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“Ye married an Englishman, too?” he looked down at her dark head. “Ye hated English more than any of us, lass.”

“Kieran is a sweetheart of a man, Da,” Jordan said, looking at her cousin. “And he’s as big as a tree.”

“So is that mountainous man ye’re married to,” Thomas reminded her. “I could hardly believe my Jordi married The Wolf.”

She smiled up at her father happily, reacquainting herself with his face. “Aye, I did, and I love him with all my heart. He is not as the legends paint him to be. He is wonderful.”

Thomas made a wry smirk. “He may very well turn into The Wolf of legend when he catches up with ye. How could ye be so daft? He will murder us both.”

“Nay, he will not,” she kissed her father on the cheek. “Oh, Da, ’tis so good to be home!”

*

William would not ride into Scotland with anything less than a fully functional fighting army. With two hundred mounted archers flanking the column, he mobilized 800 men within two hours and set off for the border.

He set a hard pace, planting himself at the very head of the army and speaking to no one. He was as grim and as serious as anyone had ever seen him. They would march until they reached Langton and plow through anyone who got in their way. He fully realized that the intrusion of a huge English army into Scotland would be interpreted as an act of war, but he was willing to take the gamble. Jordan could very easily be in the hands of the enemy right now and he was prepared to burn down the whole of Scotland to get her back.

All the while he kept thinking what he was going to say to her when he found her. Half of him wanted to take a switch to her luscious white behind for her flagrant disobedience, but the other half of him simply wanted to hold her close and thank God that she was safe. The fact that she newly carried his babe cut into him like a white-hot blade of anguish. He was, in fact, going to be rescuing two lives that belonged to him and he prayed with a passion that he would not be too late. God, what this woman did to him.

Roan rode behind him, watching The Wolf’s straight back and wondering if his cousin had received the missive. Was Andrew mobilizing at that very moment, or had the missive had been burned in a fit of haughty laughter? He furthermore wondered if William was going to skin him alive for his interference. He was extremely hopeful that everything would work out as he had planned, but he pondered with every fall of his destrier’s hooves if his actions were those of an intelligent man. Who in their right mind would undermine the legendary Wolf?

Paris, Kieran and Adam rode a little behind William, flanking him. Michael, Ranulf, Deinwald, Jason and Marc rode behind them, leaving Corin and Roan bringing up the rear of the auspicious group, directly in front of the men-at-arms. A departure from their usual battle marches, there was no light conversation and no laughter. They were all silent; deadly silent.

Adam, even as the new earl, had insisted on going. William could see that the young man would not be content to be a passive leader, as his father had been. Adam had been training for the knighthood most of his life and fully intended to take an active role in leading his army. William was glad for the first time that he was no longer captain of Northwood’s forces, for he certainly did not want to compete with Adam; he was used to being the sole leader in battle. He wondered how Paris was dealing with Adam’s new role, for the man had said nothing. And it furthermore gave him the hope that Paris might consider moving with him to Questing, leaving the young earl to lead Northwood.

William could only guess that he was four or five hours behind his wife, enough time for her to get into trouble. William gripped the reins tighter; ever since he had met her he had been unable to prevent harm from befalling her. The arrow, the infection and fever, the attack from the soldier, and de Troiu’s vicious attempt to take her… he had felt as if he had failed her in those situations, as much as he knew otherwise. He was not used to failure in any way.

And he would not fail her now. He may die trying, but he would not fail her.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

It was close to dawn but Thomas had not slept the entire night. He sat awake, watching his daughter and niece sleeping on the stone floor, afraid if he slept he would awake and discover it was all a dream. He smiled at the two of them, sleeping exhaustedly. So he was to be a grandfather again, as well as a grand-uncle. ’Twas nearly the only bit of information they discussed before they both fell into a fatigued sleep. But he was gravely worried, for both their sakes.

They had to leave Scotland and return home, for he was fearful that the clans would catch wind of their visit and come for them. The thought of his sweet Jordan in enemy hands was enough to make him sweat with panic; lord, what they would do to her. And to Jemma, too. All of the knights in England could not save them if the clans came.

They had to leave immediately, he decided firmly. And as they could not go alone, he would have to take them himself. As joyful as he was to see them both, to know they were both happy and healthy, he knew he had to get them the hell out of Scotland or their pleasant state would be temporary.

Jordan awoke after daybreak to the beloved face of her father. He greeted her warmly and offered her a bit of cheese and watered wine for breakfast. She ate Jemma’s, too, for when her cousin awoke, she went right to the basin and vomited.

“She is having a worse time than I am,” Jordan told her father solemnly.

In the daylight, Thomas showed them what had become of the fortress. His mood was upbeat, however, in that he planned great renovations. He insisted the clans did him a favor by forcing him to revamp his keep, but it was a still sobering sight. He furthermore proceeded to show Jemma the graves of her mother and brother and held her while she cried. But the remaining unspoken question was apparent in both of the women’s expressions.

“Where did they take Callie?” Jordan asked finally. “And where are Uncle Matthew and Ian, and the rest of them?”

Thomas shook his head sadly. “I dunna know, lass. I havena heard anything about them. All I can imagine is that they are prisoners, somewhere.”

“Then ye dunna think they are dead?” Jemma whispered.

“Nay, lass, I dunna,” he said firmly. “I feel that they are very much alive, although I dunna know why I feel that way. They are somewhere, holed up in someone’s keep.”

“All of them?” Jordan wanted to know.

“Aye,” Thomas was amazingly confident in his answers. “I simply canna believe that the clans would wipe all of the Scotts out.”

Jordan watched her father in the morning light. He was much grayer and thinner than she remembered. “Who, then?” she demanded in a whisper. “And where?”

He looked at her. “Ye want my opinion? I canna give ye facts,” he replied. “I think it is the McKenna because of Malcolm’s ties to them. Dunbar McKenna is a mean bastard and an opportunist. His plans were foiled when he tried to destroy Northwood, and with Scott hostages he still has a bargaining chip with the English.”