The Wolfe (81 page)

Jordan sensed his emotions. She
leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Dunna fret. I shall be fine and
the babe will be fine. I promise not to have him on the road to London.”

“I shall hold you to that,” he
replied softly. “William will kill me if anything happens to you.”

She grinned, tipping his head up to
look at her. “Mayhap when he sees me, he will be angry enough to stay alive
just long enough to belt ye for letting me out of yer sight.” Her smile softened
as she gazed down into his worried blue eyes. “Dunna worry. Everything will be
fine. I willna let William die without a fight.

“I know.” He looked into her face,
seeing the face William loved so well and knowing exactly why he did love her
so. It would be so easy to…. “Kieran will be wondering where you are,” he
said softly. “’Tis time to go.”

She nodded. But her hand was still
on his face and she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Then we shouldna
keep him waiting.”

Feeling sad, depressed, Paris stood
up and extended his arm to her “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

She accepted it warmly and together
they went down to the bailey.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

The journey to London was thankfully
uneventful. Weary and exhausted, Kieran helped an equally exhausted Jordan from
the carriage. She stretched the fatigue from her body, gazing about at the
magnificent courtyard of Windsor Castle. She could scarce believe she had
actually arrived.

Kieran had brought the party in to
the northern entrance, crossing through the Great Park and entering through the
twin portcullises of the King’s Gate. The bailey, a vast open thing bustling with
activity, should have enthralled Jordan, but she could not muster the excitement.
She was focused on one thing; her husband. He was here, within this place, and
she had to see him.

Byron and Analiese exited the
carriage, standing close to their mistress as Kieran began shouting orders to
the soldiers. The knights accompanying him picked up the orders and suddenly
there were soldiers mobilizing and moving from the courtyard, leaving Jordan
alone with her carriage, her companions, and her wagons.

“How are you feeling?” Kieran asked
her gently.

“Fine,” she said shortly. “Where is
William?”

He took her arm and led her through
the entrance of the Earl Marshall’s Tower. She found herself staring at the
many, many people they passed, all dressed in the finest clothes she had ever
seen. The courtiers stared back at her as well, but she wasn’t the least bit
self-conscious with her enormous belly.

Jordan was tingling with
apprehension, afraid of what she would find when she finally came face to face
with her husband. She wished Kieran would run, fly, anything to reach William
immediately.

Down a corridor they ran head-on
into the king himself. Henry looked surprised to see her on Kieran’s arm,
looking her over with growing pleasure.

“Lady de Longley,” his voice was
soft but unmistakably powerful. “A genuine pleasure.”

Jordan curtsied and had to be helped
up by Kieran. “My lord king.”

Henry pulled back her heavy cloak,
revealing her stomach. He snorted. “God’s Blood, John must have planted an
entire population in that belly.”

Jordan flushed, angry and tired and
upset to the core. She discreetly pulled her cloak back around her and looked
the king in the eye.

“Might I have a word with ye in
private, sire?” she requested with controlled fury, although she was shaking
profusely. “‘Twill take but a moment and is most important.”

After a slight hesitation, the king
nodded. “Only a minute. I have duties to attend to.”

He drew her into a small antechamber
not far from where they met, leaving everyone else still congregated in the
corridor.

Kieran watched the closed door like
a hawk, wondering what in the hell Jordan was telling the king. He could guess
what it was but refused to believe it. Truth was, he was afraid to believe it.
He had no idea how the king was going to react.

The minutes drew long. Analiese
passed Kieran a couple of worried glances as Byron inspected the artwork lining
the hall, ignoring the strange stares of the king’s perfumed courtiers. The
corridor was silent save the sounds of servants and soldiers in the distance.

Deinwald rounded a corner and nearly
ran headlong into Kieran.

“I saw you ride in,” he exclaimed. “I
have been looking all over this bloody maze for you.”

“How is William?” Kieran fired at him.

Deinwald looked grave. “They have
called another priest. He has been with him for a while now.”

Analiese closed her eyes and lowered
her head. Byron picked up his bag and went to Deinwald.

“Take me to him, Sir Deinwald. There
is not a moment to waste,” he instructed firmly.

Deinwald looked torn. “Byron.…”

Byron pointed a gnarled white finger
at him. “No argument. Take me now.”

Kieran nodded briefly and Deinwald
complied, leading Byron back the way he had come.

“Dear God, Kieran,” Analiese moaned.
“He is not really going to die, is he?”

Kieran sighed. “Not if Jordan has
anything to say about it. What in the hell is taking them so long?”

As if she had heard them, Jordan
suddenly emerged from the room. She was alone and Kieran went to her immediately.

“Take me to my husband.
Now.
”

He didn’t hesitate.

***

William’s chambers were dim and
smelled strangely. Jordan’s nose wrinkled when she entered the dark
antechamber, glancing about. It was a lovely room, but didn’t suit him, she
thought. All of her determination fled and now she simply felt frightened. She
wanted to see him so badly but was scared to death of what she would find. But
no matter; he was her husband and he needed her.

“He is in here,” Kieran whispered,
pointing to the partially open door on the left.

Taking a deep breath and praying for
courage, Jordan plunged through the door.

There were several people in the
room. Her eyes immediately found the bed and the large, still figure lying upon
it. Her heart went into her throat when she saw William; he was as white as the
sheets upon which he lay, his glossy dark hair dirty and plastered to his head.
His head was turned away from her so that she could not see the majority of his
face and her imagination began to run wild. Fear and anticipation coupled and
her body began to tremble.

