The Wolfe (88 page)

The rain had turned to sleet and was
freezing up on their armor, making it as cold as hell, but they were sweating
and clammy with the exertion of fighting. He knew the Scots were miserable,
fighting in their hunting tartans or whatever other scraps of clothing they
wore. A few of their knights wore armor and mail, but for the most part, the
soldiers looked like peasants to him.

And they were unskilled, too. He was
having little trouble when engaging them and usually managed a clean kill
within a minute or so. It was almost as if the clans had gone into the villages
to recruit men to fight, which they probably had.

When the pink-gold haze of dawn
colored the eastern sky, the Scots began to break ranks and run north. The
Scots in the outer bailey had been cleaned out, allowing the inner gates to be
open for the first time in over two weeks. It took William a moment to realize
he heard his name being chanted by the English troops pouring out through the
inner gates.

He paused for a moment, listening to
the chant and a chill running up his spine. God, how he had missed it. The
armies were gushing out of the gates, swords in hand, helping chase off the
Scots that had plagued them for so long. He recognized many of the men, men who
were smiling and waving at him even as they chased after the Scots. They were
so damn glad to see him that he had to smile.

William had come home again.

His knights were riding out to greet
him. He recognized the destriers and thereby identified the heavily armored
men. Michael, Corin, Marc, Jason and Ranulf. Paris, Lewis and Adam were
missing.

The knights charged at him, throwing
up their visors to greet their former captain properly.

“Baron!” Michael roared. “’Tis about
time you showed up!”

William raised his hand in greeting,
a moment’s hesitation before raising his faceplate. He was sure they knew of
his injury, but he found he was almost apprehensive of then reaction to his
appearance. But raise the faceplate he did, smiling wearily at his men.

They were grinning openly back at
him, their horses snorting and dancing in the heat of excitement. Ranulf
steered his big animal next to William, peering at him.

“So that’s what you look like now?”
he said, examining the eye patch. “Christ, you look fearsome with that thing.
It suits you.”

The others agreed heartily. William,
embarrassed, waved them off. “Where is Paris?”

“Inside the keep, my lord,” Ranulf
answered, his face suddenly grim. “We lost Lewis two days ago. And Adam….”

“What about Adam?” William demanded.

“He killed his brother,” Ranulf said
as quietly as a battle would allow. “He has confined himself to his rooms and
prays for death.”

William gazed up at the turrets of
Northwood. “Damn,” he mumbled, but came around again and waved his gloved hand
toward the north. “You men help Kieran chase these bastards back the way they came.
After I see Paris, I will join you.”

“Aye, my lord,” they answered,
spurring their destriers on.

William was reining his horse toward
the open outer gate when he suddenly heard his name. He turned to see that Michael
had stopped his nervous horse and was still looking at him.

“‘Tis good to have The Wolf back,”
Michael said.

William cocked an eyebrow, trying to
remain stoic, but cracked a smile in spite of himself.

‘Tis good to be back,” he said
shortly, spurring his animal for the outer bailey.

The outer bailey was in shambles, as
he knew it would be. In fact, it didn’t even resemble the bailey he once knew.
He caught sight of Deinwald as he galloped through, hearing the man shouting
orders to the new English troops that were now mounting the walls. Confident
that the bailey was well taken care of, he did not pause on his way into the
inner bailey. He was eager to see Paris.

Paris was waiting for him, standing
on the steps that led into the keep. Other than a huge smile, he did not acknowledge
William in any other way as the man came to an abrupt halt in front of him and
bailed from his horse.

“Dammit, man,” William said as he
pretended to be angry. “I leave you in charge of my fortress and this is what
happens? I should run you through.”

Paris feigned a scowl at the insult.
“We had the Scots well under control, baron,” he returned. “We had simply permitted
them space in the outer bailey to refresh their troops whilst they pounded us.”

William ripped off his helmet, his smile
warm. Paris immediately came to terms with the face of the new William and instantly
decided it was better than the old one. This William was somehow more human, yet
more invincible than ever. ‘Twas difficult to put the change into words, but he
knew it was a positive one.

They extended their gauntleted hands
simultaneously, gripping each other in a greeting of complete friendship and
relief and happiness.  Then they hugged each other, tightly. Their smiles spoke
volumes.

“I never thought I would be so happy
to see anyone, least of all you,” Paris remarked.

William chuckled. “Nor I.”

Paris still held onto his friend. “Am
I to assume you are a father at last?”

William nodded, letting go of Paris’
glove and removing his gauntlet, wiping at his brow. “Aye, nearly two weeks ago.
Twin boys.”

“Twin boys?” Paris repeated
incredulously. “My God, William, do you always have to outshine everyone? And
how is their beautiful mother?”

“Beautiful and perfect,” William’s
face softened into the expression Paris equated with Jordan. “But she had the
gall to name one of my sons after you, of which I strongly disapproved.”

“Me?” Paris looked incredulous.

“Aye,
you
,” William tried to
look angry. “One son is blond, like her, and the other is darker as I am. She chose
to name that dark son after you. Troy, she calls him.”

“Troy,” Paris grinned in pure
delight. “A wonderful name. It looks as if all that back-rubbing I did for her
paid off.”

William scowled. “Back-rubbing?”

Paris was deliberately provoking him
and they both knew it. “Aye, and what a pleasure it was,” he pushed.

William began to remove his other
gauntlet as if to call Paris out, and Paris laughed loudly. “‘Twas only her
back I touched, I assure you,” he said quickly. “Through clothes, no less.”

William paused in mid-removal,
fighting off a smirk as he replaced his gloves. “That’s better,” he said. “She
was huge and uncomfortable, was she not? It scared the hell out of me when she
went into labor.”

