The Wolfe (82 page)

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.

“You are the most enormous pregnant
woman I have ever seen,” his voice was raspy and faint.

“William.” she shrieked, trying to
sit up but not doing a very good job. He reached out weakly to steady her.

“Nay, love, be calm and come here.” He
was as frail as a newborn babe. “I would feel that swollen belly against me.”

She fell against him, crying
hysterically as his hands weakly caressed her. He smiled faintly into her hair,
inhaling her scent.

“I am with you, love, I swear it,”
he whispered.

She was crying so hard she could not
speak for several minutes. When she was finally coherent enough to talk, it was
with gasps and stammers.

“They said ye were dying,” she
sobbed. “I had to come and be with ye.”

He sighed deeply. “I promised you
that I would return. I love you too much to leave you, Jordan.” She continued
to cry softly as he attempted to shush her. “Come now, love; you are going to
get yourself all worked up.” He stroked her face. “I shall be fine now that you
are here. All I need is rest. And you.”

She tried to obey, forcing herself
to calm, but God’s truth, she was absolutely wild with relief. Sniffling and
rubbing her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.

“Oh, English,” she breathed, running
her fingers across his face. “I thought I had lost ye. How do ye feel?”

He closed his eye for a moment, relishing
her touch. “Very, very weak,” he murmured. “But in spite of that, I am hungry.”

She smiled. “Then I shall have
Kieran fetch ye some food,” she said. “The man has been beside himself with
worry for ye.”

He reached up and feebly took a
strand of her hair between his fingers. His gaze was swallowing her whole.

“Who was it that slapped me and told
me I could not die?” he asked. “Was it you, perchance?”

She bent over and kissed his nose,
his cheek, the patch of linen over his eye. “It ‘twas. Do ye intend to slap me
back when ye’re able?”

He closed his eye at her reverent
touch, her kisses. “That will not be first on my list of priorities. I simply
wanted to thank you. It is twice now that I owe you my life.”

She smiled at him. “I am not keeping
score.”

She was so weak with relief she
could do no more than gaze upon him, touching him with loving hands. He lay
still, feeling her touch, so tired he thought he could sleep for a hundred
years but not wanting to miss a moment of her presence.

“Kieran?” Jordan called out. When
William opened his eye and looked at her, she smiled happily. “I shall feed ye
myself until ye are strong again.”

He nodded imperceptibly. “Better
cover your magnificent breasts before Kieran forgets himself and I have to beat
him down,” he whispered. “Which reminds me; I must speak with him.”

She giggled and pulled the covers up
around her chest just in the nick of time. Both Kieran and Deinwald came
barreling through the door, slamming it back on its hinges. Jordan could see
from the looks on their faces that they thought the worst had come.

“Come here, Kieran,” Jordan said.

His face gray with terror, he
obeyed, gazing down at William’s face. He was so still that Kieran feared the
worst. Tears sprang to his eyes as he leaned over William’s form helplessly,
not knowing what to say or do.

“My lady…,” he began in a husky
voice.

A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed
him by the tunic. Kieran nearly passed out from sheer shock, grabbing William’s
wrist as if the action would prevent him from falling to the floor. His expression
was wide with astonishment as William opened his eye and tugged him down so
that he could speak to him.

“William!” he gasped.

Sick and exhausted, William still
had the ability to intimidate with the simple lift of a brow. “What in the hell
is the matter with you that you would bring my very pregnant wife to London all
the way from Northwood?” he rumbled. “Have you gone daft?”

Kieran was nearly ill with relief. “She
said she would walk if I didn’t bring her,” he smiled weakly. “I damn near had
to pull her off of Paris when he denied her.”

“Paris? Where is he?” William
whispered.

“At Northwood,” Kieran replied
quietly, hoping William did not pick up on the tone in his voice. “He could not
come.”

William’s eye closed and his hand
dropped from Kieran’s tunic. “When I am well I am going to kick you right in
the arse,” he whispered. “My wife’s condition is most delicate and I do not wish
my son born on the road. You were foolish to let her bully you.”

“He couldna have stopped me,” Jordan
said indignantly. “Ye needed me, English, and I was going to come. Now, stop
talking. Kieran, my husband is hungry. Go fetch him some broth and tell Byron
that William is in need of some of his healing herbs.”

Kieran smiled broadly at her. “Aye, my
lady,” he saluted his lord sharply and left the room.

Deinwald stood by the door, his
expression soft. Jordan had never seen that look on his face. He actually
looked as if he might cry.

“He is fine, Deinwald,” she assured
him. “He will be just fine. Why dunna ye go and get some sleep now?”

Deinwald moved his mouth as if to
speak but ended up clearing his throat. With a curt nod, he quit the room as
well and closed the door softly behind him.

She gazed down at him again. “He was
the most worried, I think.”

William didn’t reply; he was nearly
asleep. With a sigh, Jordan pressed up against him, feeling his hand caress her
softly on the small of her back. She kissed his shoulder, gazing up at the ceiling
and thinking that everything was indeed going to be alright.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Two weeks later William was feeling
nearly tip-top. He had been eating well and rebuilding his strength with daily
sword practice, working himself into exhaustion as his wife watched vigilantly.
But there was another reason for the sword play as well; now that he only had
sight from one eye, he had to adjust his skill with the blade. He had lost a
good deal of depth perception with the partial loss of sight and had to become
accustom to it. It had not been difficult for him; it was simply a matter of
relying on other senses and realizing his depth perception was diminished.

