The Wolfe (24 page)

Jordan was feeling daring. “Fine,
then. The line has been drawn.”

Paris was standing several feet
behind her, not looking the least bit happy. She smiled sweetly at him as she
walked passed and promptly shoved the flowers she was holding into Michael’s
bulky arms.

“I am finished.” she announced.

Grudgingly, the knights bearing the
most embarrassing cargo trudged to the back of the column where Jordan’s wagons
and maids were. It was grossly humiliating for them to be seen by the entire company
laden with flowers. She heard the older ones bellowing at the younger knights,
making sure they shouldered their fair share of the disgrace, and the arguments
that ensued.

Jordan did not so much as give them
a glance as she made her way to where William sat like a centaur atop his
destrier, watching the fold of events. His helmet was on and his visor was down
and she was suddenly unsure of herself.
Sweet Jesu’
, he looked imposing.
Mayhap Jemma was right; mayhap he would take her head off.

She had intended to be demanding,
but rapidly changed her mind. Timidly, she approached him.

“Sir knight?” she asked sweetly. “Might
I speak with ye?”

He was looking down at her. The only
way she could tell was because his helmet had tipped in her direction.

“Aye, my lady,” he replied, calm and
controlled once more. “What is it?”

She started to speak but her words
got twisted. She began to wring her hands, half-hoping he would feel sorry for
her because he was making her nervous. She wished he’d get down off his horse,
but when he didn’t budge, she went over reluctantly until she stood so close
his leg brushed her. She turned her face up to him.

“I dunna want to ride with Paris
anymore,” she said softly.

The frightening helmet looked down
at her. “Why not?”

His voice was not at all kind as she
had hoped it would become. Mayhap this wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he
was plenty angry with her; he’d made that clear by ignoring her all morning.
And with this latest episode, he was probably ready to throttle her.
Frustrated, she shook her head hard and abruptly turned away from him.

Her intention was to make her way
over to Paris’ horse as she saw he was preparing to mount. But she heard hooves
behind her and felt herself being lifted up, knowing that it was William. As he
settled her in front of him, she tried hard not to smile. Mayhap he wasn’t too
terribly mad, after all.

Over her shoulder, she knew Jemma
was cursing a blue streak. To kiss Paris was not a desirable prospect.

Flowers stowed, the company continued
on and William remained silent. Jordan snuggled back against him, simply happy
to be sitting with him again. His charger had a smooth gait and she was
enjoying the ride, and the weather, tremendously.

As time passed, she began to feel
famished and wondered if they would even stop for the nooning meal considering
William wanted to reach Northwood by the afternoon. Probably not, she
concluded, letting out a heavy sigh; she would have liked to have stopped at
least once more to freshen herself.

The army did indeed stop nearly
three hours later. William had decided, in spite of everything, that they would
easily make it to Northwood before dusk and therefore he felt there was time to
break for a  meal. He ordered the bread and cheese and wine broken out and sent
two riders ahead to notify Lord de Longley of their imminent approach.

He slid off the horse, removing his
helmet with a grunt of satisfaction and pulling off his gauntlets. Jordan still
sat in the saddle, looking down at him. Even plastered with sweat and with a black
shadow of stubble, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

She noticed something else, too,
that had never occurred to her before. He had a long, thin scar that ran from
his left ear and down his neck. Part of his earlobe was missing. Strange that
she had only discovered it now and she wondered how it happened. He looked up
at her, jolting her from her train of thought.

“How did that happen to yer ear?”
she blurted.

He stowed his helm. “Another squire
did that to me when I was twelve,” he replied. “We were practicing with swords
we should not have been using and he went out of control.”

Her green eyes were filled with
sympathy. “He coulda cut yer head off.”

He reached up and lifted her from
his horse. “There is a stream over there.”

She felt rejected that he did not
want to talk to her, nor was he planning on escorting her to the stream. But
instead of wallowing in self-pity, it made her mad.

She marched over to Paris’ horse and
practically tore her satchel loose from its bindings. With a toss of her hair
to no one in particular, she strode over to the stream where Jemma was already
dipping her handkerchief in the cold water. Standing a silent guard several
feet away were Corin and Lewis.

“Well, ye won the bet,” Jemma said
first. “When do ye want me to kiss Paris?”

Jordan lifted her skirt and sank
gracefully to the grass, giving the young knights a tantalizing view of her
pretty legs.

“I care not,” she said irritably. “Punch
him in the nose for all I care.”

Jemma put the cold water to her
cheeks. “What in the world is the matter with ye?”

Jordan looked at her cousin. She
almost told her what was truly bothering her, but changed her mind at the last
second. She stuck out her lip and dug into her satchel for her own
handkerchief.

“Nothing,” she said.

Jemma didn’t believe her for a
moment. “Has that English hound said something to ye? Has he insulted ye?”

“Nay,” Jordan told her. “I am simply
tired. And hungry. Where is our food?”

They refreshed themselves, careful
not to drip water on their dresses. Neither girl said anything for a few
moments.

“Look, Jordan, at those pretty
flowers over there,” Jemma suddenly said. “Let me weave them into yer hair.”

Jordan only shrugged but it was good
enough for Jemma. She plucked two huge handfuls.

“These will go beautifully with yer
dress,” she told Jordan.

Jordan sat broodingly while Jemma
wove a delicate wreath into her silky hair. It was actually quite stunning, but
Jordan was too depressed to notice. When she was finished, she took out the
hand-mirror for her cousin to see.

“Look.” she commanded.

Jordan glanced at herself. Instead
of seeing a beautiful young woman, she only noticed that her skin was beginning
to burn and she bolted up.

