The Wolfe (116 page)

“Nay, sir knight,” he said. “I am
still feeling fatigued. Ye will forgive me for taking my meal in my room and
retiring early.”

Kieran glanced at his wife, and then
his father-in-law. “Would you allow me to sup with you?”

Matthew looked surprised. “Wouldna
ye rather eat with yer wife and friends?

“I eat with them all of the time,”
he replied. “I would consider it an honor if you would allow me to dine with
you.”

Matthew looked tentatively pleased. Jemma
was thrilled that her father and husband would be spending time alone, getting
to know one another. It was everything she had hoped for; and more. She knew
her father to be a kind man, but she had received her hatred for the English
from his ideals. Mayhap the fact that the English had rescued him from the
bowels of McKenna Keep weighed on him and he was willing to overlook his beliefs.

“I shall have yer supper send up,” Jemma
announced, kissing her husband.

Kieran went to the wall and pulled a
small table into the middle of the room, placing two chairs on opposite sides.
Matthew rose stiffly, moving to one of the chairs. “A game table? Do ye play
Foxes and Hounds, sir knight?”

“Aye, I do,” Kieran nodded, then
looked Matthew in the eye. “And, please, my lord. Call me Kieran. Sir knight is
not a term to be used between family members.”

Matthew smiled and took his chair. “Agreed,
if ye dunna call me my lord. “’Tis not what a son calls his father. How about a
game before our dinner arrives?”

Kieran went over an elegant cupboard
and retrieved the case that held the game pieces. “Then what do you want me to
call you?” he asked, sitting opposite him and setting the case down. Matthew focused
on the game that was being set up Jemma, her daughter and her brothers were
moving for the door, knowing they had been forgotten. But she lingered, just a
bit, when her brothers took Mary Alys into the hall. She wanted to hear her
father’s reply.

“Ye can call me Matthew,” her father
said, examining a fox. “Or da. Whatever ye want.”

Kieran cocked an eyebrow, setting up
his hounds. “Unless my wife objects, I will call you Matthew, then.”

Matthew set up the rest of his
foxes. “Whether or not she objects, ‘tis not her decision to make. ‘Tis yours
and mine.”

Smiling, Jemma quietly closed the
door behind her, her mind finally at ease. They took to her husband as she knew
they would, as she did.

Kieran had come home.

***

Jordan was waiting for Jemma in the grand
hall impatiently. Dressed in a glorious silver and lavender surcoat with the
front of her hair pulled loosely to the crown of her head, she paced back and
forth near the dais wringing her hands. When her cousin finally entered the
massive room with her brothers and daughter, Jordan rushed to her.

“What took ye so long.” she
demanded.

Jemma smiled. “Oh, Jordi, my Da and
Kieran have finally come to terms,” she gushed. “I am ever so thankful.”

Jordan’s face went soft and happy. “What
wonderful news.” she said. “But ye knew it would happen. Who could resist
Kieran’s gentle soul? My Da is mad for the man, too.”

The two women watched a moment as
Cord and Ian seated Mary Alys between. Then Jordan suddenly remembered why she
had been so eager.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I nearly
forgot to tell ye. Paris came to escort Callie to dinner tonight. Jemma, ye
should have seen him. Dressed like a god.”

Jemma’s face lit up like the sun. “He
did?” Where are they?”

“Not here,” Jordan announced
scandalously. “He musta taken her for a walk. William and my Da are out and
about looking for them now. Seems a has stepped into Uncle Nathaniel’s shoes
and has taken it upon himself to protect Callie’s virtue.”

Jemma giggled. “When ye first told
me he had eyes for her, I dinna believe ye until I saw it for myself. Who would
have known he was capable of noticing someone other than himself?”

“Well, I think it ‘tis wonderful,”
Jordan said with a confident nod. “They suit each other.”

Dinner was in full swing by the time
Paris and Caladora entered the hall, followed several feet later by William and
Thomas. The musicians played softly as the diners partook of the feast and
William smiled at his wife as he took his seat beside her.

Jordan watched him get comfortable
and take a drink from his cup.

“Well?” she demanded softly.

A servant put a trencher in front of
him and he broke apart a huge chunk of bread.

“Well
what
?” he played dumb.

She flamed good-naturedly. “English!”

He grinned and took a bite of pork,
chewing politely before answering his wife. “We found them on the wall. Nothing
shattering.”

She grabbed him by the tunic. “William
de Wolfe, I am going to throttle ye if ye dunna tell me of Paris’ intentions
toward my cousin.”

He kissed her nose and smiled deep
into her eyes. She smiled back but did not release him. “Love, everyone is
going to think that you are intent on pounding me here and now. Besides, you
are mussing my tunic.” When she mock-pouted and let go, he leaned over and took
another bite. “You had it correct with your first observation, madam. Paris
likes your cousin.”

“I knew it!” she cried triumphantly,
then looked innocent as people glanced up at her sudden outburst. When they
looked back to their meal, she sat back in her chair and whispered. “I knew it.
I told ye, did I not?”

“Aye, you did but he has yet to
marry her, so do not get too excited,” he told her, mopping at his trencher
with a piece of bread.

She simply grinned smugly, making a
face at him when he glanced over at her. He shook his head and continued his
meal and she watched him contentedly, having already eaten more than she should
have.

God, she loved him. Then her smile
faded a bit, with the tensions over with, he would be going back to London soon
and her heart was deeply saddened with the thought that she would be leaving
her beloved family once again. On her other side her father sat eating, quietly
conversing with Adam now and again. She watched him a moment, too, and noticed
he was a bit subdued. Just the excitement of it all, she assumed.

“What’s the matter, Da?” she leaned
over, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Thomas looked at her, an instant
smile on his lips. “Nothing. Why?”

