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William stood over Malcolm as the man lay upon the dirt of the bailey, his life’s blood spilling out onto the cold ground. Malcolm’s eyes bulged with shock and his veins were popping on his neck as the throes of death swept over him. But even as his vision was fading, he recognized The Wolf.

“Jo…Jordan….” Malcolm managed to sputter.

William dropped to his knees beside the man, grabbing his tunic. “What about Jordan? What have you done to her, you bastard?”

Malcolm coughed up blood and innards, the pain unbelievable. “In the gully to the north,” he breathed. “Between two bushes…there is a boulder…find her….”

The man was dead but William shook him hard enough to snap his neck. “Goddamn you!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Goddamn you, you bastard!”

He thought Malcolm had just described his wife’s grave. He threw Malcolm to the ground, pounding him with his fists as blood splattered all over his armor. He was blind with his grief, aching with hysteria that was claiming him. Behind him, he heard swords clash a few times and them a cry of pain.

“William!” Paris had fought off a soldier about to attack William from behind. “William, what is it?”

William grabbed Malcolm’s hair and slammed the dead man’s head into the earth a couple of times before Paris grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Damnation, William, what’s wrong?” he bellowed.

William stumbled to his feet like a drunkard. “They killed her, Paris. He just told me where to find her body.”

Paris went white as chalk. “God have mercy,” he breathed. “We’ll go find her right now.”

William was nearly unable to function without help, but somehow they fought their way back across the chaotic bailey and climbed back across the ladder.

“Where now?” Paris demanded.

William swung about woodenly, facing north. “He said in the gully to the north,” he mumbled. “Between two bushes and a rock.”

Not bothering to find their destriers, they alternately walked and fought their way north. William was in a daze, fighting because he had to, every move from automatic and unthinking. He was so sick in his heart that he would have liked nothing better than to crawl into a hole somewhere and die. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he remembered Scott and Troy.

He had sons to live for, sons from Jordan’s womb. God, he could not live without her, but his boys needed him. As much as he wanted to be selfish and take his own life, he knew he could not leave his beautiful sons alone in this world. They needed their father.

To the north of the keep was indeed a wide, secluded gully. William and Paris, followed now by Jason and Michael, ran headlong into the trees and down the incline, sliding and tripping as they descended to the bottom. There were trees aplenty surrounding them and William kept his dulled senses alert for two bushes and a boulder.

God, he had to find her and hold her. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with seeing her ravaged corpse, but he had to find her. Anguish and agony threatened to explode in his chest. Pain such as he had never known meant to cripple him, but he fought against it as he searched for his wife’s grave.

Then, they were upon lt. There was no mistaking the sign; two large bushes side-by-side with a boulder to one side of them; half of the boulder buried in the slope that led up to McKenna Keep.

The four of them began searching, kicking at the dirt, looking for the signs of a newly dug grave. But the ground was hard and undisturbed. Puzzled, they ceased exploring for the moment.

“Are you sure he said this was her grave?” Paris asked.

William nodded. “He told me to find her here.”

Michael had begun probing the boulder, running his fingers along the edge of it. “My lord,” he said after a moment. “The ground is giving way. ’Tis very loose.”

William and Paris were instantly at the boulder. “Do you think she’s under this thing?” Paris asked of no one in particular, horrified at the mere thought.

William could not even allow himself the thought of the horror that idea provoked. He, too, ran his fingers along the edge and felt the dirt give way. He shook at the boulder and was amazed to find it unusually light.

“Let’s see if we can move this aside,” he said, his voice dull.

The knights positioned themselves around the rock when suddenly, out of the cover of the trees, there was a loud booming yell that sent their hair standing on end. The first thought racing into all four minds was an ambush, and they immediately whirled with swords in hand.

Jason, the closest knight to the attacker, barely had time to react when a sword caught him in the back of the neck, cutting through his mail and nearly severing his head from his body. He was dead before he hit the ground.

William, broadsword arcing, cut the offender down with a deft blow to the chest. The man wore no armor and was cleanly gutted, dead, too, as he hit the ground.

Two men dead in mere seconds. William and his men braced themselves for more enemy soldiers, but the trees were quiet except for the hum of lichen and the sounds of the distant battle.

Michael knelt to Jason as William and Paris stood over the dead Scot; they knew Jason was beyond help. The Scot was a fat man bearing McKenna tartan; older with a scraggly beard and dirty hair. He wore a few pieces of armor but nothing functional, and he wore no scabbard for his sword. He looked half-dressed to them and they wondered what he was doing hanging out in the trees, away from the battle like a coward. They assumed he was an old fool, too old to fight but not too old to pretend he might be of some use.