The Wolfe (117 page)

William rolled his eye at him
irritably. “Shut your mouth.”

Paris laughed aloud. “Ah, William,
you constantly amaze and please me.”

As if on cue, Andrew D’Vant rose on
his long legs and went to the table where William and Paris were sitting. Paris
was friendly enough, but William was standoffish.

“My lords,” D’Vant said in his deep
voice. “I wish to thank you for the hospitality extended to myself and to my
men. ‘Twas well worth the trip here.”

“It was our privilege,” Paris
replied. William barely nodded.

Andrew, undaunted by William’s icy
reaction, continued. “On the morrow we will take our leave of Northwood,” he said.
“But I wanted to let you know, one warrior to another, that should you ever
require my assistance, then do not hesitate to notify me. Roan knows where I
can be reached.”

William suddenly stood up, his gaze
still cool. “And my offer still stands. I will repay Roan’ debt whenever and
wherever required.”

Andrew nodded. “I appreciate that,
for my cousin’s sake, my lord,” he replied. Having no more to say, he bowed swiftly
and moved on to thank Adam.

Paris stood up beside William. “You
were a cold bastard.”

William turned to glare at him but
Paris only smiled, wandering away from him and down from the dais. William
turned back to watch Andrew convey his thanks to Adam, watching the warrior’s
impeccable manners. Mayhap Paris was right and he did feel threatened by a man
with as great a reputation as his own. Mayhap D’Vant wasn’t such a bad person,
considering William held his cousin Roan in great esteem. But what makes one
person dislike another? He thought hard and really could not see any hard evidence
that would cause him to dislike D’Vant. Was it, then, a type of professional
envy?

He sighed. Mayhap he should
apologize for his lack of manners over the past few days. He didn’t want the
Red Fury thinking he was a horse’s arse.

When Andrew quit the hall and went
out into the bailey, William followed. He caught up with the man halfway
through the outer bailey.

Andrew stood off against William,
his feet planted apart and waiting expectantly for The Wolf to speak. William
eyed him before beginning.

“It has been suggested that I have
been cold to you because I am envious of your reputation because it is near my
own,” he said flatly. “But I think it is because my wife flirted with you. In
either case, I will apologize for giving you the impression that I lack
manners. I truly do hope your stay at Northwood was pleasant and I again thank
you for coming to my assistance.”

D’Vant openly studied William. “You
know, I have been hearing about you for several years and those people have
sworn that no greater soldier has ever lived. If there is anyone who should be
envious, it should be me. For that and for the fact that your wife is most
beautiful. You have a great deal in this life, baron.”

William felt a bit humbled being
praised by the man. “I consider myself fortunate as well,” he replied
awkwardly. Feeling the conversation lag and having said what he had intended
to, he excused himself and strode away. A call from Andrew stopped him.

“My lord,” he said, “Mayhap someday
you will do me the honor of meeting me on the practice field. If you best me in
a fight, will you stop being jealous of me?”

William fought off a grin. “Aye,
that I might,” he said, adding “Mayhap the sooner the better.”

“You are wise,” Andrew said.  I do
not respect men, either, unless I have seen them fight, or have fought against
them. Yet with you I make an exception to that rule. Your reputation is too
well known for me not to be in awe of you.”

William looked at him thoughtfully.
He retraced his steps, leisurely, coming to rest in front of the Red Fury.
Slowly, he raised his head and met his gaze. “I am feeling out of practice. It
has been three whole days since I last bore a sword. What are your feelings,
man?”

A glint came to Andrew’s soft brown
eyes. “The same, my lord.”

William nodded decisively. “After
you.”

Sweeping his arm in the direction of
the practice field, Andrew grinned and they proceeded there, together.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

‘Twas not hard to hear the sound of
metal on metal in the warm night air. The soldiers who were on patrol, plus
hundreds of d’Vant’s men, found themselves circled around the practice field,
eagerly watching the Red Fury and The Wolf go at it. Each man trying to out-do
the other without cutting his opponent’s head off was quite a feat.

William had the strength of ten men,
but Andrew was quicker. He would move like a shadow and strike, only to be met
with a blow that rattled his teeth. William, on the other hand, felt as if he
were fighting Perseus and his magic sword. Andrew was so fast he was nearly
invisible.

On and on they continued, striking,
parrying, counter-striking with unbelievable skill and accuracy. Early on,
William was deeply impressed with Andrew’s abilities. There was no doubt in his
mind as to why the man was called the Red Fury, and furthermore, he doubted
that any of his knights could have bested the man. He was
that
good.

Back in the dining hall, the word
began to spread like wildfire: The Wolf and the Red Fury were battling it out
to the death. Paris was the first to bolt for the door, followed closely by the
rest of William’s knights and then by the majority of the diners.

Jordan, Jemma and Caladora descended
the stairs from the second floor, intent on returning to the dining hall, only
to be nearly trampled by the stampede of people. They were clad in Scott
tartan, traditionally dressed for the dance of swords. The dance was to be a
surprise for their kin as a celebration, but they were alarmed at the flight of
the diners, tearing out into the inner bailey. Instantly, they assumed the
worst.

“Another attack!” Caladora gasped.

Jordan, a bit more rational than the
other two, shook her head. “Nay, Callie, for if that were true, they wouldna be
rushing outside. Something else is going on.”

But there was nearly no one left to
ask. Jordan grabbed a serving wench who knew absolutely nothing and so,
puzzled, the three of them proceeded outside to see for themselves.