“Sweet Jesu’!” She exclaimed. “Why
dinna ye tell me I was turning red like a beet. Look at my skin.”

Jemma pulled back her cousin’s hair
to notice that, indeed, she was burned. “Ooch.” she cried. “Does it hurt?”

“Nay, but it will,” Jordan wailed. “Look
at me. I am ruined.”

“We will get some buttermilk,” Jemma
told her. “That will bleach it out.”

“But not before we reach Northwood.”
Jordan exploded and threw the mirror. It landed with a splash in the creek but
she didn’t hear it; she was too busy marching away towards the coolness of the
trees.

“Well, ye dunna have to get angry
with me.” Jemma yelled after her. “I was not the one who burned ye.”

William was standing with Kieran and
Michael and saw the exchange. Another fight, he told himself. God, those two
had the strangest relationship he had ever seen, wanting to kill each other one
minute and defending each other the next. He supposed he should go and calm
Jordan down. It would not do to have a hysterical, red-eyed bride delivered to
Northwood.

Paris was heading over to Jemma with
a parcel of food in his hand meant for both ladies. William dismissed his
knights and went to join him.

“What happened to Jordan?” Paris
asked.

“I do not know,” William could see
her standing in the trees.

They were still several feet away
from Jemma. Paris smirked in her direction. “It’s that witch again. She can
turn a perfectly sweet woman into a raving lunatic. She has the power of possession,
I tell you.”

William shook his head, not
answering. Paris could see where William’s eyes were focused.

“You are avoiding her today,” Paris
said softly.

William shrugged. “I have other
things on my mind.”

They had reached Jemma. She scowled
up at Paris and he made a face back at her.

“If you do not behave, I shall take
this food back,” he warned her.

She snatched the cloth away from
him. “Give me that.”

In spite of what he said about her,
Paris was beginning to like Jemma. She reacted exactly the way he wanted her to
and it greatly amused him. He wondered if her hostility towards him was real.

“Now that is not all for you, though
I am sure you would make a fine glutton,” he told her. “You must share with
your cousin.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and
he laughed uproariously.

William dug his hand into the cloth
and withdrew a piece of black bread and a hunk of white cheese. Without a word
he walked across the clearing to where Jordan was standing in the shade.

She was crying. He could hear her
sniffle and watched her hastily wipe her eyes when she realized he was standing
there.

“What do ye want?” she demanded.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I have
brought your nooning meal,” he replied. “I can just as easily take it back.”

“Then take it back,” she snapped.

He didn’t move. It was unlike her to
be so abrasive and he let it go.

“What did Jemma say to you to get
you in such a fine mood?” he asked.

“Nothing, English,” she said
quietly. “Just…leave me be.”

He ignored her request. Reaching
out, he took her by the hand and led her over to a large boulder where he sat
her down and held the bread out to her. She eyed it stubbornly for a moment
before accepting it and taking a healthy bite. She ate half of it before he
spoke to her again.

“Now tell me what is wrong,” he
commanded softly.

What could she tell him? That her whole
morning had been filled with a myriad of emotions, on top of the fact that she
was to meet her new bridegroom today? And now, to finish everything, she was
sun-burned? When she repeated it all in her head, she felt foolish. If she told
him he would probably think she was an idiot.

“I….my skin is burned,” she finally
said.

He fought off a smile, “Is that all?
Let me see.”

She tilted her head up, revealing a
neck and shoulders so creamy and delicious that he had to fight himself to keep
from plunging his face into the softness. But he did touch her, just to see how
pink she was.

“That’s nothing,” he said. His voice
was rich and soothing, husky to the point of seductiveness. “Why, I could not
even tell had you not told me. I shall retrieve your cloak and that will
protect you.”

She eyed him for a moment until he
was almost uncomfortable with her stare. Before he could ask why she was
looking at him so, she shook her head.

“What is it with ye?” she demanded
softly, as if not really expecting an answer. “Ye are the most confusing person
I have ever met.”

His brows drew together. “Me? Why do
you say that?”

She felt like spouting off at him.
Her emotions had been running so daft the past three days that she felt like
telling him everything he had done to make her so baffled that she didn’t know
her own name half the time. Mayhap she should not be so vocal, but she did not
care at the moment. Mayhap after she was done there would be time to be
embarrassed.

“I shall tell ye why,” she hopped
off the boulder and put down the cheese, putting her hands on her hips as she
faced him. “Ye’re driving me insane with yer moods and yer actions. In front of
yer men ye’re a harsh, cold man who looks at me as if I were a leper, but when
we’re alone ye are the kindest of souls and I feel safe with ye.” She moved
closer to him and lowered her voice. “I have slept in yer arms for two nights
now, English, and I would be lying if I said that there were sweeter things in
heaven and earth than that. But I canna fathom yer thoughts and I feel sick to
my stomach all of the time because ye make me daft.”

She ended by throwing up her arms
and spinning away from him, feeling the exasperation all over again. Before he
could say a word she swung around again; she wasn’t finished quite yet.

“If ye truly are my friend as ye say
ye are, English, then do one thing for me,” she demanded. “Dunna play games
with my feeble mind and dunna lie to me. If ye hate me, then get on with it. I
would much rather know with what I am dealing with than this constant confusion
I am dealing with.”

William looked at her. She was so
damn beautiful when she was flushed with anger. Her pale green eyes were like
huge open pools of light. He could see her point of view, but she did not
understand the circumstances in the least. With a few exceptions, his actions
had been well planned and calculated and he did not regret anything he had
done.