The Wolfe (15 page)

William gazed at her impassively. “He
deserved far worse than what he got.”

She could not believe what she was
hearing. “I canna believe ye are so… uncompassionate.”

“But I am compassionate, my lady, to
those deserving,” he peered strangely at her. “Why do you defend a man who
treated you less than kindly?”

“I am not,” she replied quickly in
frustration. “’Tis just that…that I hate violence. I havena the stomach for
it, I never had.”

He regarded her. “But your father is
a war lord.”

“That dunna mean that I like it,”
she insisted. “I have seen too many young men die and I have come to abhor
violence of any kind.”

He was silent a moment. “Then I
apologize for forcing you to watch while I dispensed justice,” he said.

She smiled ruefully. “‘Tis better
that I watched, I think. Had I not, ye might have run him through.”

He smiled faintly at her and she
felt flushed at his attention. Sweet Jesu’, this man could make her feel so
strange with a mere glance.  She was coming to like it.

“Come and sit,” he said. “Drink some
wine. It will help warm you.”

She obeyed slowly, accepting the
wine from him. “Ye still will not allow me to tend him, my lord?” she asked.

He looked down at her, hands on his
hips. “You are not going to let this rest, are you?”

She shook her head. “Nay.”

He wiggled his brows in resignation.
“Mayhap later.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile
that made him grow weak in the knees. “Thanks to ye, my lord.”

They sipped their wine in silence,
he standing and she sitting. He stood slightly behind her and found himself
stealing glances at her. Even disheveled and dirty, she was flawlessly lovely.

“Are you still cold?” he asked.

She lifted her shoulders. “I am
always cold. The wine helps.”

She heard clanging of armor and
turned to see he was removing his. She watched it clatter to the ground, piece
by piece, until he was free of it He wore a linen tunic and dark breeches
underneath, and she had to look away. Even through the clothes, he was
magnificently built. The man was starting to boil her blood.

To her surprise, he knelt in front
of her. She blinked with shock as his huge hands disappeared underneath her
skirts and she felt him grasp her feet.

“God, Jordan, you are as cold as a
corpse,” he swore softly.

She tried to protest but he ignored
her. Removing her shoes, he pulled her feet onto his warm abdomen and nearly
pulled her from the chair in the process. She gasped at the heat and at the
surprise of his intimate action, but almost immediately she could feel
thousands of little pin pricks as her feet began to gain their circulation. A
fire could not have done any better.

She was soon warmed, yet she was
stiff, thinking that her feet on his stomach was entirely too intimate and she
knew a true lady would never allow a man to touch her so. For all of the
righteous thoughts she was thinking, another part of her relented. After all,
there was no one around to see them like this.  She rather liked it.

William watched her lowered head
with some amusement. He could imagine what she must be thinking. God’s truth,
he wished he could put more than her feet against his bare skin. He fleetingly
wondered if he dared go to bed tonight without his tunic on. But he put that
thought from his mind, he could guess how she might react and he certainly did
not want to be accused of trying to seduce his lord’s virgin bride.
Virgin
bride….

His smile vanished. He removed her
feet and rose quickly, so fast that she lost her balance and would have fallen
from the chair had he not reached out to steady her.

“I will see what is holding up your
bath,” he said, leaving the tent before she could reply.

She frowned at the empty tent flap.
Why did he always do that? Leave so abruptly, as if she had scorched him or
something. He was so confusing she wondered if she would ever be able to
anticipate him.

CHAPTER TEN

Outside, William was informed that
the pot and the water were on their way. He nodded curtly just as Paris came up
behind him.

“Jason fares as well as can be
expected,” he commented to his captain.

William did not look at him. “I do
not recall asking how Jason was.”

Paris moved so he could see
William’s face, crossing his arms across his massive chest. He tried not to
smirk; he was afraid William would throttle him the same way he had Jason.

“My lord is troubled,” he said,
concerned.

William rolled his eyes and turned
away. “God, not that again. Leave me alone.”

Paris could not help it. He started
to laugh. William whirled on him, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he bit his
lip.

“Damnation Paris,” William growled. “Shut
your mouth.”

Paris choked a little, trying with
effort to obey. “Aye, My lord.”

William caught on to his friend’s
merriment and choked out a little chuckle, trying hard to remain angry but not
succeeding.

“You know what I am going to do to
you, don’t you?” William threatened.

Paris shrugged carelessly and leaned
close so that only William could hear his answer. “If you do anything to me, I
will run right to Lady Jordan and tell her everything.”

William’s eyes narrowed in
disbelief. “Tell her what?”

“That you are in love with her and
to watch out for The Wolf,” he stated smugly.

William’s eyes widened. Paris was grinning
so confidently that he was seized with a sort of good-natured fury. How could
he possibly know that, especially when William himself had no idea as to what
he was feeling? How dare he be so smug.

His big hands reached out for Paris’
throat and the two of them slammed back to the damp ground.

Inside the tent, Jordan heard the
thud and the grunting that followed and curiously went to see what was going
on. Upon opening the tent flap, she was instantly horrified to see William and
Paris rolling over the ground with their hands around one another’s throats,
tossing and struggling in their quest to throttle one another.

Panic seized her; she had to do
something or they would surely kill one another. Turning back into the tent,
she looked wildly about for something to stop them. A sword? Nay, one of them
would grab it from her and use it on the other. Then she spied the wine jug,
rushing to it, she snatched it and ran back out to where William now lay atop
Paris, turning his friend’s face blue. Jordan was mortified to see that a crowd
had gathered but no one was doing anything to stop them.