Paris made a wry face. “No doubt,”
he said. Then, he sobered. “You received my message about Jemma?”

William’s smile faded. “Aye,” he
said softly. “How is she faring?”

Paris shook his head. “Poorly. I
believe the banshee died with the child. Where is Kieran?”

“Chasing the Scots back to the
border,” William replied. “I shall send him back when I catch up to them.”

Paris nodded In agreement. “The
sooner the better. It has been most difficult around here, especially not
knowing yours fate or Jordan’s. Seeing you will be just the boost Jemma needs.”

William nodded, scratching at his
scalp. “What is this I hear about Adam?”

Paris looked grim. “So you have been
told?”

“Ranulf mentioned it briefly when I
met him outside the gates,” William told him. “What in the hell happened?”

Paris sighed heavily. “Alexander had
taken an extreme dislike to his brother over recent days, especially when Adam
voiced his opinion regarding the support of Langton,” Paris explained. “Adam
claims Alexander came after him with a dagger and that he was simply defending
himself, but he also believes he abused his knightly training by goring his
brother instead of simply disarming him. He has been most difficult to deal
with.”

William listened intently before
nodding in understanding. “Then I shall deal with Adam when I return.”

“Will has tried, I have tried, but
he listens to no one,” Paris said. “Mayhap he will listen to you.”

William nodded then glanced about. “Speaking
of Payton-Forrester, where in the hell is that bastard?”

“Upon the wall,” Paris nodded in the
general direction. “The man is a hell of a fighter. So is Brockenhurst and Baron
Lowell. We had quite a team of knights, just not enough sheer volume of men.
Otherwise, we would have licked the damn Scots.”

“I understand they made it to Langton,”
William said grimly. “What did they find?”

Paris knew he was asking on behalf
of his wife. “Not much,” he replied quietly. “Nothing is worse than a clan war,
William. They burned Langton to the ground and killed everyone they could get
their hands on. I do not know the fate of Thomas Scott.”

William nodded, dreading delivering
the news to his wife. “I promised Jordan that I would see for myself,” he said
softly, looking at his helmet before jaunting it back on his head. “I shall be
back.”

Paris acknowledged him with a tilt
of his head. As William was turning away, Paris stopped him.

“Damn good to see you again, my lord,”
he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I like the eye patch, although you look
like one of those swarthy sea pirates your mother warned you about.”

William glared at him before closing
his visor. “My wife likes it and that is all that matters.”

Paris grinned as William mounted his
steed. “She would love you if you had your arms and legs cut off and you were
missing your nose.”

The animal reared up and William
rode it like a centaur, jabbing a finger at Paris. “Insult me no more or I will
chase the Scots right back to your front door.”

Spurring his horse he was gone,
leaving Paris snickering and shaking his head, feeling the weight of the world
lift from his shoulders.

William caught up to his army
several miles later. There were a few Scots who had turned to make a stand
before crossing the border into Scotland but the king’s soldiers were making
short work of them.

He met up with Kieran as the man was
engaging a burly Scot with a mace. The enemy was very good with the spiky ball
but he was no match for the king’s champion and his second. When the Scot hit
the ground in a splash of blood, Kieran and William pulled their steeds alongside
one another and raised their faceplates.

“Get back to Northwood,” William
ordered him over the noise. “Your wife needs you.”

Kieran almost refused, for he knew
work here was not yet finished, but he reconsidered. He was desperate to see Jemma.

“Aye, my lord,” he nodded, slapping
down the visor and spurring his horse south.

William watched him for a brief
second before lowering his visor and reining his animal into the heart of the
resistance. He didn’t particularly want to fight anymore; he simply wanted to
chase the bastards back where they came from. He could see Michael and Corin
taking some heat from a group of particularly zealous combatants and turned in
their direction.

Michael received a blow to the back
of the skull from a mace that damn near tore his head off. William spurred his
destrier forward in a rush of armor and leather, using his legs entirely to
guide the animal as he came up on the enemy soldier that was preparing to take
Michael’s life. When the man raised his dagger, William was there to drive his
broadsword right between his ribs.

Michael was reeling from the blow,
having difficulty regaining his seat. William rode up and gave him a shove,
righting him in the saddle. A glance at the man’s helmet showed a huge dent in
the back of it. He could see blood staining the mail hood.

“Are you all right?” William
demanded with concern.

Michael put a gauntleted hand to his
head. “Aye, I think so,” he replied. “At least I still have a head on my
shoulders.”

William eyed him critically. He knew
from experience how disorienting a blow like that could be. “Get back to
Northwood,” he ordered him. “We can handle this motley crew without you.”

“Nay, my lord, I can still fight,”
Michael insisted weakly.

“That was not a request, Michael,
but an order.”

Michael flipped up his visor, his
face pale with the shock but his eyes lucid enough. “My lord, it has been
months since I have fought under your command. When Kieran came to Northwood a
few weeks ago, I never thought to see you on the battlefield again. Surely you
will not deny me the privilege of serving under you one more time.”

William paused, struggling with his
dancing destrier. “Very well,” he said, a note of pleasure in his voice. “But
stay back, will you? Another blow like that and we’ll be taking you back in
pieces.”

Michael grinned and closed his
visor. “Thank you, baron.”

The Scots, however, had dug in a bit
and driving them back into their own country was proving a little more
difficult than William had anticipated. But as the battle raged, he was aware
that he felt whole again. His knights were fighting around him; the men he had
learned to trust with his very life, men that he was comfortable with, and he
felt invincible. The whole time he had been fighting in Wales with the king’s
knights, as good as they were, he could not recall feeling this comfortable. He
didn’t know those men or then skills, not the way he knew his own men.