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Thomas looked dubious at first, then his face relaxed a bit. “Aye, ye are at that,” he snickered ironically. “Good Lord, The Wolf is my son. So what are ye driving at, lad?”

“Simply that it is a son’s duty to assist his father in any way possible,” William neatly summed up the conversation. “As your son, I will help you with your dead.”

Thomas looked at him a long moment. “Ye’re a sly one, Wolf. Very well, ye may help me, but be gone wi’ ye come the dawn.”

William grinned. “Aye, my lord. And by the way, you may call me William.”

Thomas raised his brows. “Not The Wolf? Ye would take away an old man’s pleasure?”

William laughed. “Oh, very well, suit yourself. Hell, your daughter does, no matter what I say.”

“What does she call you?” Thomas asked.

William gave him a twisted smirk. “‘English,’” he said. “Bloody hell, for the first week I did not even know if she knew what my Christian name was.”

Thomas laughed, moving with William down the dark hall as they proceeded to the devastated bailey, feeling as if there were light and hope left in the world.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Kieran pounded into the bailey of Northwood as if he had no intention of stopping. Racing through the gates into the inner bailey, he finally reined his chestnut destrier to a halt. He nearly fell from the animal as he dismounted, his haste and fatigue getting the better of him. He had to get to his wife with an urgency he felt to his bones.

The innards of Northwood’s keep were icy and dank as his boots made sharp noises against the stone and his armor rattled. He didn’t even know where Jemma might be, but he assumed she was in the same rooms Jordan had occupied in the family’s wing.

That wing was his destination. If she wasn’t there, he’d tear down the damn fortress brick by brick until he found her.

God help him, the closer he got the more apprehensive he became. All of the grief he had fought off was threatening to rampage once again in his heart, but he could not let it. He had to remain in control until he determined Jemma’s state of mind. He was actually fearful that she might hate him for having deserted her in her hour of need, but he told himself she had more sense than that. Jemma was hot tempered and over-reactive, but she was not foolish.

His boots met with the expensive rug that indicated the wing of the de Longley family. He forced himself not to run the rest of the way.

He paused outside the door that led to Jordan’s room, taking a deep breath to brace himself before entering. With a mental shakedown, he lifted the latch.

The room was warm, a fire burning brightly in the huge hearth. He was immediately met by Aloria, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

“Sir Kieran!” she exclaimed. “We thought you were with the army in the field.”

He removed his helmet and tossed it onto the nearest table. “Where is my wife?”

Aloria’s eyes took on another, more hesitant look. She glanced at the door behind her before taking a few steps in his direction.

“She is in her bed, sire, but…I want to forewarn you,” she said quietly. “Her humor is bad and her moods are ugly. When your daughter died…I think a part of her did, too. She is having a most difficult time dealing with her grief.”

Kieran looked at the woman before allowing his gaze to drift over her blond head and to the half-open door. Somehow he suspected that Jemma would not recover well from the death of the babe; her nature was too deep and too caring.

With a sharp nod, he went through the bedchamber door and closed it softly behind him, leaving Aloria alone in the large antechamber; wondering if she should stay or leave. Her heart went out to the big, gentle man.

Jemma’s room was dark. He could make out his wife lying on her side in the huge bed and wondered if she was sleeping. Timidly, he moved around the bed to catch a glimpse of her face.

“Get out,” Jemma spat.

“ ’Tis me, sweetheart,” he said huskily.

Jemma sat bolt up in the bed, her amber eyes wide with astonishment. Kieran was shocked by the sight of her; she was so pale that she was gray, and somewhere in her grief she had cut off all of her glorious dark hair. His eyes widened at the above-shoulder cut, choppy at best, and dirty as sin. All of her satin hair was gone. Yet through his astonishment, his first thought was how sweet and pixie-ish she looked.

The bedclothes she lay in were yellowed with stain and dark splotches he assumed to be blood. He wondered horrifically if it were the surcoat she gave birth in and had refused to change it. Her appearance was even worse than he had imagined and he was sickened.

“Ye’re here!” she gasped.

“Aye,” he tried to smile. “I came as soon as I could.”