The Wolfe (87 page)

Yet he knew that they would not
blame him in the least, for many was the time when he had come to their aid
unselfishly. In the realm of the battle lords, they pledged their lives to
protect and serve one another. There was no placing of the guilt. ‘Twas an
honor to serve each other, and especially serve The Wolf.

It was the fifth night of the battle
march. Well after midnight, it would only be another two hours before they were
on the march again. The men were weary but alert, taking the time to pitch
lean-to’s to protect them from the moisture in the air. William hadn’t even
brought a tent or a tarpaulin with him; any sleeping he had done had been with
his back against a tree, never more than an hour at a time. He too was weary,
but never had his mind been so alert.

The night around him was quiet and
dark, faint sounds from forest creatures softly piercing the icy air. The smoke
from the fires was heavy, filling his nostrils with the acrid odor. The camp
was still for the most part. Sentries patrolling the perimeter but not much
more activity than that. Somewhere over to his left he could hear Deinwald
scolding someone; the man was becoming more like Ranulf every day.

Kieran strolled over to him. He was
sporting three day’s growth of beard, unusual for the usually clean-shaven knight.
He had slept even less than William but looked completely vigilant.

“Northwood on the morrow,” he
remarked, his gaze falling over the camp.

William watched the fading bonfires
flicker against the darkness. “Aye,” he replied. “Before sundown, I would
guess. I would furthermore hope that our messenger got through.”

“It is entirely possible the man was
unable to break through the Scot lines,” Kieran said. “Northwood may well be
advised of our arrival when they see us upon the horizon.”

“We bypassed Beverly today,” William
said. “I thought of stopping to see if they had any news but thought better of
it. It would have cost us time.”

Kieran shook his head. “It doesn’t
matter, anyway. We shall find what we find upon arrival. What was current news
yesterday might be obsolete today.”

William glanced at his second,
studying the man’s face for a moment. “I have not had the chance to express my
condolences on the loss of your child. I am truly sorry, Kieran. My heart
breaks for you.”

Kieran looked at him, a brief flash
of pain in his eyes that was as quickly gone. “There will be more children, I
am sure,” he said softly. “‘Twas God’s will that this child should die, I
suppose, but I am eager to see Jemma. I am crushed to think of her going
through such a tragedy alone.”

William nodded somberly. “I could
not imagine not being at Jordan’s side when she delivered. To be apart from
your wife is bad enough, but to have something like this happen….” He shook his
head, unable to continue.

Kieran shifted on his big legs,
trying to fight off the grief William had inadvertently brought up. He’d had a
devil of a time coming to terms with the death of the baby and the fact that he
had not been there, which was why he had slept so little. Every time he closed
his eyes he saw Jemma in the throes of childbirth only to deliver a dead child.
It tore at him like nothing he had ever experienced.

“I suppose she will beat me for not
having been at her side,” he mused darkly.

“I suppose.”

Kieran kicked at the dirt. “In
faith, she has a temper the likes of which I have never seen equaled, but there
is a much softer side to her that most never see,” he said softly, thinking of
his raven-haired wife. “She has a good heart and she is very loving. Even
though she pretends otherwise, she is fiercely loyal to Northwood and the
knights. Even Paris. She does like him, although he irks her.”

William grinned. “And she irks him.
God, those two are a pair.”

Kieran’s smile faded just a bit. “‘Twas
probably he who comforted her after.…”

William wanted off the subject. He
was missing Jordan and the twins dreadfully, more so now.

“What have you decided to name the
boys?” Kieran asked, a little brighter.

William grinned, wiggling his
eyebrows.” My wife decided to name them Scott and Troy, after her family name
and after Paris. I had no choice in the matter.”

“Scott and Troy,” Kieran repeated. “They
are strong names. Aye, I like them very much. If you have a daughter will you
call her Helena?”

“Not likely,” William snorted. “I
will name my daughter what I want, whether or not my wife likes it.”

Kieran leaned back against the tree,
grunting when his armor dug into him. “Sure you will, William.”

William made a wry face, conceding
the point. The man could command over a thousand men with complete control, yet
he was spineless in the presence of one small, lovely female. She was the true
power behind the strength of The Wolf.

An hour later, they roused their
men, eager to get on to Northwood.

***

It was unlike anything they had ever
seen.

It all started with trails of smoke
on the horizon, lifting above the trees into the early morning air.  Knowing
the smoke was coming from the direction of Northwood, William grew concerned
and began to push the army faster.  Knights slung shields over their left knee
for easy access and sword were at the ready.  They were prepared for a battle,
prepared to jump into the fracas even after a week of heavy travel.  This was
what they had come for.

The smoke grew heavier the closer
they drew.  Scouts were sent out to make contact with the castle. By the time
they passed through a series of dense trees, the full view of Northwood came
into view and it was more than they could have imagined.  It looked as if the
castle was being overrun, even at this early hour; smoke billowed from the
structure and the gatehouse looked as if it had been breached. It was crawling
with men, but from their distance they couldn’t quiet tell who, exactly, it
was.  The closer they came, however, the more evident it became.

They met the Scots full bore,
plunging into their lines like crazed men, eager to retrieve what was
rightfully England’s. Metal met metal, metal met flesh. There was no stopping
what had come, and there was no stopping The Wolf.

Paris was on the inner wall of
Northwood. He saw the incoming army, hoping beyond hope it was reinforcements
from London. When the banners were released and he caught the king’s signature,
he was filled with joy and relief. All of his desperate prayers had been
answered.

