Page 215

Paris shook his head. Since when did The Wolf show mercy? It seemed to be linked to this new change that Paris was having a difficult time determining, a new dimension that William had taken on. He was not displeased.

The war raged on for a full day and night, until the Scots finally crossed over into their own country. Across Carter Bar, they fled through the lowlands, leaving the English army wearily cheering with victory.

William, Paris, Deinwald, Michael, Ranulf, Marc, Jason and Corin sat on their steeds, side by side, watching the remnants of the Scot army fade in the distance. A few of the knights that had come with William from London sat several feet back. They knew to join the front rank of knights would have been an intrusion into the personal circle of The Wolf.

“Thank God, those bloody bastards,” Marc said, propping his helmet up on his forehead and wiping the sweat and grime off his face.

The others nodded, except for William and Paris. They both knew of the promise William had made to Jordan, and they both knew he would follow through and ride into Scotland after the fleeing clans.

The men watched until the enemy troops disappeared and then some. The horses began to get restless, weary like their masters to return home, but no one would move until William gave the order. Finally, he tightened his grip on his heavy leather reins and his destrier’s head came up in anticipation of a command.

“Paris, take the men back to Northwood,” he said. “I have unfinished business to attend to.”

“We go with you, baron,” Paris said quietly.

William turned to him. “Nay, you do not. I will do this alone.”

Paris spurred his horse forward and nearly plowed into William. “Do not be foolish,” he growled. “You cannot do this alone. You must take us with you, if for no other reason than to cover your flanks. She is a part of us, too, William.”

William looked hard at him, albeit through his lowered faceplate. Paris was right, of course, in all aspects of his statement, but William would not dream of asking anyone to accompany him on this dangerous journey.

“Where in the hell are you going?” Deinwald finally asked what they were all thinking.

Paris turned around, speaking so that all of the knights could hear. “He promised his lady wife that he would personally see what happened to her home and family. He intends to ride to Langton.”

“Not without me, he’s not,” Ranulf gripped the reins on his destrier so tightly that the animal jumped in expectation of the prick of the spurs. He jerked the animal back, waiting.

As he knew they would, every knight chimed up to volunteer their services. William’s horse was so excited he was having a hell of a time keeping him in one spot as he gazed back at his men. He knew even if he denied them that they would follow. He could spout orders until he was blue in the face for them to return, but he knew they would disobey.

“De Moray!” William raised his visor and bellowed back to the king’s captain of the troops. “Take the troops back to Northwood. Await me there.”

The captain acknowledged him and the order spread through the troops to retreat. Satisfied at least some of his men were obeying his orders, William glared menacingly at his knights before slapping his visor back down again.

“We ride,” he growled, urging his destrier north at a full gallop.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The road to Langton was completely deserted. The seven knights and the baron rode the entire day, stopping only once to feed and water the horses, who had been in constant service for days. Hearty as they were, they were not invincible. Properly rested, they resumed their hell-bent pace and continued to Langton Castle.

William was somewhat prepared for the sight. But not entirely.

The castle he remembered, his wife’s home and the seat of her clan was, literally, a shell of its former self. They slowed their pace as they came upon it, keeping vigilant of the surrounding trees for any signs of life, but they were vacant and barren. The landscape surrounding the fortress was vacant and barren, too, shades of gray blending into one another. It looked like a desolate wasteland, eerie under the light of the full silver moon.

William reined his destrier to a walk as they came upon the once-mighty wall, now partially destroyed. His jaw ticked as he examined the damage, the complete carnage that had taken place. God, how the allied clans must have hated the Scotts for bonding with the English, and the hatred was evident at the destruction he saw. He could plainly see that the reports were not exaggerated. It was utter destruction at its very height.

He didn’t realize he had come to a halt surveying the damage. His knights stopped behind him, their eyes roving over the blackened hulk, wondering what in the hell happened to the clan but at the same time catching the unmistakable whiff of death on the cold air.

William was mesmerized by the sight, his heart breaking for Jordan. This was where she had been born and raised, and he could only imagine how he would feel if he had not been successful in defending Northwood. Yet his former home stood and hers was razed. He glanced about, feeling ill and wondering what had become of her father and her considerable extended family.

“Langton carried hundreds of men,” he murmured, removing his helmet deliberately. “Where are they? Dead, all of them?”

“Damnation, William, you fought the Scots that attacked us,” Paris said with disgust. “They were like dogs on a feeding frenzy. And you fought them after they had been in the field for weeks.”

William stared at the burned-out shell a moment longer before dismounting. He propped his helmet on his saddle, dreading what he was going to find once he entered the structure. With a reluctant glance at Paris, he began to pick his way through the crumbled wall. The other knights dismounted and followed.

It must have been a strange sight; eight armored English warriors picking their way across a devastated Scot bailey. Once they crossed through the debris from the destruction of the wall and actually entered the bailey, there were plenty of bodies for their viewing displeasure.

Men, women, children; it made no difference. They were all dead, the lot of them, and William found himself increasingly apprehensive of the fate of Jordan’s family. He hoped to God that they had not been captured and made an example of. Better to die quickly in battle than rot away in a dark hole somewhere, or be maimed, or tortured.