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“Come, then,” he slammed his visor down. “Let us rescue my foolish, brilliant wife and then we can all take a turn spanking her lovely white bottom.”

Paris closed his visor, covering his wolfish grin. “With pleasure.”

Using hand signals, the army moved forward into the shelter of the trees, silently pacing themselves toward the distant keep. William had the men in three rows of three hundred men each, creating a wide band of men that would be impossible to escape around. They were establishing an effective sweep; driving everything in their path into the battle arena for annihilation.

William was not concerned that they be silent, for at this point it was too late for the enemy to escape them anyway. He almost wanted the Scots to hear him coming; to know that The Wolf was stalking them. He was ready for this, perhaps more prepared than he had ever been for any battle in his life.

The knights were evenly dispersed along the front line and the archers were staggered in the back row. Roan was down the line to William’s left, thinking that this terrain was far different from fighting in Wales. He wondered with apprehension if d’Vant had received and answered his missive.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Dunbar McKenna was strutting like a peacock around the bailey of his keep, scrutinizing the soldiers that were preparing for battle, men sworn to him. After the first bitter defeat, he wondered if he would ever see this sight again. The chiefs had been reluctant to listen to him a second time, but this awesome sight before him was proof that he was an important, brilliant man.

He strolled across the bridge under the silver moon, assessing the soldiers that were making the final preparations on their equipment. Scot soldiers were certainly the sturdiest, Dunbar thought, noting every man’s thick legs as they disappeared under his plaid. The English soldiers fought with so much clothing and mail on it was a wonder they could even move.

It was after midnight, but it was as bright as day. Dunbar wondered what he was going to do with Jordan Scott, as he paced among the men. The clan chiefs were not happy he had captured her; that was obvious. But to hell with them; they worried like old women. What mattered now was what to do with her. Trying her as a traitor seemed out of the question because he doubted the clan chiefs would allow it. He knew they regretted the first attack on Langton and Northwood, but that was their misfortune. He didn’t regret it in the least.

His plans were coming apart one by one, but somehow he had been able to turn one failed plan into another scheme and thereby keep his dreams alive. Hell, half the time even he didn’t know what he wanted. But he was sure of one thing; he wanted to control the border and he wondered how that pretty little whore in his keep could help him.

Dunbar was standing to the rear of the assembling troops, his hands on his hips as he gazed at the sea of soldiers against the backdrop of his keep. He felt like Caesar reviewing his troops, a tremendous sense of power filling him. Aye, his men would destroy Northwood now. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

He turned around, his eyes falling over the surrounding forest but his eyes not focusing. His mind was at Northwood, burning her walls down. Mayhap he should burn the Countess at the stake and send her charred body to King Henry, a warning for the English king to never again attempt a treaty with the Scots. Aye, he had intended to kill her at the first, but now he was unsure what to do. She was tremendously beautiful, like her mother, and it almost seemed a waste to kill her.

A glint in the darkness of the trees caught his eye. Not particularly concerned, but curious, he peered closed to watch a knight in full battle armor emerge from the silhouetted trees. His eyes saw it but his mind did not quite register what it was seeing until he saw another knight, and another. And then he saw soldiers. Hundreds and hundreds of Sassenach soldiers.

Dunbar snapped out of his trance and into full-blown panic. “Sassenach!”

The area outside his keep became a huge, boiling mass of screaming Scot soldiers, turning with shock to face their enemy.

Dunbar began to run for his life, lumbering toward the drawbridge which at this very moment was preparing to be raised. He had to make it inside before the bridge went up, sealing him to his fate at the hands of the English. He could taste his bitter fear on his tongue like stale ale as his heart thumped and his lungs rasped, pushing his bulk forward. If he were left outside the keep, he was as good as dead.

William and the knights had heard the call go up within the Scot ranks and it was their own battle cry. Swords held high, the English troops charged into the Scot army with the force of a highland storm, cutting and killing and assaulting anything in their path.

The night was suddenly filled with the sounds of death.

William saw the bridge going up. He turned in the general direction of his men. “They must not get the bridge up. Position the archers.”

It was only by pure luck that the drawbridge of McKenna Keep was rigged with rope, not chain. The archers lit up their flame arrows, directed by Deinwald, and took aim on the web-like ropes that were straining to raise the old heavy drawbridge. William divided his attention between the raising bridge and fighting the Scots, waiting with bated breath as his archers leveled their crossbows.

Dunbar was having great trouble breathing, but he dared not slow his pace as he continued to run toward the raising bridge. He could hear the clash going on behind him and he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. He had been a soldier a good deal of his life, but he was caught off guard and without a weapon. He had to make it inside the ten foot-thick walls of his keep before he was cut down like a lamb to slaughter. And he had to get to Jordan Scott; she was the key to solving this dilemma. He had no doubt the army had come for her, but what he could not understand was how quickly they had come. Did they somehow have fairy wings to fly with?

Deinwald screamed the command and the archers let the flame arrows fly, soaring high above the heads of the clashing troops and landing with great accuracy on the drawbridge and surrounding rigging. It was inevitable with that many arrows that at least a few would find their mark, and soon the drawbridge began to flame in several different places. It was old and would burn like dry grass.

William gave a smile of satisfaction. The bridge and the ropes would burn in no time, leaving the keep wide open for their assault. God, what luck. Now, he had to push his way forward, ready to breach the castle and retrieve his wife. She was alive, somewhere, within the dingy structure. He could not allow himself to think otherwise.

He and the other knights began to push forward through the surging mass, swinging broadswords with more determination than they had ever felt. It was understood that, of course, William would fetch Jordan, but somehow they were all grimly resolved to help him without even being asked.

As the destriers pushed forward and men fell beneath them, the drawbridge went up in flames and was burning furiously. All those inside the bailey were separated from the troops outside, adding to their surprise and confusion. Half the soldiers inside the keep had yet to figure out what had happened.

Dunbar saw the drawbridge burning, knowing his chance was gone. Unarmed and fear nipping at him, he knew he must seek refuge until such a time as he felt it safe to join the battle. Foam collecting on his lips and his breath coming in rapid pants, he dashed off in the only direction he suspected held safety for him. He headed to the north.

William was tentatively pleased at the battle so far. With the bridge quickly being reduced to cinder, ’twould make it easier to cross the moat, providing it was not deep, and violate the bailey. But just in case the moat proved to be a problem, William ordered Ranulf to begin cutting trees to produce makeshift ladders the soldiers could crawl across if it was too deep. It would be impossible for the knights to cross on the destriers.

And that would put them on foot in 130 pounds of battle armor. Not exactly a delightful thought.

*

The door to Jordan and Caladora’s prison flew open and slammed back against the wall. Instantly awake, the women startled violently to see Malcolm rushing toward them.