The Wolfe (99 page)

Henry swung around to look at him. “Is
this so? Alexander is dead?”

“Aye, sire, he is,” William
answered. “Adam de Longley is the new Earl of Teviot and shows all the signs of
competently handling the task.”

The king stared back at him a
moment. “It would seem that young Adam completed the task I would have asked of
you. I must send my congratulations to the new earl.”

William’s eyes narrowed for a brief
second, Henry would have him play assassin as well as champion? As much as he
hated Alexander and wished the man dead, he would not have been keen on
murdering him. And to refuse would have been to directly disobey the king. He
was at once glad that Alexander was already dead, but wondering if inevitably a
similar situation would arise again someday. The thought worried him.

Henry gazed up at William in an
alcohol haze until the man became uncomfortable with the attention. What the
king was thinking was anybody’s guess and he shifted on his big legs, awaiting
the next move.

“You do not like it here in London,
do you?” Henry asked after a moment.

“I like London,” William replied. “But
my home is in the north.”

“Yet you were born near Worcester,”
Henry said. “Your grandmother is Welsh, your grandfather Norman.”

William grinned faintly. “There is a
bit of everything in my family, sire. Those relatives you mentioned were on my
father’s side. On my mother’s side, my grandfather was Saxon and my grandmother
was Saracen. He married her while on the crusade with Richard.”

“Both of your grandsires served with
Richard,” the king put in.

“Aye, they did and were great
friends,” William nodded. “Which is how my parents became betrothed.”

Henry knew that, for he had known
William’s father, Edward. He had been a highly intelligent man and devoutly
loyal to Richard. In fact, Edward de Wolfe was one of the forces behind the
Magna Carta, signed by Henry’s father, John.

“Did you ever know Richard’s
Defender, Christopher de Lohr?”

William shook his head. “Not really,
although he and my father were the best of friends. I met him once or twice
when I was young.” His eyes went distant, as if remembering the great man who
had been Richard’s right arm. “He was my hero. I wanted to be as great a knight
as the Defender of the Realm.”

“Three of his sons served me,” Henry
said, reflecting. “Six of his grandsons serve me in various posts, as well as
four of his brother’s descendants. David de Lohr was as great as his brother.”

“One of David’s grandsons, Maddoc du
Bois, is one of my closest friends.”

Henry nodded in recognition. “Du
Bois is a mighty, mighty knight,” he agreed. Then he eyed William through
blood-shot eyes. “You remind me of him a great deal.”

“Maddoc?”

Henry shook his head. “Nay,” he
said. “Christopher. You have his strength and character. But I doubt even de
Lohr had as great a reputation as you do.”

William was flattered; everyone knew
that Christopher de Lohr had been the greatest knight who had ever lived. “I
could never live up to the earl’s reputation, sire. I would not even want to
try; the man is a legend.”

“So are you,” the king replied
softly, then waved at William simply. “We are far off the subject. He gone, de
Wolfe, for I am fatigued.”

Grateful for the dismissal, William
quit the room.

***      

The party was on the road before
dawn. The fine carriage that had brought Jordan from Northwood now held her
sons, Byron and the wet nurse. Jordan wanted to ride with William, even though
she fell asleep soon after they had left Windsor.

The previous day had been as bright
and lovely as this day was soggy and cold. William rode at the head of the
column, his wife wrapped in a heavy fur-lined cloak, sleeping like a child in
his arms. It reminded him of the early days, when he had brought her from
Scotland, the days when he had fallen in love with her. Gazing down at her beautiful
face, he fell in love with her anew.

Two knights from Windsor accompanied
the party. Sir Roan d’Vant sat astride his mighty dappled steed to the rear of
the Northwood knights as well as a man by the name of Sir Broderick de Marsh.
Both men had served William in Wales and were honored to be asked to accompany
the troops back to Northwood.

They rode hard that day but barely
covered thirty miles. When night fell, Jordan fixed comfortable beds for the
babies in the carriage while William went through the trouble of pitching a
tent. He was tired of being wet all the time. He insisted that his wife sleep
with the babes, but she insisted on sleeping with him and argued loudly until
he kissed her hard simply to shut her up. She slept with him.

The next day of travel was much the
same, with the exception that it rained heavily the entire day and William was
absolutely firm that Jordan ride in the carriage where it was dry. She did,
reluctantly, but kept peeling back the oiled cloth to catch glimpses of her
husband as he rode tall and proud with the rest of his knights.

The third dreary day passed into the
fourth, fifth, and sixth, and they were drawing closer to Northwood. Jordan was
glad, tired of the ride even though the twins had been good as gold and slept
much of the time. But she was anxious for Northwood and for Jemma, and she
still had not asked William what had become of her family. The time had never
seemed quite right for there had been so many other things going on, and she
wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. Mayhap if could postpone the truth she
could still keep her hope alive.

She was riding with William again on
the seventh day. The sun was peeking in and out of the clouds, turning the
ground into a steam bath every time its rays warmed the earth. During the
morning, she and William had spoken of Lewis’ fate and Adam’s new title.
Although she should not have rejoiced over the death of a man, secretly, she
was glad Adam had killed his brother. She had more reason to hate Alexander than
almost anyone.

The ride progressed and the mood
turned jovial, and Jordan was laughing as she listened to Michael and Deinwald
complain, to Deinwald pick on Ranulf, to everyone teasing Corin. The knights
had even managed to pull Roan and Sir Broderick into the revelry, being quite
cruel to them in a good-humored sort of way.

The small caravan was passing
through a particularly dense section of forest when she felt William stiffen
behind her. He abruptly reined his destrier to a halt.

