The Wolfe (30 page)

Jemma huffed and puffed, studying
herself in the huge polished bronze mirror. She looked quite lovely in the
color. Jordan watched her cousin’s amber eyes, much darker in the firelight.

“Kieran will think ye look lovely,”
she remarked.

Jemma stopped fussing and looked at
her. “What makes ye think I care what an Englishman thinks of me?”

Jordan smiled broadly. “Because I
see how ye look at him, Jemma, so do not try to fool me,” she said. “I know ye
like him, and he likes you.”

Some of the huff went out of Jemma’s
puff. She absently smoothed at the surcoat. “He is handsome. For an Englishman.”

“Aye,” Jordan agreed heartily. “And
he’s nice for one, too.”

Jemma looked up then and Jordan
could see a true conflict. The lass had spent so much energy hating the English
that she was truly confused by her attraction. It would seem that both girls
had similar concerns.

Jordan took the hairbrush and gently
brushed her cousin’s hair. “Yer not a traitor to think him wonderful, Jemma,”
she said softly. “He’s a man, flesh and blood, who just happens to be English.”

Jemma looked at her cousin in the
reflection of the mirror. “Is that how ye feel of William?”

Jordan stopped brushing for a moment,
then resumed slower. “William is my future husband’s captain. He is a kind and
gentle man, and I will always respect him as such, English or no.”

“Ye’re avoiding the question,” Jemma
told her. “As ye said yerself, I have seen ye look at him.”

Jordan looked long at her. “I am to
be married to another man. I willna wish for what canna be.”

“Ye love him, Jordi?” Jemma’s voice
was soft, questioning.

Jordan dropped her head, still
brushing. “I dunna know. All I know is that he makes me feel like the most
beautiful woman in the world and I crave to be with him. Is that love? I dunna
know.”

Jemma watched as her cousin formed
soft curls with her hands about her shoulders, the raven colored hair a sharp
contrast to the burgundy. “All of the knights say he is in love with ye,” she
said. “Did ye know that?”

Jordan looked surprised. “Nay, I dinna,”
she said. “
Sweet Jesu’
, I am being branded an adulteress even before my
wedding?”

“They dunna say that,” Jemma
smoothed at her own hair. “They like ye, much better than they like me. And
they think William is God himself. I think they approve of the match.”

“There is no match between us,”
Jordan said emphatically. “I am to be the earl’s bride, not William’s.”

Jemma smiled, much to Jordan’s
surprise. “But in yer heart, ye wish ye were William’s, do not ye? ‘Tis
understandable. He is a beauteous devil.”

Jordan shook her head helplessly. “Not
a word, Jemma. We must talk of this no more. Please?”

Jemma nodded. “I promise. No telling
who is listening to us right now.”

Jordan was stricken. “Do ye think
so?”

“I was jesting,” Jemma placated her.
“No more talk, I promise.”

There was a loud rap at the door
that made both girls jump with a start. Jordan’s heart was pounding as Jemma
ran to open the door. One look at their callers made her head spin with
delight.

William and Kieran stood in the door
jamb, over filling it with their sheer size. Both were dressed in breeches and
tunics and heavy boots.

Jordan barely acknowledged Kieran.
Her eyes were riveted entirely to William. He was dressed entirely in black,
his legs bulging with muscles through the breeches and the tunic stretched taut
across his broad chest. She realized it was the first time she had ever seen him
without his armor. Bathed and shaved, he looked for all the world like a god
descended.

“Ladies,” William could not take his
eyes from her. “The earl awaits.”

Jordan smiled, accepting his offered
arm. He smiled back, his free hand closing over her small one as it gripped his
elbow. She felt giddy gazing into his beautiful eyes, remembering

Jemma’s comments and knowing how true her
cousin was. She did indeed love him.

William didn’t say a word until they
were descending the stairs. “How are you feeling, my lady?” he asked.

“Much better,” she replied breathlessly,
still feeling flushed from the sight of him. “ The potion Byron gave me worked
wonders.”

“He is a knowledgeable man. You look
as if you have not seen a day of hardship.”

She laughed and it sounded like
silver tinkling bells to him. “Good,” she replied, then quickly turned her
attention back to Jemma and Kieran. “Kieran, take care with her. The dress she
wears is too long and she will trip and break her neck if she isna careful.”

Kieran grinned, stopped, and scooped
Jemma into his arms in a great swish of material. She squealed, half from
surprise and half from delight.

“Put me down, ye beast,” Jemma
smacked him on the shoulder. “I am no wench to be picked up at yer whim.”

“I would hate to see you break you
neck,” he explained with a smirk. “This will alleviate the problem.”

William and Jordan were already half
way down the stairs, but Jordan was still turning around to see what was going
on above her. She smiled because she knew Jemma was enjoying the attention
immensely.

She stumbled a bit and William
steadied her. “Careful, love, or you’ll end up breaking your own neck,” he
chided her.

She looked at him with a faint
smile. “Ye called me ‘love’ again. Ye’d better watch that, English.”

“I know exactly when I may and may
not use the term of endearment. That is, of course, with your permission.”

She nodded graciously. “Ye have it.
Do ye mean to say that ye do not wish to call me Pony-legs?”

“Nay,” he replied. They reached the
landing and he stopped, waiting for Kieran and Jemma to catch up. “I like
‘love’ much better. I do not think of Pony-legs when I look at you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So ye think
of ‘love’ when ye look at me?”

Jemma and Kieran were right behind
them, he still carrying her and she still protesting. They moved on to the last
flight of stairs, but Jordan felt as if the question still hung between them.

“You weigh no more than a bird, Lady
Jemma,” Kieran said in mock seriousness. “How can that be when you eat like a
horse?”

