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Once inside, he went straight to their bedchamber and attempted to set her upon the bed, but she balked.
“Dunna put me down, English.” She lay her head upon his shoulder. “Hold me for just a little while longer.”
The tone she used always melted him. “Can I take off my armor first?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said reluctantly, allowing him to put her down while he removed his mail and plates.
She watched him as he removed his tunic, then bent over her to remove her slippers. All the while she noticed a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Why are ye smiling?” she asked, weary.
He glanced at her, his eye twinkling. “I was simply thinking that you acted quite a bit like your cousin down there. Jemma may show her temper more often, but by damn, if you do not have the fire of the devil in you when you are riled.”
She fought off a grin, turning her head from him. “I thought ye wanted to forget about it.”
“I do,” he insisted, crawling onto the bed beside her. “But when I see greatness of strength I point it out. You, my lady, are a firebrand, and I for one, was proud of the way you rushed to my defense. You are very protective.”
She looked at him the, reaching out to trace the line of his face with her finger. “I am protective of what is mine,” she said softly. “Ye’re mine, English, and I want everyone in this decadent little town to know it. I shall kill anyone who threatens ye.”
He grinned. “Then you would be killing half of England, Wales and Scotland.”
She joined in his mirth. “Ye know what I mean, English. I mean of the female sex. Men naturally hate ye, but hate is the least of yer worries as far as women are concerned.”
He looked away from her with a careless shrug. “I care not what women think of me.”
She put her hand on his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Be that as it may, women are attracted to ye and ye must be mindful unless ye want to see yer wife end up in the Tower as a murderess.”
He laughed. “Would ye kill for me, truly?”
“Would ye kill for me?”
His frivolity was gone. “Without question. You are mine.”
CHAPTER FORTY
March was a bleak month. Much of the ground was still frozen and the sky was a constant shade of gray. The army kept warm with layers of clothing and armor and by marching twenty hours a day. William drove a hard pace, wanting to reach Northwood before she was razed.
William, Kieran and Deinwald said little, ate little, and slept less. They were all worried about their comrades and friends, wondering what state they would find them in upon their arrival. William felt increasingly guilty that Captain Payton-Forrester had been called into this war, as well as the other battle captains. He knew they had done it for him, and he was consumed with remorse for the losses he knew they had already sustained. This was not their battle. It was his.
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, with 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 were patrolling the perimeter, but there was 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.”
