The Wolfe (26 page)

William froze, helmet midway to his
head. His mind was reeling; hell, he’d wanted to kiss her from practically the
moment they met. He knew, God help him, that by the way she was asking she
wanted him to kiss her. There was no doubt in his mind.

They were several yards away from
the rest of the company, facing into some trees where his horse had wandered.
He could steal a kiss from her and no one would ever see it. Once they reached
Northwood, the odds that he would ever see her alone again were against him.

He knew he would never have her, but
he could not go to his grave not knowing how sweet she tasted.  It was as wrong
as it could possibly be, a betrayal of all he stood for as a knight, as de
Longley’s most trusted warrior, but he didn’t care. He had to taste her.

With his free hand, he grasped her
under the chin and pulled her around to face him. His hand enveloped half of
her head, her silk akin incredible to the touch. Without a word his mouth came
down on hers and he instantly knew she was the sweetest thing he had ever had
the fortune to savor. His tongue pried open her lips, licking her mouth as if
he had been thirsting for her his entire life. She was more unbelievable than
he had ever imagined.

The kiss was only supposed to last a
moment, but he was becoming consumed. He was a man whose life had never been
anything but completely organized and controlled and he was unused to
impulsiveness, especially like this.  But he had to have her.

His hand was gripping her so tightly
that he might be strangling her, but all he could think of was her honeyed
mouth, her soft skin, the smell of Lavender in his nostrils. His kiss grew more
demanding, silently ordering her to open wider, to allow him to do what he must
in order to ravish her thoroughly. To his complete relief and dismay, she was
responding eagerly.

He knew he had to stop. He hadn’t
meant to do anything more that taste her but he was gorging himself, and when
she started making little whimpering noises deep in her throat, he gave her a final
lick and pulled away. He had to or he would have been a dead man. Hell, he was
already ruined. He would never be able to kiss another woman again and not
think of her.

Her lips were red, her eyes
half-closed. Had this happened last night he would have bedded her without a
doubt. His face was no more than an inch from hers.

“Does that answer your question?” he
asked huskily.

She blinked at him like a woman
coming out of a trance. Her eyes widened and she swallowed.

“Oh, English,” she whispered. “I
liked that.”

“So did I,” he rasped, taking one
final moment to gently stroke her face. He could not help himself.

Behind them, a familiar female voice
was raised. William immediately slammed on his helmet and turned the destrier
around, mayhap a bit too hard and the animal snickered a protest. They rode
over to where Jemma was standing several feet away from the knights, her back
turned to them and her head bowed.

“What’s this?” William demanded, his
authoritative tone returned and not a trace of the seductive voice he had used
on her just a half-second before. “Lady Jemma, get up with Kieran. I have no
time for this foolishness.”

“She can ride with Paris,” Kieran’s
helmet was on and his visor down. He sounded angry.

“I do not want a passenger,” Paris
said frankly. His visor was down, too.

William was thoroughly angry. “I do
not give a damn what either of you want. You’ll do as I say,” he looked down at
Jemma again before closing his own visor. “Get on with Kieran.”

“No.” Jemma cried. Then she ran off.

Jordan had an idea as to what must
have happened. Kieran was attracted to Jemma and when she kissed Paris he
became incensed. It was all her fault. Behind her, she knew William was about
to take their heads off and she twisted around to face him.

His visor was down. She reached up
and raised it.

“Let me talk to Kieran,” she said
quietly.

He frowned. “What in the hell for?”

“Please?” she persisted.

He glared at her but lifted her
gently to the ground. Jordan made her way to Kieran and after a few words, he
got down off the animal and stood in front of her.

William watched with a mixture of
curiosity and irritation, wondering what she was saying to his knight. She
looked completely at ease and her pretty hands gestured here and there. After a
minute or so he saw Kieran nod his head slowly and Jordan smiled.

She walked back over to William and
raised her arms. He lifted her back onto his lap.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“We can proceed now,” Jordan ignored
his question. “Kieran will retrieve Jemma and catch up with us.”

William turned his head to see
Kieran reining his destrier sharply in the direction Jemma had taken. Without
another word he nodded to Paris, who gave the hand-signal to march. She heard Ranulf
and Deinwald bellowing at the troops when they did not move fast enough.

Riding along once again, Jordan
settled back against William with a contented sigh. His arm was around her
waist and she noticed that she was becoming used to the hard jab of the armor.

“Now, my lady, you will tell me,
what you spoke to Kieran of.” It was not a request.

She smiled, knowing he could not see
her. “A very simple matter, sire,” she said. “It seems that Kieran was jealous
that Jemma kissed Paris and….”

“Kieran was
jealous
?” William
interrupted her with a jolt. “By God, I am not going to play house mother to a
passel of lovesick squires.”

She twisted to look at him. “Aye, Kieran
was jealous.” She matched his outrage. “How would ye feel if I kissed Paris in
front of ye? Or Michael? How do ye know that I haven’t kissed Paris or Michael?
And what does love-sick have to do with anything? I dinna say he was in love
with her.”

William went visibly cool. “I would
have prevented you from kissing them in the first place,” he said. “‘Tis my job
to keep you safe and pure for your wedding. And I know my knights would have
never allowed such a transgression to occur.”

She was still looking at him. “It
occurred with ye. Are ye somehow above suspicion?”

His steely demeanor faltered. “It
should not have happened and I apologize for my conduct, my lady. It shall not
happen again.”

Her face fell. “Why not?”

God, she was making this so hard. “Because
you are to be the earl’s virgin bride, Jordan,” he spelled out the obvious. “You
know that. I should not have touched you and I will never forgive myself for my
weakness.”