“What is it?” Paris was beside him.

William was scanning the trees.
Paris followed his gaze, studying the landscape, but saw nothing. After a
moment, William relaxed somewhat.

“Nothing,” he said. “Jordan, please go
back and ride with the babes.”

She twisted around to look at him. “Why?”

His hands were already on her,
lowering her to the ground. “Just do as I ask, love. Just for a little while.”

With a shrug, she gathered her skirt
and picked her way through the muddy road until she reached the carriage.
Seeing that she was safely inside, William lowered the faceplate on his visor.
Paris saw him and was alarmed.

“What is it, William?” he asked with
quiet urgency.

“I do not know yet,” William
replied. “This gauntlet of road unnerves me. Tell the men to be alert.”

Jordan was in the carriage and did
not see the knights sling their shields over the left knee, nor did she see the
faceplates go down. The men-at-arms put their hands on the hilts of their
swords.

The column began to move and she
busied herself by cooing to Troy, who was grinning happily back at his mother.
He had nearly doubled in size since his birth and had surpassed his brother in
weight. Byron sat opposite her, next to the busty wet nurse, remarking how much
this son looked like his father. Jordan proudly agreed.

She was first aware of trouble when
the carriage suddenly jerked to a halt and she heard William shout something
she didn’t understand. Alarmed, she moved to pull back the oiled cloth when the
side of the carriage was pelted violently with something that sounded like
falling rocks. She didn’t even imagine that they were arrows.

Her first thought was to protect her
sons. She and Byron put both boys on the floor of the carriage and surrounded
them by heavy blankets, pillows, anything they could find. Not a word was
spoken between them, but the wet nurse began to cry and Jordan pulled the woman
onto the floor as well. She was scared out of her mind but she knew that
William would protect them.

This was exactly what William had
feared. The stretch of road through which they were passing was a perfect spot
for an ambush and he suddenly found himself defending against an onslaught of
screaming soldiers. He saw archers in the woods and ordered his archers to take
out the positions, but strangely, he saw no knights on horseback. In spite of
that, however, he knew immediately that they were heavily outnumbered and he
maneuvered his steed toward the carriage.

“Go, man,
go!
” he roared to
the two soldiers driving the horses.

The men obeyed immediately, slapping
the frightened team with the reins and cracking the whip into the withers. The
carriage lurched several feet forward, only to be slowed by an onslaught of
enemy soldiers. William and the other knights drove their destriers toward the
carriage in an attempt to clear the way and set the rig free.

But it was difficult to get close
with so many soldiers in the way, all swinging their swords in a frenzy.
William found that he actually had to use his shield as he fought back, using
the pressure of his knees to guide his horse toward Jordan and his sons.

Out of the corner of his eye, he
caught a man on horseback dressed in bright, shiny armor. He jerked around to
get a better look and was neither surprised nor dismayed to see that it was
none other than Daniel de Troiu charging toward them.

“Damnation!” he spat, furious.

Paris was off to his left and beheld
the same sight. “William!” he shouted. “De Troiu is after Jordan!”

William knew that; God in Heaven, he
knew it. His anger brought him incredible strength as he tore through enemy
soldiers as if he were slicing though butter. Yet he could see that de Troiu’s
soldiers were creating an effective path through their mass for the earl to
pass through, directly to the carriage. The earl was taking great pleasure in
approaching the carriage where his target lay. Somewhere above all of the
shouting and screaming, William managed to roar Jordan’s name to warn her.

Jordan heard him and her heart went into
her throat. Why had he called her? Sweet Jesu’, was he calling her with his
last dying breath? She stood up and peeled back the oiled cloth with shaking hands.

There was a war going on around her
and she cried out when the sight met her eyes. She could see William, several
yards away, fighting furiously, trying to part the sea of men to get to her.
The other knights were also engaged in fierce battles, but it seemed as if they
were also trying to reach her. Everyone was trying to move toward her. Why?

De Troiu was nearly at the carriage
and William knew that he would not make it in time to defend his wife. He was fighting
as hard as he could, spurring his animal bloody in his attempt to reach her,
but he was not going to make it. He had a cross bow tied to his saddle, but in
order to get to it he would have to lower his shield and leave himself
vulnerable. There were so many enemy soldiers that each of his men were grossly
involved in their own fights and there was no one to protect his back as he
retrieved, cocked and aimed the bow. No matter. He would have to take the chance.
That bastard would not get his wife. Fighting off panic, he struggled to release
the bow.

Jordan was startled silly when the
door to the carriage suddenly ripped open and she almost fell out. A gauntleted
hand reached down and grabbed hold of her hair, but she fought and kicked and
screamed like a banshee, scaring the twins awake and they began crying.
Thinking quickly, Byron maneuvered himself enough to be able to reach into his
bag, withdrawing a sharp dagger, he managed to grab one of Jordan’s flailing
arms long enough to press it into her palm.

“Come with me now or I kill your
sons on the spot!” the helmeted man bellowed.

Jordan froze, recognizing the voice
but not believing what she was hearing. She was stunned; de Troiu would go
through all of this trouble to kidnap her? Was the man daft?

But her mind was working with
lightning speed. She had a dagger clutched in her left hand; if she could get
close enough to de Troiu she could kill him. With him dead, his men would
retreat and countless lives would be saved. God, she hated the thought of
killing a man. Killing and death made her ill; it always had. But this was a
matter of life and death, and she would protect her sons and William at all
costs.

But, in order to get close enough to
the earl, she would have to mount up beside him. She ceased her struggles
almost immediately.

“I will come with ye!” she cried in
a shaky voice. “Leave my babes alone. I will come.”