Page 27

CHAPTER NINE

The battle was over for the moment. Malcolm was only glad that the English had not taken any captives because the McKenna soldiers were a stupid lot and it would not take much for one, or all of them, to spill the truth. But it was a chance Malcolm and Dunbar had been willing to risk for the opportunity that was at stake.

When the battle had dwindled and Abner had called a retreat, Malcolm and the others had skulked back into the woods where most of the soldiers were sent back to McKenna Keep. A few of them, however, had remained hidden in the woods, pacing the English army’s moves.

They sat underneath a group of damp, dense trees, wrapped in their hunting tartans; waiting for Malcolm and Abner’s next orders. There were eight men in all; all swarthy Scots; all filled with hate for the English. They listened intently while Malcolm and Abner reasoned out another plan.

“I say that the attack was successful,” Malcolm was saying. “We wounded quite a number of the bastards.”

Abner, his blond hair wet with filth and the dampness in the air, shook his head. “Aye, but we lost a fair number of our own, including Ralph. He was my Da’s greatest warrior.”

The others nodded solemnly and Malcolm hoped they didn’t believe he was personally responsible. He cleared his throat.

“Be that as it may, we still caught them by surprise,” he said. “I think our next step will be…will be to sneak in to the camp and take Jordan.”

“Take her? Hell!” Abner snorted. “We slit her throat while she sleeps. The English will think that one of their own did it and Thomas Scott will declare a blood war on ’em.”

Malcolm fixed Abner with a hard stare. “I wunna be a party to killing my own cousin.”

Abner glared at him. “What ye want is of no matter. We will do what must be done.”

Malcolm was silent. He was also outnumbered. He chewed his lip for a moment thoughtfully.

“Then who does it?” he asked quietly. “It wunna be me.”

Abner shrugged. “One of us’ll do it.”

The lot of them were quiet for a long while, each staring into the darkness with their own thoughts. An owl hooted somewhere above their heads.

“She left with the captain of the guard,” Malcolm said quietly. “The huge man on the grey destrier. Did ye see him on the battlefield? I bet he keeps her with him.”

Abner nodded. “Aye, I saw him,” he said grimly. “He’s the one that killed Ralph. Almost sliced him clean through the middle with that big sword of his. Aye, he was the fiercest of all. Musta killed twenty of our men by himself.”

“I wunna challenge him,” said one man. “If he’s with her, I wunna be the one to slit her throat. Most likely get mine will be slit instead.”

Abner and Malcolm looked up, seeing that the others nodded in agreement.

“What’s the matter with ye?” Abner demanded. “Have ye all become coward because of one English bastard?”

“Abner, we’ve fought that man before, dunna ye remember? The one they call ‘The Wolf,’” another man said. “He’s got protection from the devil or something. Not one of us can even get close to the man before we’re cut down. I wunna fight him, I can say that. He’s strong enough on the field, but one on one I wunna fight him.”

Abner stood up angrily. “Then ye’re no man of mine,” he snarled. “He’s just a man, like any other.”

“He’s a man, all right, but not like any other,” said the first man. He was a seasoned soldier and had seen many years of the border wars. “I dunna know his Christian name, but they call him The Wolf because he’s damn near invincible. Ye canna kill him, and if he’s the one protecting Jordan, then we might as well go back to the keep.”

Abner stood still a moment. “The Wolf. I have heard of the man. That was him?”

“Aye,” the older soldier said. “I first saw him fight near 14 years ago when he was a lad. He was good then. Shoulda killed him when I had the chance.”

“Not just him, but he had at least eight other knights that fought like demons,” another man piped up. “I dunna want to go up against any of them, not without proper armor or weapons.”

Abner turned to Malcolm. “Ye say he took Jordan himself? What else did he say, man, ye were there?”

Malcolm looked thoughtful. “He announced himself to Uncle Thomas, said his name was…Wolf. Sir William Wolf, I think. Then he took Jordan and left. That’s all there is to it.”

The mood among the men was bleaker than it had been just moments earlier. None wanted to return to Dunbar McKenna and inform him of their failure, especially Malcolm. He took this mission very personally. Yet none wanted to confront The Wolf, either. Finally, Malcolm rose stiffly.

“I shall go,” he said. “Jordan’s my kin. I shall go.”