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“Ranulf and Deinwald,” William ordered. “I want the men with swords in hand as soon as we cross the border. I shall not make it easy for a surprise attack.” When his knights saluted and moved back along the column to deliver the orders, William slapped down his faceplate and turned to Michael. “Bring the archers forward so that they flank the knights.”

His men moving to do his bidding, it was apparent to everyone that The Wolf was with them and they knew that half of the battle was already won. Their adrenalin and their confidence surged. With The Wolf leading them, the fearsome Wolf of the border, defeat was not an option. And God help the bastards who held his wife.

*

The army came across Thomas Scott just inside the border. At first, William could scarce believe what he was seeing. Laird Scott was sitting by the road. Simply sitting. William dismounted and walked hesitantly toward the man, taking off his helm. Thomas still did not look up.

He stood next to Thomas for several long moments before crouching down on his haunches. Only when he put his hand on the laird’s shoulder did Thomas finally look at him with glassy eyes.

“My lord?” William said softly.

Thomas blinked. Then he blinked again and his eyes slowly focused. “Wolf,” he croaked. “Ye have come.”

William gave him a wry smile. “We were already on our way here,” he said with faded mirth. “Jemma found us. She said the McKenna took my wife.”

Thomas nodded unsteadily. His movements were slow and dreamlike. “Aye, they did. Abner McKenna threw her over his saddle like a sack of oats and took her back to the keep,” he replied weakly. Suddenly, his eyes welled. “Oh, lord, they took my Jordi. They will kill her.”

William stood up so fast that he had to step back to catch his balance. “Nay, they will not.” he bellowed. “Get up. You are coming with us.”

“She is dead, I tell ye,” he cried. “They are going to kill her and there is nothing ye can do, Wolf.”

William was losing his hard-fought control again. “Do not ever say that again,” he demanded harshly. “I will not hear it.”

Thomas wisely kept his mouth shut, wiping at his eyes as William struggled to compose himself.

“Why did they leave you here?” he asked after a moment.

Thomas actually showed some emotion other than sadness. He looked genuinely puzzled. “ ’Twas strange, lad,” he said. “After Abner left wi’ Jordan, the soldiers mumbled something about not wanting to bloody their hands with me and left me as ye see. True McKenna soldiers would have killed me.”

“True McKenna? Talk sense, man,” William snapped.

His father-in-law sighed heavily. “What I mean, William, is that the soldiers with Abner were still of different clans. This means two things; that the clans are still banded, but that they are having second thoughts about the alliance. Soldiers only repeat what they’ve heard or been told, and I am led to think that their lairds are questioning the wisdom of what they have already done.”

William looked perplexed for a moment, digesting the words. “Then, if it is how you say, Jordan might still have a chance,” he said quietly. “Come now; get up. We ride.”

Thomas didn’t move until William reached down and hauled him to his feet. Pulling the laird by the arm, he handed him over to a soldier with the instructions to take him to Byron’s wagon. Thomas did not utter so much as a protest.

Mounting firmly, William slapped on his helmet with one hand and gathered his reins with the other as his destrier did an excited dance beneath him. With a wide wave of his arm, the column was moving again to the northwest.

William was beyond angry. What he was feeling was the most explosive fury he had ever encountered. He would not be satisfied at simply retrieving his wife. He would burn McKenna Keep to the ground and kill everyone occupying it, and any other Scot unfortunate to get in his way. They were dead, all of them, and he would delight in taking the credit for the massacre. This was bloodlust.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Jordan stood in the filthy, stinking grand hall of McKenna Keep. She was shaking from the chill, from the shock and the fear that she felt as well as from pure fatigue. She was still dressed in the breeches, tunic and boots, wondering what in the world was going to happen to her now. Abner had left her in the company of a dozen horribly smelly, dirty soldiers who leered and smirked at her while he went to find his father.

She was terrified. Half of her wanted to fight and scream and kick her way from this place, but the other half simply told her to resign herself to her fate. She prayed vehemently that somehow, Jemma had gotten through and even now William was on his way to rescue her. Yet when she thought of her father’s fate, tears of grief sprang to her eyes. She wondered if the soldiers had been merciful with his execution.

“Greetings, Jordan,” came a familiar voice.

Jordan knew the voice. She stiffened and turned around, her face a mask of hatred and disgust.

Malcolm stood several feet away. When their eyes met, he stepped forward. “So they found ye, I see.”

She could not think of one rational thing to say to him. Her hatred was as great as any she had ever known.

“You bloody bastard,” she snarled. “I hope ye rot in hell for what ye have done.”

He actually looked saddened by her fury, unsure of himself. “I know ye hate me, as ye should. But what is done is done.”