The Scots had breached the outer
bailey and the majority of the fighting from that point had been to prevent
them any further advancement. All of the outbuildings had been destroyed or
badly damaged, and any passages that connected the outer to the inner wall had
been destroyed or rendered fairly useless by Northwood’s troops.

But the battle had been hellish for
Northwood; not being able to accompany the allied armies to Scotland had been a
blow even though it had been expected. Beverley’s army even took to marching
past Northwood on their way to the battle simply to show Alexander that at
least one army was loyal to the crown. And to William. There had no doubt of
that message, either.

Which was why Paris’ heart twisted
at the sight of the king’s army. He knew Kieran was with them, as was Deinwald.
But they were flying a banner he had not seen and assumed it was the colors of
the new king’s champion. He didn’t recognize it. His heart ached to know how
Jordan was faring. With William presumably dead, he would marry her and claim
the babe for his own. If William could not take care of her, then he would. It
had taken him a whole hour to come to that decision.

There had been a slight pause in the
battle when the king’s army charged like a raging bull, plowing head-on into
the line of Scots that had hastily assembled. The Scots in the outer bailey had
filed outside of the walls to meet the challenge, giving Northwood’s army
inside a bit of reprieve.

Paris and William Payton-Forrester
had fought side-by-side for several days and now stood looking at the king’s
army as if they were eyeing a Christmas feast. Captain Brockenhurst of
Deauxville Mount joined them, wiping away blood from a fresh cut to his neck.
He was a tall, wiry man who could fight like the devil. He flipped up his visor
to get a better look at the king’s troops.

“By damn,” he muttered. “If that
isn’t a welcome sight.”

Payton-Forrester grinned, slapping
the man on his armor. “Old Henry came through after all. Looks like the whole
damned of England is here to fight.”

“Aye,” Paris nodded, his eyes glued
to the fight below. “Can either of you see Kieran or Deinwald?”

“Nay,” Payton-Forrester shook his
head. “There are too damn many of them.”

Paris searched and searched,
straining to recognize the tiny men below. Then, suddenly, he froze. His blue
eyes widened and utter disbelief filled him like a flood.

He could not believe what his eyes
were telling him. It was too incredible. He gripped the side of the wall,
leaning forward as if the action could make him see all the better. He
sincerely thought he was hallucinating out of pure wishing.

It was a miracle.

A slow smile spread across his face.
“My dear and sweet God,” he murmured.”

“What is it?” Payton-Forrester
demanded.

Paris let out an almost hysterical
chuckle, sounding more like he was gasping for air. He chuckled again. Then he
broke out in loud, happy bursts of laughter. “Lads, ‘tis not only the king’s
armies that have come to our aid, but the damn Wolf is leading them.”

Payton-Forrester and Brockenhurst
almost fell off the wall trying to jockey for a better position to see
precisely what Paris was talking about.

“Where is he?” Brockenhurst
demanded.

Paris raised a gauntleted hand,
pointing. “There, Stephen; astride the dark gray destrier, smack in the middle
of the fight.”

Brockenhurst saw him. He smiled
widely. Payton-Forrester caught sight of William as well.

“Paris, you said he was dead,” he
gasped.

“I said he was dying,” Paris
corrected him. “I could only assume that he had died since Kieran had held out
so little hope.” He grinned down at the battlefield. “Jordan was right.”

“Jordan? His wife?” Payton-Forrester
asked.

“Aye,” Paris replied. “She pulled him
through just like she said she would.”

Brockenhurst stood back, crossing
his arms confidently. “Well, lads, I say we notify the troops. Knowing The Wolf
is fighting outside these very walls ought to boost moral tenfold. It should
only be a matter of time before he breaks through the lines and sends those
bastards back where they came from.”

The three men heartily agreed on
that issue. “Take care of it, Stephen. I shall keep an eye on the fighting from
here.”

And he did exactly that, his eyes
never leaving William for a minute. He didn’t even care that he was grinning
like an idiot.

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

The Scots were tired, as they well
should have been. They had been fighting for nearly three weeks off and on;
first at Langton and then at Northwood. William was having little difficulty dispatching
them, since he was fresh. It seemed more to him like cutting wheat the way men
were falling beneath his sword. At one point he even managed to pull one of the
king’s knights aside and told him to send Northumbria and The Lyceum’s troops
home; with three thousand fresh men to the fight, the Scots were as good as
gone.

Northumbria pulled back and headed
for home licking his wounds, but old Baron Harringham stayed on, hanging back
in the trees and monitoring the fight. He had only five hundred men after the
attack on his keep last year, but he had pledged the entire five hundred to aid
Northwood when a frightened peasant came to his keep with a horrible story to
tell. Besides, Harringham liked to see a good fight. And with the king’s troops
involved, it promised to be entertaining.

The battle raged into the night. It
began to rain terribly, drenching everyone until they were like soggy rags. But
they kept going, sword on sword, dodging maces and arrows. William set up a
line of Welsh archers that pounded the Scots mercilessly. He was trying to herd
them away from the main gates as a dog herds sheep when, eventually, his
efforts began to pay off.

Unfortunately, several hundred Scots
had taken refuge in the outer bailey and he was having a devil of a time
getting his own men in to flush them out. He didn’t want any of Northwood’s
troops trying to remove them because that would have meant opening the only
gate that separated Northwood from complete occupation. He preferred to keep
the embattled allied troops safe in the inner bailey and allow him to worry
about removing the Scots.

The war rampaged on into the wee
morning hours. William managed to get several hundred troops into the outer
bailey and began the process of driving the Scots out. He put Deinwald to
monitoring the progress on the outer bailey while he and Kieran continued
beating the hell out of the Scots outside the wall.