Byron was on the other side of the
bed, examining William closely. Not taking her eyes from her husband, Jordan
removed her heavy cloak and walked slow, halting steps to the edge of the bed.

“Byron?” she rasped.

Byron studied him a moment longer
before answering. “The eye and socket are healing well enough. There are no signs
of infection,” he said softly. “But he has been greatly weakened by this wound.”

Byron’s non-descript eyes met hers
for a moment and she gazed sadly at him. Then her eyes drifted back to her
husband’s still body. He was breathing slow and labored and when she reached
down to feel his pulse, his skin was clammy and his heart rate was slow. It
took her a moment to realize that he had given up the fight. He was not
fighting to live.

She was suddenly seized with a fury
she had never before experienced. He was not going to die. Damn him! His eye
was healing, but still he was not recovering.
Why?

Jordan wanted to be alone with him,
to feel him against her, to tell him how much she loved him. Even if he could
not hear her, she would tell him with every breath she took. He had to know she
was there and if he was not going to fight for his life, she certainly was. She
would not let him give up.

There were too many people in the
room, all breathing down her back at once. Her irritation exploded.

“Get out,” she snapped, looking up
at the faces she did not recognize. When they stared back at her blankly, she
became infuriated. “Are ye deaf? I said get out! Get the hell out of here, all
of ye. Ye damnable vultures; I shall not have ye in here waiting for his last breath.”

Byron knew she wasn’t talking about
him but he obeyed anyway, herding the priest and the royal physician with him
as he went. Kieran and Deinwald began to bully the occupants on the other side
of the room, quelling their protests until the entire room was clear.

When the smelly, dark room was
vacant, Kieran stood at the door. He watched Jordan’s back as she gazed down at
William, sadness tugging at his heart. He wished to God there was something more
he could do.

“I shall be in the next room should
you require me, Lady de Wolfe,” he said softly and closed the door.

Jordan stared down at William for a
long, long time, ignoring the ache in her back and her general fatigue. Slowly,
quietly, she went around to the other side of the bed so she could see his face.
She was apprehensive, of course, a strange and unknown fear. But the minute she
laid eyes on his beautiful face, she knew her fears were for naught. It really
was
her William.

The tears came then. She sat on the
bed, putting her hands on his face, cooing softly to him. There was a large
patch over his left eye. She bent over, kissing his face, her tears falling on
his cheeks. Gingerly, she lifted up the patch to reveal the new part of him she
had not yet seen.

There was no shock, nothing horrible
confronting her. A thick purple scar ran crossways across his eye, starting
near his nose and ending right over the brow bone. The eye was closed, a little
sunken, but nothing catastrophic. Jordan gazed at it a long time to become
familiar with it, seeing from the angle of the wound that indeed it could have
been much worse. She leaned down and kissed the eye twice before replacing the
linen patch.

She was exhausted. She wanted to lay
with him, whether or not he knew she was there. Talking to him the whole while,
she removed her clothes bit by bit until her glorious and naked pregnant form
was revealed. Before she realized it, she was singing softly to him as she
crawled beneath the sheets, the first touch of their flesh bringing tears anew,
but this time they were tears of contentment. God, it had been so long.

She lay with him the entire
afternoon, singing softly with his head pulled against her breast. She took his
limp hand and placed it on her massive belly, telling him of the baby’s habits.
She laughed when she told him he kicked like a mule and liked to keep her awake
during the night with his kicking and punching.

All afternoon and into the night she
sang, exhausting herself all the more but desperate beyond words to let him
know how much she loved him, how much his child loved him. Surely he would hear
her and it would give him the will to fight.

When Kieran came in well after dark
to light the tallow candle, she smiled wanly at him from where she lay cuddled
against William’s pale form. It struck Kieran as particularly pathetic and he
left the room with tears in his eyes.

Jordan slept intermittently through
the night, waking to talk to him, to feel his head, to smooth his brow. When
the baby kicked painfully, she grabbed his hand to lay it on the spot so that
he could feel the new life within her, the life they had created with their
love.

She fell asleep again and awoke
shortly before dawn. William hadn’t moved; his breathing still deep and
regular. There had been no change since her arrival and it was suddenly too
much for her to take; her bravery fled and she buried her face in the top of
his head, sobbing deep, wracking sobs that came from her very soul. She had
thought he would wake when he heard her voice, but he hadn’t.

Mayhap she had been wrong. Mayhap he
was going to die no matter what she did. She would not let him go. He could not
leave her, not when she loved him more than her own life. Her grief turned to
anger and she began pounding on his back, yelling at him, yelling at God for
being so cruel and then begging Him for mercy in the same breath. She would
have gladly traded her own life for William’s.

“Damn ye, William,” she wept,
slapping his cheek. “Ye canna leave me. Ye dragged me back from the pits of
hell to return to ye and now I forbid ye to leave me. I willna let ye!”

She dissolved into a flood of
hysterics, washing his hair with her tears. She kissed the inky locks, tasting
her own salty wetness, rubbing her hands against his skin.

“I love ye, English,” she whispered
so desperately. “Dunna leave me. Dunna leave yer son.”

Exhausted beyond her limit, she fell
into a deep, heavy sleep, his face buried in valley between her breasts.

***

Something was tickling her. She
twitched, scratched at her nose, but it was persistent. Then it was as if the
whole bed moved and she startled herself awake, seized with horrid fear that
William had died and that they were trying remove him from the bed.