The Wolfe (43 page)

Jordan castle a long look at Kieran
and Michael before looking back down at the little girl. “Well, now, here I am,”
she said. “What do ye have for me?”

Mary Alys drew forth the treasure, a
tiny ball of fluff. It mewed loudly and Jordan saw that it was a kitten. She
laughed in delight, taking the animal from the child’s hand.

“A kitten.” She was thrilled,
cuddling the cat to her cheek happily. “Oh, Mary Alys, what a wonderful gift. l
do feel much better, thanks to ye.”

The little girl’s face threatened to
split in two with the width of her smile. “You were nice to us, lady. You are
the nicest prettiest lady we have ever had here.”

An older boy tugged at Mary Alys’
arm, pulling her away. Jordan smiled and patted the child on the head. “Thank
ye so much, Mary Alys,” she said. “I shall take good care of my kitten.”

The children dashed away, leaving
Jordan and Jemma cooing over the tiny creature. The knights were smiling openly
as well, appearances be damned. Hell, there had been so little to smile over
lately.

“I take it you intend to keep this
hairy rat?” William demanded with feigned sternness.

Jordan cradled the little animal to
her neck. “Of course I do, English,” she made little kissing noises to the kitten. 
“Isna he wonderful?”

“Hmm,” he pursed his lips. “Very
well, then. Come and let us take the rat with us to the lake.”

“M-mayhap we shall see if he can
swim,” Michael said thoughtfully.

Jordan and Jemma cried foul, making
the knights laugh.

“Ye’ll not touch my kitten, Michael de
Bocage,” Jordan insisted. “Or I shall ask Sir William, my protector, to soundly
thrash you.”

“He can try,” Michael mumbled for
Kieran’s amusement.

William heard the comment as he
lifted Jordan into his arms again. “For that, man, you may choose your weapon.
We duel come the dusk.”

“Then I choose the cat,” Michael
said. “I shall get it wet then throw it on you.”

William shook his head, fighting off
a grin. He was amazed at how much lighter moods had become since Jordan had
recovered. It was as if everything was right in the world once again.

Jordan was cuddling the kitten
happily and he glanced down at the thing. It was purring madly in her hands,
vibrating against his breastplate.

“How does it do that?” he wondered
aloud.

As Jordan grinned at him, a shout
from the parapets interrupted them.

“William.” It was Paris, high on the
wall above them.

The group slowed long enough for
William to yell back at him. “Aye?”

Paris beckoned to his captain. “Give
the mistress to Michael. I need you a moment.”

With a curse only Jordan heard, he
passed her to Michael and bade them continue. He would join them shortly.

Up on the wall, Paris met William
and motioned for him to follow. William followed Paris to the northwest corner
of the outer wall where several soldiers were already standing, straining their
eyes to see in the distance. William, too, became lost in the focus, watching the
horizon for several minutes.

“Incoming riders,” he said to Paris.
“They are flying a banner but I cannot see it as of yet.”

Several minutes passed as the tiny
dots grew into three riders, two of them flying banners. When the banner colors
became clear, William turned to Paris.

“Harringham,” he said. “The men are
in armor and the banner is warped.”

Paris nodded, his thoughts the same
as William’s. “There must be trouble.”

William simply nodded, shouting
orders to the soldiers on the outer wall, calling orders over to Ranulf on the
inner wall, who in turn got his men moving.

William descended the turret stairs,
pausing only long enough in a small room that he and Paris used as their
private armory to don strategic portions of his armor. Luke, ever near the
armory, was there and assisted the two knights with the heavy pieces. As the
lad latched on the greaves, or shin armor, William turned to Paris.

“Get the men assembled,” he told
him. “If Harringham is sending for assistance, then there is no telling what
has happened.”

Paris snorted in agreement, slapping
the latch where his breastplate met a portion of the backplate. “Hell, The
Lyceum holds as many soldiers as we do,” he said. “Do you suppose that old Earl
Coe became bold and tried to attack him again? Foolish, considering Harringham
is an avid military fanatic.”

William re-strapped his sword. “He
calls Captain de Lara ‘Marc Antony’ and has driven the man to drink with it.
The old fool believes himself to be Caesar.”

Paris smiled in agreement, although
they both respected Lord Harringham’s military knowledge as well as Captain de
Lara’s. They were strongly allied with Northwood and, between Northwood and the
Lyceum, covered nearly fifteen miles of the border with Scotland.

Scots, however, weren’t William’s
concern. As Paris had mentioned, Lord Harringham was in a bitter feud for land
rights with a neighboring earl named Coe. The earl had a sizable force and raided
the serf villages of Harringham every chance he got, as well as launching
full-scale attacks on The Lyceum itself. William was interested to know if
Harringham had finally had enough of Earl Coe and was going to request
Northwood’s assistance in riding him of the man once and for all.

By the time William reached the
outer bailey, the riders were being hailed entrance. Upon closer inspection,
William was distressed to see that the men were beaten and disheveled. He
approached the lead rider, the one with the tattered banner, and gripped the
reins of the horse.

“What goes on?” he demanded.

The man saluted William wearily. “Captain
de Wolfe,” he was out of breath. Lord Harringham requests your forces. The
Lyceum has been attacked, sir. Captain de Lara was killed in the first wave. “

A hush settled over the soldiers of
Northwood. William’s face was impassive as always.

“Who attacked you?” he asked calmly.

The man let out a sigh of pure
frustration. “Scots, My lord. Hundreds of ‘em. It started right after sun-up.
They were wearing their hunting plaid so they blended in with the forest. ‘Twas
difficult to see them sneaking up in the dark.”