Jordan laughed as Jemma unleashed
insult after insult at him, telling him exactly what she thought of his
comment. When the barrage died down, Jordan turned to Kieran slyly.

“What do ye think of her dress?
Doesna she look beautiful?” she encouraged him.

“Aye, she does,” Kieran agreed and Jemma
immediately shut up. He smiled at her. “‘Tis lovely. Next time, however, borrow
the dress your cousin is wearing. Then you can walk in front of me the entire
day and I shall be forever content.”

William stopped and thrust a warning
finger in Kieran’s face. “Be mindful of who you are speaking of.”

Kieran looked properly rebuked. “Aye,
my lord,” he said, and William started walking again. “But your view is not the
same as mine.”

William stopped again and jerked Jemma
from Kieran’s arms. He actually looked angry.

“You will take Lady Jordan and I do
not want to hear another word regarding her appearance,” he growled. “Move out.”

Kieran fought off a grin and did as
he was told, taking Jordan’s arm and leading her the rest of the way down the
stairs. William carried Jemma down the steps, his eyes never leaving Jordan’s
swaying hips. It wasn’t that he wanted to see for himself but, by God, if
Kieran was right. He just didn’t want Kieran looking at her.

Jemma was watching him. “Sir
William, I do not wish to tumble to the floor below. Mayhap ye should watch the
stairs and not my cousin’s backside.”

William looked into the amber eyes. “I
am quite capable of descending stairs, my lady, without looking at them.”

Jemma nodded, giving him a knowing
glance and causing him to raise a black brow to her. He would not justify her
look with any sort of remark. The little banshee could speculate all she
wanted, but she would never hear any sort of confirmation from his lips.

At the bottom of the stairs, William
put her down and took Jordan from Kieran. He then led her through a maze of corridors
in Northwood’s massive keep that eventually led to the grand foyer. It was
virtually devoid of people, but off to the left Jordan could see the grand
hall.

The hall was alive with light and music
and people were everywhere, eating and milling about. She heard laughter and
shouting and witnessed a particularly eager soldier pinch a serving wench right
on the bottom. It struck her funny and she smiled. Somehow, all dining halls
were the filled with the same sort of people; how many times had she seen that
within the hall of Langton? For some reason, she felt a bit more at home.

Deinwald and Michael were waiting
outside the door and saw them approach. Deinwald beat Michael to Jordan’s side
and gave the man a cocky smirk as Michael stepped behind him and took his place
at Jemma’s side. Michael put his fingers together and flicked

Deinwald’s ear and the man flinched with
a muted curse. William shot him a look to kill and both knights were immediately
still.

The earl’s crier was just inside the
door and noted her arrival. Tipping his head to the herald trumpet on the
balcony above the door, a sudden horn blast pierced the room and everyone
ceased their activity and looked eagerly to the door. This moment had been
three long months in the making, the introduction of the earl’s new Scot bride.
Expectations were high.

William leaned close to her ear. “Do
not be nervous. They will love you.”

She tried to smile but her lips were
quivering with anxiety. The crier began to name her, listing her father and his
title.
The Lady Jordan Mary Joseph Scott, daughter of Laird Thomas Scott of
Clan Scott.
The hall was deathly quiet by the time he finished, waiting to
see the source of their curiosity. Much to her dismay, William let go of her
arm and she looked up at him in alarm.

“You must go alone, my lady,” he
told her. “We will follow close behind.”

Oh… damnation
, Jordan thought
and swallowed hard. She did not want to do this alone.

“Show ‘em what yer made of, Jordi,” Jemma
whispered encouragingly behind her. “Yer a Scott.”

Her back straightened. She was
indeed. Terrified or no, she would be the epitome of calm dignity even if her
palms
were
sweating profusely.

“It’s time, my lady,” Deinwald
leaned down. “Go ahead.”

She didn’t hesitate. She carried
herself with such regal grace that William swore he heard an audible gasp from
the crowd. Truth was, she looked like a fairy princess as she floated across
the floor, right down the middle of the room as she headed for the dais where de
Longley and his subjects sat.

William and Deinwald were not far
behind her, trying hard not to watch her swaying backside. De Longley, given
his first good look at his new bride, looked like a man who had been without
food far too long.  His interest was obvious, and William felt himself bristle.
God help him, he could not stand the thought of anyone touching Jordan… not even
her husband.

Jordan reached the dais and curtsied
deeply. When she rose, she stood proudly before the table and waited for her
betrothed to speak to her.

The earl cleared his throat. “Lady
Jordan, welcome to Northwood.”

“Thank ye, sire,” she replied.

To his left, a young plain girl
tittered, whispering something to thin young man sitting next to her and they giggled
impolitely. Jordan had expected open rudeness, but she still felt her cheeks
grow hot. The earl ignored the laughter.

“Please,” he indicated the chair
next to him. “Come and sit, and I will introduce you to your new family.”

William took her hand on his forearm
and led her to the seat the earl had indicated, on his right hand. Jemma
followed and was seated several chairs down. The rest of the knights, save
Paris and William, sat directly below the dais at one of the large, lengthy
tables.

Jordan smiled her thanks to William,
who returned nothing more than a bow of his head and seated himself directly
next to her. Politely, she turned her attention back to the earl.

The thin, flushed man with bad skin
was looking her over like a prize mare. Jordan felt a little self-conscious at
the scrutiny and tried not to return his stare. Instead, she kept her gaze
lowered and waited for him to finish.

“I had no idea you would be so
lovely,” the earl finally said.

Jordan did not know how to respond.
Fortunately, he did not expect an answer.

“I only caught a glimpse of you in
the bailey this afternoon, due to the unfortunate circumstances,” he went on. “I
trust you have suffered no ill effects.”

“Nay, sire,” she replied. “Yer
physician tended me and I am fine now.”