolf
was stalking them. He was ready for this, perhaps more prepared than he had
ever been for any battle in his life.

The knights were evenly dispersed
along the front line and the archers were staggered in the back row. Roan was
down the line to William’s left, thinking that this terrain was far different
from fighting in Wales. He wondered with apprehension if D’Vant had received
and answered his missive.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

Dunbar McKenna was strutting like a
peacock around the bailey of his keep, scrutinizing the soldiers that were
preparing for battle, men sworn to him. After the first bitter defeat he
wondered if he would ever see this sight again. The chiefs had been reluctant
to listen to him a second time, but this awesome sight before him was proof
that he was an important, brilliant man.

He strolled across the bridge under
the silver moon, accessing the soldiers that were making the final preparations
on their equipment. Scot soldiers were certainly the sturdiest, Dunbar thought,
noting every man’s thick legs as they disappeared under his plaid. The English
soldiers fought with so much clothing and mail on it was a wonder they could even
move.

It was after midnight but as bright
as day. Dunbar wondered what he was going to do with Jordan Scott as he paced
among the men. The clan chiefs were not happy he had captured her; that was
obvious. But to hell with them; they worried like old women. What mattered now
was what to do with her. Trying her as a traitor seemed out of the question
because he doubted the clan chiefs would allow it. He knew they regretted the
first attack on Langton and Northwood, but that was their misfortune. He didn’t
regret it in the least.

His plans were coming apart one by
one, but somehow he had been able to turn one failed plan into another scheme
and thereby keep his dreams alive. Hell, half the time even he didn’t know what
he wanted. But he was sure of one thing; he wanted to control the border and he
wondered how that pretty little whore in his keep could help him.

Dunbar was standing to the rear of
the assembling troops, his fat hands on his hips as he gazed at the sea of
soldiers against the backdrop of his keep. He felt like Caesar reviewing his
troops, a tremendous sense of power filling him. Aye, his men would destroy
Northwood now. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

He turned around, his eyes falling
over the surrounding forest but his eyes not focusing. His mind was at
Northwood, burning her walls down. Mayhap he should burn the Countess at the
stake and send her charred body to King Henry, a warning for the English king
to never again attempt a treaty with the Scots. Aye, he had intended to kill
her at the first, but now he was unsure what to do. She was tremendously
beautiful, like her mother, and it almost seemed a waste to kill her.

A glint in the darkness of the trees
caught his eye. Not particularly concerned, but curious, he peered closed to
watch a knight in full battle armor emerge from the silhouetted trees. His eyes
saw it but his mind did not quite register what it was seeing until he saw
another knight, and another. And then he saw soldiers. Hundreds and hundreds of
Sassenach soldiers.

Dunbar snapped out of his trance and
into full-blown panic. “
Sassenach!”

The area outside his keep became a
huge, boiling mass of screaming Scot soldiers, turning with shock to face their
enemy.

Dunbar began to run for his life,
lumbering toward the drawbridge which at this very moment was preparing to be
raised. He had to make it inside before the bridge went up, sealing him to his
fate at the hands of the English. He could taste his bitter fear on his tongue
like stale ale as his heart thumped and his lungs rasped, pushing his bulk
forward. If he were left outside the keep, he was as good as dead.

William and the knights had heard
the call go up within the Scot ranks and it was their own battle cry. Swords
held high, the English troops charged into the Scot army with the force of a
highland storm, cutting and killing and assaulting anything in their path.

The night was suddenly filled with
the sounds of death.

William saw the bridge going up. He
turned in the general direction of his men. “They must not get the bridge up.
Position the archers.”

It was only by pure luck that the
drawbridge of McKenna Keep was rigged with rope, not chain. The archers lit up
their flame arrows, directed by Deinwald, and took aim on the web-like ropes
that were straining to raise the old heavy drawbridge. William divided his
attention between the raising bridge and fighting the Scots, waiting with
baited breath as his archers leveled their crossbows.

Dunbar was having great trouble
breathing but he dare not slow his pace as he continued to run toward the
raising bridge. He could hear the clash going on behind him and he was more
terrified than he had ever been in his life. He had been a soldier a good deal
of his life, but he was caught off guard and without a weapon. He had to make
it inside the ten foot-thick walls of his keep before he was cut down like a
lamb to slaughter. And he had to get to Jordan Scott; she was the key to
solving this dilemma. He had no doubt the army had come for her, but what he could
not understand was how quickly they had come. Did they somehow have fairy wings
to fly with?

Deinwald screamed the command and
the archers let the flame arrows fly, soaring high above the heads of the
clashing troops and landing with great accuracy on the drawbridge and
surrounding rigging. It was inevitable with that many arrows that at least a
few would find their mark, and soon the drawbridge began to flame in several
different places. It was old and would burn like dry grass.

William gave a smile of satisfaction.
The bridge and the ropes would burn in no time, leaving the keep wide open for
their assault. God, what luck. Now, he had to push his way forward, ready to
breach the castle and retrieve his wife. She was alive, somewhere, within the
dingy structure. He could not allow himself to think otherwise.

He and the other knights began to
push forward through the surging mass, swinging broadswords with more
determination than they had ever felt. It was understood that, of course,
William would fetch Jordan, but somehow they were all grimly resolved to help
him without even being asked.

As the destriers pushed forward and
men fell beneath them, the drawbridge went up in flames and was burning
furiously. All those inside the bailey were separated from the troops outside,
adding to their surprise and confusion. Half the soldiers inside the keep had
yet to figure out what had happened.

Dunbar saw the drawbridge burning,
knowing his chance was gone. Unarmed and fear nipping at him, he knew he must
seek refuge until such a time as he felt it safe to join the battle. Foam
collecting on his lips and his breath coming in rapid pants, he dashed off in
the only direction he suspected held safety for him. He headed to the north.

William was tentatively pleased at
the battle so far. With the bridge quickly being reduced to cinder, ‘twould
make it easier to cross the moat, providing it was not deep, and violate the
bailey.

But just in case the moat proved to be a
problem, William ordered Ranulf to begin cutting trees to produce makeshift
ladders the soldiers could crawl across if it was too deep. It would be
impossible for the knights to cross on the destriers.