The Wolfe (21 page)

Jemma looked worried and thoughtful
at the same time. Jordan was right; mayhap she should not have come. But it was
too late now. She was here and here she would stay. For the first time, she
began to doubt the wisdom of her actions.

“What about ye, Sir Kieran?” she
asked, calmly. “Do ye hate Scots?”

He sighed, crouching down to be more
on her level. “‘Tis not easy as that, my lady,” he said. “I have been fighting
Scots a long time fought English. Suffice it to say that I would do neither you
nor Lady Jordan any harm.”

“Sir Paris dunna like me,” she
declared. “He would kill me if he had the chance; you heard him.”

“Nay, I can promise you that he
would not,” Kieran said. “He was jesting.”

“Nay, he wasna,” she insisted. “But
I dunna like him, either. He is conceited and mean, and he treats me like a
bairn.”

“And I suppose you kicking him had
nothing to do with his behavior towards you?” Kieran reminded her.

“I was protecting myself.”

She probably believed that. Kieran
sighed; she and Paris would surely kill each other before they reached
Northwood. He stole a glance at her again; she was quite lovely and he was
entranced with delicate features. She and her cousin shared the same pert
little nose and the same oval face, but that was where the similarity ended.
Jordan was as fair as a summer day, whereas Jemma was dark and striking. He was
not hard pressed to admit he liked her; he liked women with a bit of fire.

“Would you like to ride with me
tomorrow instead of Paris?” he found himself suggesting. “‘Twould spare you
both the agony of dealing with one another, and William the headache of
listening to you complain.”

The amber eyes lit up. “Aye, I
would,” she said eagerly. “Do ye think Sir William will let me?”

He was flattered that she seemed
pleased at the prospect, though he could not be sure if it were because of him
or simply to be rid of Paris.

“I shall ask him,” he promised.

She smiled a pretty, curvy smile at
him and he was captivated. He actually thought he might blush. Instead, he rose
swiftly as to not give himself the opportunity.

“Try and sleep now,” he told her.
“You will be safe, I promise.”

She nodded and crept beneath the
furs, tugging at the too-long surcoat as it tangled around her feet. He watched
her twist and turn before finally quieting. After several minutes, he was sure
she had fallen into an exhausted sleep and moved to pour himself another cup of
wine. Picking up the decanter, he realized he could use some sleep himself; it
had been an exceedingly long day.

“Sir Kieran?” she called softly.

He turned to her. “My lady?”

“I am cold. Are there any more furs?”
she asked.

He glanced around him. The tent had
indeed grown icy but he saw no more furs. The brazier had gone out completely.
As a warrior, he was used to extreme temperatures and had not noticed the chill.

“Nay, my lady, I see none.”

She gave a little groan and tried to
burrow deeper under the skins. He watched her twist and shake for a moment or
so, debating whether he should send his squire to scavenge more furs. But he
decided against it because it would have done little good; the chill was
seeping up through the ground upon which she lay. She needed another source of
heat.

Kieran sat the cup down. Going over
to the pallet, he stripped off the furs and she angrily sat up, glaring at him.

“What are ye doing, Sassenach?” she
demanded hotly.

He put his hands on his hips. “Do
you want to be warm?”

She stuck out her rosy lower lip. “What
are ye intending - to throw me in the fire?”

He cocked his brow. “If that is what
it takes, I will gladly. But I had another less painful idea.”

“What is it?” she asked, wrapping
her arms around her shivering body.

He opened up his arms as if to
display his physique. “As you said yourself, I am big. And this big body is exceedingly
warm. You may use the warmth, if you so desire,” he said.

Her eyes widened but to his surprise
she did not get angry. Instead, she looked rather subdued and thoughtful.
Thoughtful but hesitant. A sudden chill raced down her spine and she shook
hard. She should be angry, outraged, at the very least at what this Sassenach
was suggesting. Yet, for some reason, she could not muster the steam. She truly
was freezing, and there was something about the man that made her want to trust
him. With a reluctant sigh, she looked up at him.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “I
accept.”

He lay down, turning so his back was
facing her. Jemma immediately pressed her icy body against him and was thrilled
to discover that he was, indeed, hot. He jumped when he felt her chilly hands
press themselves flat against his back and she giggled.

“So you think it is funny to put
your cold hands on me?” he demanded, but he was smiling.

Her face was pressed against his
spine and she could feel his heat thawing her. “Aye, it is funny when ye jump
as if I just pinched ye. How can ye be so sensitive?”

“I am not, usually,” he said. “But
you are as cold as ice.”

She pressed against him tighter,
purely for warmth. “I told ye I was, Sassenach.”

They lay there together in the
darkness for several long minutes. Jemma was tired, but for some reason, her
eyes kept opening and she kept staring at his wide back. It was the closest she
had ever been to any man, other than her father and brothers, and she found it
exciting. Even if he was English.

But the man didn’t act as a typical
English knight, not like the others. He was gentler, even for his immense size,
and his smile was genuine. She was puzzled, but at the same time, she liked him
and chose to overlook the fact that the man was a sworn enemy. And she didn’t even
hate herself for her treason, although she would die before admitting it to her
cousin. Surely a greater hypocrite never lived.

He shifted and nearly crushed her
leg. She screeched and he immediately moved away, flipping over to face her
with amazing agility for a man his size. His brown eyes were wide with concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said as she rubbed her
leg where his weight had come down on her.

He sat up and moved her hands away,
massaging the bruised thigh with skill and gentleness.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I should
have been more careful.”