Raising the jug, she doused them
with wine for all she was worth. She didn’t know what else to do.

They ceased immediately; the wine
stung their open eyes and William sputtered the liquid all over Paris’ face as
it coursed over his lips. Paris snapped his head away but was too late; wine
went into his eyes and he shook his head like a wet dog.

“Are ye mad?” she hollered. “What
were ye doing, trying to kill one another?”

William peered up at her, blinking his
eyes against the sting. “Why did you throw wine on us?” he asked calmly.

Her eyes bulged and her fists dug
into her hips. “Because yer no better than little peasant boys, rolling around
in the dirt like pigs,” she said angrily. “You should be ashamed of yerselves,
fighting in front of yer men.”

William pushed himself off of Paris,
who grunted loudly at the shifting of weight. Both men picked themselves off
the ground, noticing the crowd of smiling soldiers was dissipating.

“That will give them something to
talk about for a while,” William remarked, wiping at his eyes.

“‘Tis beneath my dignity to roll
around on the dirt, William,” Paris bemoaned, straightening his askew armor. “Why
didn’t you just throw a damn punch? ‘Tis much more honorable to fight standing
up.”

“You would have been on the ground
anyway had I thrown a punch,” William said, then looked at flaming-mad Jordan. “You
did not answer me. Why did you throw wine on us?”

“To stop ye,” she said as if he were
the biggest moron on earth. “What on earth were ye two fighting over?”

He wasn’t about to tell her. From
the corner of his eye he caught Paris’ attention and silently warned him to
keep his mouth shut. As far as he knew, Paris would make good on his threat.

Paris, for his part, caught
William’s warning, but he could not resist the urge to give his lord the scare
of his life. Rarely, if ever, had he had a chance this good and the rascal in
him took over.

“‘Twas my fault, my lady. I insulted
our great captain and deserved the punishment,” he said with mock sincerity.

William swore under his breath and
fought off the urge to clamp back down on Paris’ neck again. Damn him. What did
he think he was doing?

She scowled at Paris in disbelief. “Ye
insulted him? What is the matter with ye, man. He’s yer captain. He could slit
yer throat for such a thing. What a stupid thing to do.”

Paris was a little taken aback at
the passion at which she defended William. He suddenly felt like a boy being
scolded by his mother. His joke was backfiring and he was not at all pleased.

William was also surprised, and if
he admitted it, flattered, by her loyalty. He knew Paris’ game and saw that it
wasn’t working out as Paris had hoped. It was all he could do to keep from laughing
in his friend’s face. Yet, before things got out of hand, before the game did
in fact turn in Paris’ direction, he decided to hastily end the conversation.

“‘Tis nothing you need be concerned
with, my lady,” he assured her quickly. “Go back to the tent.”

She knew he was telling her it was
none of her business. Pursing her lips, she let out a frustrated shriek before
throwing down the jug and marching back the way she had come.

William watched her backside
appreciatively, as did Paris.

“William,” Paris said softly.

“What?”

“If you do not take her for a lover,
I will,” he said.

William didn’t look at him. “Over my
dead body.” He followed her back into the tent.

***

The bath did wonders to ease
Jordan’s nerves. Sitting in a huge cooking pot, she washed her hair twice with lavender-scented
soap and scrubbed herself so clean that she was raw.

Her maids had helped a little, but
she had chased them away as soon as she was finished soaping because she wanted
time alone to herself to think. She could not do that with Maggie and Elspeth in
the room; they chattered like two hens.

She wanted time to reflect. On what
specifically, she did not know, but she wanted time to think about everything
that had happened since leaving Langton.
Sweet Jesu’
, so much had
happened it seemed like she had lived an entire lifetime in two days. And it frightened
her to know that on the morrow they would reach her new home of Northwood.

Northwood. The name sounded
foreboding to her. It sounded like some dank, isolated place set far back from
the real world. And what about William? Would she even see him once they
reached their destination? And if so, what kind of relationship would they have?

She hung her legs out of the pot,
thinking darkly that he would probably ignore her from that point on. Right
now, he was forced to associate with her. But given the choice, would he still speak
to her? Probably not, considering she had just poured wine on him. She was
positive he thought of her as a nuisance and a troublemaker. And why should not
he? She hadn’t given him any reason to believe otherwise.

Her heart was heavy. At Northwood,
she would have no friends. She was terrified that her new husband would loathe
and despise her and make her life hell, in spite of what William had told her
about the man. Was she destined to be unhappy forever? Probably. She didn’t
want to marry the earl.

She would be alone. She was already
alone. The only reason she felt remotely safe was because of William. The man
absorbed her fear and she trusted him completely, but she knew he was only
doing his duty. He had told her so. She was angry at herself for being
distressed over the fact that William wasn’t protecting her because he wanted
to. It was because he had to. She wanted him to want to. She wanted
him
.

The revelation struck her like a
slap in the face. She sat straight up in the tub and water sloshed over the
side. Bloody hell, he was English. She didn’t
want
anybody, much less an
English knight.  But as soon as she thought it, another more forceful thought
crashed in on the heels of it; he was the kindest, most handsome man she had
ever met, English or not. He was a simple man; flesh and blood and emotions.
English, Scot, no matter; feelings knew no boundaries.