With the help of Kieran and
Deinwald, he learned to trust his hearing almost as much as his sight. He would
practice with them both at the same time, simulating fierce battle situations
and drilled himself for up to fifteen hours a day, learning to depend more on
his sense of hearing than his eyesight. Even his sixth sense, the intuition
that had served him well, became an integral part of his fighting.

There were a few times when he took
decent blows, drawing blood, but still he would not give up. He took it as a
personal challenge and he was not about to give in to self-pity. With Jordan watching
every move he made in rain or shine, he would not disappoint her. Her faith
drove him on.

Henry had taken a special interest
in William’s recovery, feeling quite responsible for what had happened to the
man. He spent a good deal of time watching his champion practice, debating
whether or not William would still be his champion now with his handicap. But
by the end of the second week he was immensely pleased to see that indeed, he
still had a champion in the baron. The man was positively unstoppable.

And because of his respect and
gratitude for William’s service, he would not punish the man for lying to him.
When Lady de Longley, more correctly, Lady de Wolfe, had hastily explained the situation
on the eve of what everyone was sure was William’s death, he had been stunned.
His shock quickly turned to anger, an anger he found focusing on the deceased earl.
After all, John knew better than to foil the king, but he had done it anyway.
Lady de Wolfe had said that the earl hadn’t wanted her, which Henry found hard
to believe, and therefore sanctioned the marriage between her and William.

Henry could chuckle over it now, the
very pregnant woman with her hands on her hips, enlightening him to the truth.
She was in London to see her dying husband and the king would know the truth of
the matter since neither the earl or the king’s champion had seen it fit to
tell him. And she had been right when she said it was better this way, for
being married to the intended Warden of the North Border was as good as being
married to the Earl of Teviot. Now, with John gone, she still held position and
power, and cemented a tight alliance.

Ah, well, his children were becoming
disobedient in his old age. But he would let this event slide unnoticed for the
sake of his champion and his lovely Scot wife. The true person to blame was de
Longley, but he was dead and his stupid son now held the titles and the power.
Henry was certainly not happy over that, but Castle Questing would now be the
jewel in the crown of the border with William at the helm. Northwood, and all
of her might, would simply have to be controlled. If need be, he would have
William take Alexander down and then the younger, more level-headed son would
ascend the power. He thought more and more on that every day.

As William’s strength and power
returned, the most personal problem facing him these days was how Jordan felt
about his appearance now that he was flawed. God love her, she insisted it made
no difference at all, which it truly didn’t to her. He was beautiful with two
eyes or one. She noticed for the first few days he had difficulty looking her
straight in the eye until she demanded to know why he would not look at her.
His much-drawn-out reason nearly broke her heart.

They were sitting at the table after
sup one night, gazing into the hearth. William sat next to her, his hand on her
belly, seemingly dazed by the flames. Jordan kept glancing at him, wondering
why he seemed so subdued these days.

“English, what’s wrong with ye?” she
finally asked.

He glanced at her quickly and looked
away. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and
grasped his face, forcing him to look at her. He did, reluctantly. “Why dunna
ye look at me anymore? Is it because I am so fat that ye canna stand the sight
of me?”

He let out a sharp sigh. “God, no.
Where do you get these daft ideas?”

He tried to look away again but she would
not let him. Instead, she wedged herself onto his lap and refused to let go of
his face. He was facing her, all right, but he was looking at the ground.

“Look at me.” she snapped softly.

He did, his gaze hooded. She studied
his face closely, every beautiful feature. Finally, she softened. “Are ye
embarrassed because of yer eye?”

He didn’t answer her, trying to pull
her against him but she balked. “Answer me. Is it yer eye?”

He pursed his lips faintly. “I am
not the man I once was.”

She scowled something fierce and
hopped from his lap. “In what way? Yer still the man I married, the most
beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. Why do ye make that ridiculous
statement?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” he said
softly.

“It is,” she returned, her rage
gaining speed. “Then if that is the case, I am not the woman I used to be. I
used to be slim and lovely, and now I am as fat as a cow. Do ye love me any less?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why would you think I would
love you any less simply because ye lost a small portion of yer body? I would
not love ye any less if ye lost a finger, much less an eye.” She was angry with
him, yet pleading with him all the same. “English, yer beauty isn’t merely yer handsome
face. It is yer heart and yer spirit. I am disappointed that ye would put so
much stock in your appearance.”

“I am not putting stock in my
appearance,” he insisted uncomfortably. “’Tis just… oh, God, you would not
understand.”

“Tell me,” she demanded softly.

He picked up her anger, his jaw
ticking. “I am…I am flawed, Jordan. God, I look at you and you are so beautiful
and perfect and I feel so unworthy of you.” He winced at the confession, rising
to stand with his back to her. He hadn’t meant to tell her his most inner fears
but they came tumbling out anyway. “I am sorry, love. I do not mean to sound
angry with you. But I cannot help these feelings.”

She softened tremendously, feeling
so very sorry for him. Lord only knew how she would feel if she were flawed in
anyway, but she had meant what she said.

“I’d love ye if ye lost both arms
and legs, English, if yer face was ripped from yer head,” she murmured. “Ye’re
like a beautiful package - delightful to look at, but the real treasure is
inside.”

He stood still a moment, staring at
the floor. Then, slowly, he turned to face her. “What did I ever do to deserve
you?”