She gazed back. “Ye’re quiet. Arena
ye happy that we’re all together again?”

He nodded emphatically. “Of course I
am,” the bite he had in his hand slowed a bit. “But I was thinking…, oh, never
mind what I was thinking. Tell me when we are going to see this great Castle Questing?”

She shook her head. “Do not distract
me. What were ye thinking?”

Thomas was hesitant. He shrugged,
took a bite, and then shrugged again. “I was remembering when ye and yer
cousins would dance the jig for us on cold nights. Remember? Lord, the three of
ye could dance the devil right off of his throne.” His eyes took on a distant,
soft look. “Ever since the three of ye were bairns. I guess this fine meal and
music made me think of it. I miss those times, lass.”

Jordan’s eyes were big and moist as
she watched him. He had lost so much. She did so want to see him happy again.

“We will have more of the same, I
promise ye,” she said softly.

Releasing her father, she rose and
walked past her husband and Paris to where Caladora and Jemma sat. Leaning
down, she whispered something to her cousins and the two women promptly rose
and followed her off the dais, winding their way around another table and
several soldiers as they quit the room.

The men left at the table stared in
confusion at the doorway the ladies had just passed through.

“Now where do ye suppose they’re
going?” Thomas demanded, turning to William.

He shrugged. “Knowing my wife, it
could be anything. If they do not come back in a few minutes, I shall go look
for them.”

Paris pulled his chair closer to William.
He had been so involved in Caladora all evening that he had barely said a word
to the earl. William caught his friend moving closer but focused on his food.

“So you decided to speak to me?” he
asked casually, devouring his helping of herbed squab.

“As a last resort, yes,” Paris
replied, nursing a cup of wine in his hands. “Where in the hell did they go?”

“I have no idea,” William replied. “Probably
to pump Caladora for information.”

“What sort of information?” Paris’
eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you know,” William shrugged. “How
she wants her wedding surcoat to look and what sort of flowers she would like
in the chapel; those kinds of things.”

William waited for an uproar and was
mildly surprised when none was forthcoming. He glanced over at Paris, wiping his
hands on a napkin, and was confronted with an expression he had never seen before
on the man. It startled him - he knew exactly what it meant.

“Oh…no,” he said with amused horror.
“Do not tell me….”

Paris, who had been staring quite
thoughtfully off into space, suddenly looked at William and cocked his eyebrow.
“Do not tell you what?”

William shook his head slowly. “Do
not feed me that innocent line. I have seen that expression before - on me when
I look at my wife. What are you thinking?”

Paris prepared to retort but
suddenly lost his train of thought. “Oh, hell, I do not know,” he suddenly
chuckled. “You know, that was exactly what you said to me the first time I
asked you what you were feeling for Jordan. Remember?”

William nodded, sipping his wine. “I
remember.”

Paris laughed again. “At times I
think I am going insane,” he said. “My God, I have only known the woman three
days and I do not know which way is up anymore.”

William smiled broadly. “I know
exactly, and I do mean exactly, how you feel. Terrifying and wonderful at the
same time.”

Paris’ smile suddenly faded. “I am
not suited for marriage, William.”

“If you do not marry her, someone
else will. Can you live with that thought?” William asked gently.

Paris’ eyes scanned the room, his
mind mulling over the question. He took another drink of wine. “Nay.”

William nodded, satisfied. “Strange
that we would fall in love with Scots. A country we have spent a good deal of
our adult life fighting.” It was more an observation. “Tell me, what qualities
do you find most appealing in Lady Caladora?”

“Other than her obvious beauty,
there are many appealing things,” Paris said, somewhat quieter. “She reminds me
a lot of Jordan in certain ways. But your wife has a certain strength to her that
Lady Caladora lacks. She is more timid, more delicate. Your wife would do well
on her own, but Caladora is very dependent. Now that she has lost her parents
and brothers, she feels quite lost.” He brushed at his boot absently as it
rested up on the table. “She has a heart and mind as open as the heavens and I
find that very appealing. And every time she looks at me I feel like a giddy
lad with his first crush.”

As amused and touched as Paris had
been when William’s feelings for Jordan developed, it was now William’s turn to
feel the same.

“And you want to protect her,” he
read his friend’s mind. “She is a sweet, fragile, warm woman and you feel
towards her as you have felt towards none other.”

Paris nodded faintly, still not
meeting William’s eye. “All of the Scott women must be witches. They have
captured all of us under their spell.”

William sat back in his chair,
watching the goings on of the room in companionable silence with Paris. They
understood each other perfectly.

Seated at a table to their right was
Roan and his cousin, Andrew. William watched the two men for a few moments
until Andrew caught his glance and raised his cup to him in silent homage.
William nodded back vaguely.

“You do not like him,” Paris
commented.

“He leered at my wife,” William
mumbled.

Paris smiled. “We all leer at your
wife, William. There is nothing wrong with a man appreciating a beautiful
woman.”

“Not
that
man,” William
studied his wine.

Paris frowned, amused. “What is it
about him that threatens you so? For three days you have been quite cold to the
man who rode to your aid.”

“I didn’t ask him to come,” William
said defensively, letting his eyes rest back on D’Vant. “Have you ever heard of
the Red Fury, Paris?”

“Of course, who hasn’t? He’s the
greatest mercenary soldier in all of England; Scotland, too. He’s legendary.” He
suddenly peered closer at his friend. “He threatens you, doesn’t he? You feel
threatened by the man because his reputation nearly equals yours.”

“Ridiculous,” William snorted. “There
is no one greater than I.”

Paris looked at him, agape. Then he
began to chuckle, shaking his head. “That,” he snickered, “is the first time I
have ever heard your ego come forth. So all of the praise and titles finally
went to your head, eh? Well, I will say that no one in the country is entitled
to brag as you are.”