She should have slapped him across
the face for his boldness, but she found herself watching that strong, handsome
face of his and feeling the magic of his hands. Her thigh was fine, but his
fingers were so soothing and relaxing that she let him go on for a moment
before pulling away. Her cheeks were growing hot as she pulled the furs back
over her.

“I would go back to sleep now, sir
knight,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

He didn’t reply but lay back down
beside her, only this time, he was facing her. Jemma looked at him in alarm.

“If I fell asleep and rolled over on
you, I’d never know it,” he explained. “If I face you, then I will know exactly
where you are.”

She wasn’t so sure that it was a good
idea and fully intended to tell him so when he pulled her stiff body up against
him. He was so huge that she almost felt smothered, but as his heat drove her
chill away she instinctively relaxed against him. She tried her best to stay in
a protective position, her arms between the two of them, but his size and sheer
warmth eased her so much that it wasn’t long before she was pressed flat
against him and his arms were embracing her protectively.

Yet, she did not want to give in so
easily. Call it stubborn Scot pride.

“If ye try anything….” Her threat
lost its effectiveness as it came out in a yawn.

“I know, I know, you will beat me as
you did Paris,” he finished her sentence.

“Worse,” she insisted with a sigh,
closing her eyes.

He smiled. He believed her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Malcolm was having a God-awful time
controlling his fear.

He had done exactly what he had
hoped not to do - to become The Wolf’s prisoner. He also knew very well that The
Wolf would interrogate Tate and Dougal after he had finished with him, and that
his story would not match the others. He could lie his way out. He had to be cleverer
than The Wolf.

He wondered if Abner had gotten
away. When the young knight who had been chasing him returned empty-handed,
Malcolm almost crowed with victory. Mayhap Abner would return and bring the
army to rescue his men. But even as he thought it, he doubted it. Abner cared
more about his own hide than anyone else’s, which left Malcolm alone with The
Wolf.

But William had no intention of
further questioning Malcolm. It was obvious that the man was a liar and could
not be trusted, and William could piece two and two together and come up with
the answers he knew were correct no matter what Jordan’s cousin said.

He had been going over and over the
battle in his mind. He was growing more convinced that Thomas Scott did not
have anything to do with the attack for the simple fact that it was so sloppy.
He had fought Thomas before and the man was meticulous, which made him wonder
what in the hell Malcolm was doing, and why with the McKenna? The McKenna were
the exact opposites of the Scotts. True, they had been allied once, but Jordan
told him the alliance was null.

As William stood there and pondered
his next move, he eyed Malcolm, hands tied behind his back and sitting on his
heel. What in the bloody hell was the man up to?

His face like stone, he went over to
Malcolm.

“Since you obviously are incapable
of telling me the truth, I have no further use for you,” he said coldly. He
turned to Ranulf. “Execute him.”

“You canna.” Malcolm burst. “Jordan
asked ye not to.”

A flicker of a sneer crossed
William’s lips. “So she did. What of it?”

Malcolm’s mind was reeling. He
opened his big mouth to speak but all that came out was a bluster of wind.

“I have committed no crime again ye,
English,” he was grasping at straws. “But if ye consider loyalty to yer kin a
crime, then I suppose I am guilty.”

The more agitated Malcolm became,
the cooler William became. His face was still quite impassive.

“You are not loyal to Lady Jordan,”
he said frankly.

“How do ye know my mind?” Malcolm
demanded. “What do ye care about her, ye English bastard? She’s nothing but a
bit of chattel to become the English laird’s whore.”

It took every ounce of strength
William possessed not to run at Malcolm and tear his arms from his sockets. He
stiffened, though; that was beyond his control. Paris, standing in the darkened
recesses of the tent, saw the rigid stance and took a few steps forward. If
there was going to be any bloodshed, he would not allow William to dirty his
hands with it. He did not think Jordan would look too kindly upon the man who
tore her cousin literally limb from limb. He was, therefore, prepared to do it
in his stead. He didn’t want Jordan hating him, either, but better him than
William.

“She will not be anyone’s whore,
boy,” William rumbled.

“She might as well be.” Malcolm had
no idea of the mortal danger he was in. He looked William right in the eye. “Think
on it, man; she’s traveling, un-chaperoned, with a full company of English
soldiers. Why Uncle Thomas dinna insist she take my mother or my aunt is beyond
me. He trusts ye, I suppose, but I know better. How many men have had her since
she left Langton?”

William snapped. Before Paris, or
anyone else, could make a move, he had Malcolm by the neck with one hand and
plowed the knuckles of his other into his face. Blood spurted everywhere, all
over his tunic, all over the floor. Malcolm dropped in a limp heap to the
ground.

“Goddamn bastard,” William muttered,
stumbling back from the limp body. “Loyal to his kin… my arse he’s loyal. Get
him the hell out of here before I lose myself again and do some real damage.”

Paris glanced down at Malcolm as
Ranulf and Corin hoisted him up. “Where will we keep him?” he asked. “We are
not prepared for prisoners.”

William thought a moment. He had no
further need for the other two men, and any more interrogation sessions with
Malcolm were sure to result in the man’s murder. He just wanted them the hell
away from him, and from Jordan. He did not want to kill him, even if the idiot
had held a knife to Jordan’s throat.

Then it hit him. He wasn’t going to
kill him because Jordan had asked him not to. He was thinking up dozens of
reasons to justify not killing the man when it really came back to one. She had
asked him not to and he would bow to her wish. God, he was so damn
feeble-minded when it came to her.

“Then take them back down the road,”
he said gruffly. “Tie the four of them to the same tree and leave them to the
mercy of whoever passes by. Considering an army has just passed this road, that
should take quite a while.”