Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(31)

Kristoph didn’t say anything more after that. He could hear Alary moving around, calling out to his men and telling them to gather their possessions and horses in preparation for returning home. It was exactly what Kristoph didn’t want to hear. He knew the Normans were only a few miles to the west and if Alary took him away, then the gap would grow and no one would ever find him. They would have no idea where he had gone.

As he lay there listening to the Saxon soldiers gather, visions of his wife filled his head as Gaetan told her that she had become a widow. He thought of his daughter, who would be without a father. There was nothing more he wanted out of life than to return home to his wife and child. Panic set in. He couldn’t leave; he wouldn’t leave. He had to get back to Gaetan.

He wanted to go home.

As wounded as he was, he still managed to roll onto his belly and push himself up onto his hands and knees. Then he tried to stand, but his body was so battered that it made it very difficult. But he ignored the pain, the swimming head; all he could think of was running all the way back to the Norman encampment. He simply had to get there. But just as he lurched to his feet, someone hit him across the back of the head again and he went down like a stone.

Before he blacked out completely, he thought he saw Alary standing over him, laughing.

He was in the grip of the Devil.

Merciful darkness enveloped him.





CHAPTER SIX




?

A Man Lost


They’d taken the horses as far as they could go before leaving them in a thick copse of trees about a quarter of a mile from the Saxon encampment.

But they didn’t move on from there, at least not immediately. Gaetan and his men, dressed in clothing that blended with their surroundings – faded greens, browns, natural colors – and certainly none of the brightly colored heraldry that the Normans tended to favor – took pieces of the bushes and trees around them and shoved them into their clothing so that they blended in with their surroundings even more. It was a stealth operation and given that they were going in daylight, they wanted to take every precaution not to be seen.

In truth, it was impressive to watch. Ghislaine had seen her own people do such things, especially when hunting, and this was hunting in a sense. They were hunting for their comrade, and for Alary, and they were trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. But it wasn’t simply the manner in which they were dressing – it was also their attitude in general. There was a professionalism that Ghislaine had never seen before. They worked as a unit and acted like a unit, each man looking out for the man next to him as well as himself. She knew virtually nothing about these men but she could see how much they cared for one another. They were quiet, efficient, and swift.

Impressive, indeed.

Ghislaine was already dressed in a manner that made her blend with the land and trees – she was wearing a long tunic made from wool that had been dyed with onion, making it a dull shade of brown. She crouched in the bramble that smelled heavily of earth and compost, away from the men who were preparing to stalk the Anglo-Saxon encampment, alternately watching the camp in the distance and the men around her.

If they felt any trepidation, they didn’t show it, which kept her from showing any as well. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing that she was genuinely frightened to have returned to her own encampment.

Alary was here, somewhere, and she wasn’t looking forward to seeing the man.

But she was also alternately watching de Wolfe in the midst of all of this or, at least, trying to pretend like she wasn’t. Even if she hadn’t known he was the man in command, simply from the way he dealt with his men and the way they reacted to him would have told her that he was. He wasn’t heavy-handed. In fact, she’d not heard him raise his voice or give any real measure of direction, but a word here or there and his men knew exactly what was expected of them. She’d heard of men commanding simply by their sheer presence but she’d never seen it before until now. De Wolfe literally commanded simply by being there. Men obeyed.

But it was more than his overwhelming presence that had her impressed; it was his appearance as well. The more she looked at him, the more she realized that he was unlike any man she had ever seen. The men she knew, for the most part, were pale, with light or dark hair, a few of them muscular, or tall, and, on occasion, she had come across a man she thought was handsome.

But de Wolfe looked like he’d stepped out of some other world. He was a big man, bigger than any man she’d ever seen, with fists the size of her head. He had a square-jawed face that was handsome enough but when he smiled – and she’d only seen it once, just a flash to one of his men – his face changed dramatically. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

But those were foolish thoughts, to be sure, and she was frustrated at herself for thinking them. She refused to admit that her Norman enemy had her intrigued. Therefore, she returned her focus to the encampment in the distance, watching men move about, trying to single out anyone she knew, especially Alary. It was mid-morning by now and she knew he would be up and about, prowling, scheming. What worried her the most was what had become of de Lohr. She couldn’t see him from where she sat. It was imperative she locate him.

“Lady Ghislaine.”

Startled by her whispered name, Ghislaine turned to see de Wolfe standing behind her with one of his men alongside. It was the same man who had offered to negotiate for de Lohr, as a man of the church, although she didn’t know his name. She didn’t know any of their names. De Wolfe and the man crouched down a few feet away to be more on her level.