William heard a female voice, two of
them, coming in through the outer gates directly behind The Lyceum’s soldiers.
Kieran and Michael were bringing Jordan and Jemma back into the keep, having seen
the riders enter themselves. Both women were protesting loudly and it did not
take a trained linguist to pick out their heavy Scottish accents.

The soldiers from The Lyceum instinctively
stiffened, drawing their swords and jerking their mounts around to face the
incoming Scots. William reached up and dismounted the soldier he had been talking
to as easily as if the man were no more than clothes stuffed with sawdust.

Paris jerked the other hapless man
from his horse while the third man was effectively disarmed and halted by Marc.
When William glanced up from the stunned soldier, he saw that Deinwald had put
himself between the mounted soldiers and the women; his face was set as William
had ever seen it. The ladies, however, were well protected behind the human
walls of Michael and Kieran.

The soldier was like a turtle on his
back with all of the armor he wore and William pulled the man effortlessly to
his feet. The soldier was dazed and confused, but quickly straightened when
William fixed him in the eye.

“Never draw your sword in the bailey
of Northwood unless you are prepared to die for the action,” his voice was like
cold steel. “The women you were preparing to gore with that spear of yours are
the future Countess of Teviot and her cousin.”

“My apologies, captain, but I have
just come from the enemy, and when I heard the burr….” he trailed off
helplessly.

William ignored the explanation,
although he understood somewhat. “How many men would you estimate you have
lost? And how many Scots were there?”

“We carry four hundred and
thirty-two men, sire,” the soldier said, weaving with fatigue. “I would guess
that we had lost one hundred by the time I left with the missive. As for the Scots,
‘tis hard to say. Mayhap as many as five hundred. They were everywhere, my lord.”

William nodded, absorbing the
information. Finally he turned to his gathered men. “Paris, assemble six
hundred men and a full complement of wagons. Kieran, send a missive to
Hawkgrove Castle and ask Earl Lowell for one hundred and fifty reinforcements
for our skeleton guard here at home. Deinwald, mount the archers. If we can
leave within the hour, we shall make it to The Lyceum by nightfall.” As each
man was delivered his orders, he dismissed himself and was gone. “Michael and
Marc, deliver the ladies to their rooms with a proper guard and then assemble
with the knights in the war room. Be gone.”

The knights and anyone else in the
bailey quickly scattered to do William’s bidding. Jordan caught a glimpse of
his dark head as he led the soldiers from The Lyceum away with him.

Jordan didn’t want him fighting
anyone else’s war. She needed him here, with her, safe. Her apprehensions only
increased when she saw the soldiers around her moving with determination, checking
weapons and strapping on armor. ‘Twould be too tragic if something was to
happen and…she squeezed her eyes tightly to block out that train of thought.

Michael, holding her close to him,
felt her head lay to rest on his shoulder and wondered if she were again
feeling poorly.

He insisted on depositing her
directly on her bed, although she could have well walked from the antechamber.
He ordered her to stay abed with gentle gruffness and ordered Jemma to support
his demand. Jordan thanked him sweetly, wishing he would leave so that she
could go to the window and look out for William. Marc reminded Jemma to bolt
the door after they left, which she gladly did just to be rid of their
hovering.

There were three men-at-arms
guarding her door, all of them older seasoned veterans, faithful to the core.
Michael sternly reminded them to guard Lady Jordan with their very lives,
unnecessary words but spoken for the knight’s peace of minds.

The soldiers agreed with impatient
smirks, one of them commenting that they were protecting a lady, in fact, not
the damn Holy Grail. Marc told him that if protecting the Holy Grail resulted
in failure, the wrath would be from God. Should protecting Lady Jordan result
in failure, the wrath would be from The Wolf.

The smirks faded and the gravity of
the situation came to life. Satisfied with the proper look of obedience on the
soldier’s faces, Michael and Marc left to go about their assigned duties in
preparation for the rapid deployment.

***

William sat in the war room with de
Longley, with all of his knights, and the three soldiers from The Lyceum. The earl
was gravely concerned about the status of his friend Lord Harringham and gave
his blessing for the show of support. In these matters it was always William
who gave the commands and made the decisions; the earl’s approval was a mere
formality. De Longley’s strong suit was not military operations, but rather
politics. That was why he and William made such a compatible pair. William possessed
the might and the intelligence to follow through, and de Longley was the
cunning diplomat.

With the majority of the urgent
matters settled, William’s attention turned to Jordan. As a rule, when the army
went in to battle, all of the knights rode with the troops and a mere shell of
a company was left at Northwood headed by a senior man-at-arms. Generally, it
was the same man, an older capable soldier named Bartholomew. He had been with de
Longley longer than William had been and had proven himself quite competent
when the captain and the guard were away.

Bartholomew had been severely
injured once in battle and had lost part of a hand, but that did not prevent
him from maintaining a strong home-front in William’s absence, Although
Bartholomew would never admit that he preferred remaining behind when the
troops went on maneuver, William knew that without four fingers the old soldier
felt like half a man. Therefore, he was saving face and doing him a favor when
William insisted he needed him to remain behind to guard the fortress.

The old soldier would again be left
in charge of the skeleton company, but this time William wanted to leave a
knight behind as well to be charged entirely with Jordan’s safety. He had yet
to broach the subject and was unsure as to how it would be received.

The soldiers from The Lyceum were
rested enough to ride back with Northwood’s army. William was leaning casually
against the wall by the window open to the outer bailey, listening to de
Longley’s chatter. He knew the earl was concerned about his friend, but there
was no time for idle talk.

“The time is now,” William announced
to his fully-armored knights. When the men stood poised, ready for the final
word, William turned away from the window. “However, there is one concern
remaining. I wish to leave one of my knights here to guard Lady Jordan. I will
insist upon this, but I will not force anyone unless I have to. I would prefer
to take a volunteer.”