A few sentries were standing
congregated by the door. But their attention was to the northeast, in the
direction of the training field, the knight’s quarters, and the stables.

“What goes on, man?” Jordan
demanded, sounding remarkably like her husband.

The soldier looked down at her and
his eyes widened. Not only was The Wolf’s wife standing before him, but she was
naked but for slippers below the knee.

“A fight, my lady,” he stammered. “The
Wolf and the Red Fury.”

Jordan’s eyes bugged and without so
much as a thanks she gathered her skirt and took off at a dead run in the
direction the soldier had indicated. The sentries found themselves riveted to
the flight of slim white legs, indeed a rare treat.

Practically everyone at Northwood
was crowded around the field. The three women tried to push their way through
the crowd but, having no luck, decided quickly to mount the wall. That would
give them a bird’s eye view of what was going on.

Jordan ascended the stairs like a
madwoman, pushing and scolding soldiers who were not quick enough to move out
of her way. She hit the top of the wall running, dodging men and equipment alike
until she circled around the wall and was able to see what was happening. And
what she saw shocked her.

Her husband and Andrew D’Vant were
going at it like demons. They were grunting and groaning with the force of their
efforts and Jordan could see the sweat dripping from her husband’s brow.
Strangely neither man wore a helmet, so when the challenge had been issued, it
must have been done with furious speed.

Terror seized her; why were they
fighting? Was it for the flirting she had done with the Red Fury? William had
threatened to kill him, had he not?

Sweet Jesu
, she was
responsible for this. Off to the side she could see Paris and Kieran, and the others,
watching intently. Why weren’t they stopping this?

She could not stand it. She had to
stop this before William killed the man, it never occurred to her that the Red
Fury could kill her husband.

“William!” she screamed.

He heard her and faltered, allowing
Andrew to land a particularly heavy blow to his back. When Jordan screamed at
the hit, he put up his hand and instantly Andrew ceased.

He turned to look at his wife where
she practically hung from the top of the wall, her long hair streaming down
around her. He could see she was terrified and was instantly sorry he had
frightened her.

“What is wrong, love?” he called
back, leaning wearily on his sword.

Her mouth hung open. “What is
wrong
?”
she repeated incredulously. “What in the bloody hell are ye doing?”

He grinned at her. “Fighting.”

She hung her head at the
ridiculously simple answer. She could see that. Her head came up again.

“Cease this instant,” she told him. “Go
back inside. We have a surprise for ye.”

Over a thousand people stood and
listened to this exchange with a smile on their lips. If there was any doubt as
to who Lady Jordan had truly married, it was now abundantly clear.

William looked at Andrew and they
both shrugged in resignation. They would grant the lady’s request, even though
they had been having a great time of it.

Yet something good had come out of
it, each saw the other for what he was and a strong bond was forged. William
respected the Red Fury for his skill and grace, and Andrew was overwhelmed at The
Wolf’s cunning and strength.

The crowd disbanded and William met
his wife at the base of the stairs. He immediately saw her attire and his eyes
widened in shock.

“What is this?” he demanded,
pointing to her pretty bare legs. “What are you doing?”

She frowned at him. “‘Tis
traditional Scot dress, English.” she told him as if he were a moron. “Only ye
English cover every part of yer body. We Scots find it better to move
unrestricted.”

He was outraged. “You will change
immediately,” he said. “No wife of mine will cavort about half-naked.”

Jemma and Caladora were behind her
and he suddenly noticed that they were all dressed the same way. All he could
do was point at them in outrage, leaving the discipline to Kieran and Thomas.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Kieran
calmly asked his wife.

“To dance,” she told him. “We are
going to do the dance of swords for Uncle Thomas and my Da.”

“Oh, Jemma, now ye spoiled the
surprise,” Jordan scolded.

“I had to or they would make us
change,” her cousin shot back. “Look at their faces; they dunna like us to show
our legs.”

“Your legs are certainly beautiful
enough,” Paris said unbiased.

“Well, I for one do not want the
entire population of Northwood gaping at my wife’s legs,” William said staunchly.
“Dance or no dance.”

Jordan hopped from the bottom step
and put her hands on her husband’s arms beseechingly. He looked down at her
sternly, but they both knew he would give in if she begged enough. She smiled prettily.

“Please, English?” she pleaded
softly. “Just one dance and then I promise I shall change.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I do not
approve of this.”

She laughed softly. “I know, but
ye’ll like it. Please?”

He pursed his lips as a final show
of doubt, just to show his men that she could not sway him that easily, but
everyone knew the battle was already over. With a grunt of frustration, he
pulled her to him and they proceeded back into the grand hall.

Inside the hall, it had grown quiet
when the occupants saw that they were to be entertained. At Jordan’s direction,
Michael and Deinwald collected six swords and lay them upon the floor in three
crosses, even-spaced apart. Jemma was over with the musicians, instructing them
on what to play while Caladora stood by and watched the swords being placed.

William, Paris and the other knights
were standing by the dais in a critical little group, haughtily disapproving of
the bare legs and daring any man in the audience to stare at them for any
longer than a brief moment. Even Andrew was standing with him, accompanied by
his second-in-command, Thane Alraedson.

Kieran came into the hall moments
later escorting his father-in-law, who was eager to see the dancing. His face
had fairly lit up when Kieran had gone back to the apartments to retrieve him.