“But I wanted ye to, English,” her
voice was a whisper. “I wanted ye to kiss me. You said ye liked it. Did I not
please ye?”

He was losing ground fast. He felt
like he was drowning. “Jordan, what I feel is of no matter. You are to be the earl’s
bride.”

“Ye said that,” she reminded him. “And
it does matter to me what ye feel. But I know ye are an honorable man and I
will not make a nuisance of myself. If ye wish to pretend that it dinna happen,
then I will, too.”

She turned back around and the
conversation stopped. He was still trying to get a grip on himself. He did not
want to forget the magical moment they shared and he did not want her to,
either. But there could be no more moments. They both had to understand that.

His gloved hand found her small one.
Slowly, tenderly, he enveloped her fingers and held them tight.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Malcolm had avoided the flying fist
but Abner didn’t. It hit the man square on the jaw, knocking him off-balance.
Had he not grabbed hold of a table, he would have fallen. He rubbed at his
face, spitting out blood onto the stone floor, but he spoke no words of anger.
He deserved worse.

“Dunbar, be reasonable,” Malcolm pleaded.
“‘Twas The Wolf. I was lucky to leave with my life as it was.”

“You miserable whelp!” Dunbar raged,
his huge feet stomping as he paced the room like a caged animal. “I trusted ye
with a battle, and ye disappointed me to the core. Not only did ye fight like
Englishwomen, but ye failed at a second stupid attempt to kill yer cousin.”

The men hung their heads, rebuked
and miserable. Dunbar kicked over his writing table, smashing it into kindling.
“I ought to take yer bloody heads off myself.”

“I tried to convince The Wolf that
‘twas Uncle Thomas who staged the battle, Dunbar,” Malcolm said as calmly as he
could. “I stuck to my story, too, even when he tortured me. With any luck he
has already reported that fact to his laird.”

Dunbar eyed Malcolm. The lad did
indeed bear severe bruises, concurring with his story. Mayhap all wasn’t lost,
after all. But he was bitterly disappointed in the outcome of the battle and subsequent
raid.

Mayhap it was of no matter. As Malcolm
said, he planted the seed of doubt directly into the mind of The Wolf. If The
Wolf believed it, then quite possibly he would turn and attack Langton in
retaliation. Then, Thomas Scott would be forced to send for his allies. Dunbar smiled.
And he would be first to heed the call. Aye, indeed he would shed blood along
with Thomas to prove his loyalty. Then, when he proposed his ambitions, Thomas
could do naught but comply.

Dunbar visibly calmed, sitting slowly
in his heavy chair. Malcolm and Abner watched him warily, waiting for the man
to withdraw a dirk and throw it at them. He was calming unnaturally fast, in
their opinion.

“Laddies,” he said after a moment. “I
believe, for all of yer failure, that mayhap ye have done good after all. Mayhap
if The Wolf indeed thinks Thomas staged the battle, then he will return Jordan
without any further prodding from us.”

“Do…do ye think so?” Malcolm asked
hesitantly. “I tried my best to convince him.”

“And so ye did,” Dunbar agreed. “Mayhap
all is not lost. The next few days will tell us.”

The young men nodded, weary and
worn. They escaped from being tied to the tree only by pure perseverance,
wearing the rope thin with the edge of Abner’s ring. They had spent a night in
hell and simply wanted to eat and rest. They were relieved that they were
apparently not going to be spending the next week in the dungeons.

Dunbar saw their fatigue and bade
them go, eager to continue his plotting. When the lads left, he sat back, his
eyes glazing over thoughtfully. If the his hopes were confirmed and the English
turned on Laird Scott, then his next step was to call on his closest ally and,
with shrewdness the devil himself would be proud of, lay out the ground work
for his plot. He need to begin pulling together pieces to his puzzle, and the
first stage would be to call on Oliver Barr.

He smiled again. Dimwitted,
hot-tempered Barr would see the logic to his plan. Aye; he would make him see
the logic. Mayhap things would go better that he had anticipated.

***

They rode well into the late
afternoon. William and Jordan were alone for only a short time before they were
joined by the other knights, one by one. There was very little conversation,
and Jordan was pleased to see the Jemma looked peaceful riding before Kieran.

The sway of the horse was making her
drowsy again. She’d had very little sleep the night before and fell fast asleep
against William’s armored chest. It was becoming a routine; he felt her go limp
and smiled to himself as he shifted to make her more comfortable. He felt a
strange sense of peace when she slept in his arms. When she looked like she did
now, peaceful and lovely, he found it difficult to keep his vow that he would
never kiss her again.

Deinwald rode up beside him,
slapping his dapple-grey destrier when it snapped its teeth in William’s
direction.

“Goddamn animal,” Deinwald muttered.
“His father was not like this.”

William admired Deinwald’s horse for
he was a truly magnificent animal with a reputable sire. He was also, however,
quite young and unruly. Perfect for Deinwald’s temperament.

“He will calm down,” William
remarked. “He did quite well in the skirmish yesterday.”

Deinwald snorted. “Hell, when I
wasn’t fighting the Scots, I was fighting with him.” At the word ‘Scots’ he
glanced down at slumbering Jordan. “I shall take her if you wish to ride into Northwood
alone, as you usually do.”

William did not look at him. It
seemed to him that the offer had been more of a request. Deinwald wanted to be
the one seen riding in with the beautiful young woman. She looked quite fairy princess-like
the wildflowers woven into her hair.

“Mayhap,” William said vaguely.

Deinwald looked off into the
distance. “Another hour at least at this pace.”

A breeze blew one of the flowers
from Jordan’s wreath onto her face. William reached down and tried to remove it
as gently as he could, but true to form, she awoke with a start.