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Matthew Scott looked dazed. “The Wolf?” he repeated. “What is The Wolf doing at the McKenna Keep?”

“I came for my wife,” William said frankly as Deinwald and Roan moved around him to release the Scotts from their bindings.

“Who is yer wife?” Matthew was terribly confused.

“Jordan,” William said. “She is my wife, not the earl’s. Oh, hell, it’s a long story. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

The three Scotts were pitifully weak and stiff, and each knight found himself with a burden. They had to practically carry the men up the flights of stairs and when they hit the narrowed corridor, they ran headlong into Kieran and the others.

Kieran’s eyes were wide. “You found them.”

William nodded, transferring Matthew’s weight onto him. “This is Matthew Scott, Jemma’s father. You have some explaining to do, Kieran.”

William left them with a grin, leaving Matthew staring in confusion at the big knight. Kieran, suddenly faced with his father-in-law, was actually nervous.

“My lord,” his mouth had gone dry. “My name is Sir Kieran Hage.”

Matthew gazed back at him as they started to walk forward again. “My Jemma is safe?”

“Aye,” Kieran nodded. “She is.”

“Ask him if you can call him ‘Da,’” Deinwald snickered behind him, causing laughter from the other knights.

Matthew scowled, still quite dazed by everything that had happened. “Da? What in the hell is he talking about?”

Grinning, William led the way back up the broad stone steps.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

The battle had fairly well dwindled by the time William and the others crossed the makeshift ladders. As ordered, there were no prisoners. William’s men had simply chased them off, back across the moors from whence they came. Yet the dead littered the ground like a macabre blanket, a hodge-podge sea of tartans intermingled here and there with that of English earl.

Paris and Ranulf were there to meet them as they crossed the moat, along with a couple of dozen soldiers. William was immediately alerted by the look on Paris’ face.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“An army approaches, William,” Paris said gravely.

William looked puzzled. “What army?”

“I do not know, but they are flying King Henry’s banner,” Paris replied.

William didn’t lose a moment. He bounded onto his destrier as Roan hastened to stop him.

“Wait, my lord!” he called out. “I believe I can explain.”

William frowned. “Explain what?”

“The army,” Roan grabbed his destrier from a nearby soldier. “I sent for them. As reinforcements.”

William didn’t say anything for a moment. “Define this statement, d’Vant.”

Roan took a breath to steady himself. “I was concerned when we came to Scotland to rescue your wife that we would be outnumbered, my lord,” he said evenly. “Being so far from London or any allied border earl troubled me, due to the fact that the Scots had been so fierce on their attack of Northwood. As a result of my concern for the success of this campaign, I wrote to my cousin, Andrew d’Vant. Mayhap you have heard of the Red Fury?”

William nodded slowly, calmly. “Aye, I have. The mercenary captain.”

Roan continued. “I asked that he support our efforts, my lord, should he be so inclined. His army is based north of Carlisle. I was not sure if he would receive the missive, but it appears that he has and has chosen to respond.” The man was feeling a good deal more nervous than he let on. “I realized what an important campaign this was, my lord. With everything you and your lovely wife have been through, I merely wanted to assure success. I meant no disrespect, nor was it my intention to undermine your command.”

William gazed back at him impassively. Roan was waiting for the sword to come flying out of its scabbard and straight into his sternum, but it was not forthcoming. William continued to stare at him for several long, apprehensive moments.