The Wolfe (49 page)

William’s eyebrows lifted in feigned
outrage at the insult but he was quickly reduced to a broad grin. “Are you
saying that Lady Jordan’s are inadequate? Meager?”

“On the contrary, sire, they are perf….”
Kieran caught himself. “I would not know, for I saw nothing.”

William cocked a black brow and
nodded faintly before turning back around and resuming his watchful stance.

Jordan and Analiese exited the room
twenty minutes later, Jordan still trussing up the back of the surcoat so that
it would fit Analiese’s small chest. Analiese stroked and straightened the
material.

“Does it look all right?” she asked
Jordan.

Jordan gave her a warm smile. “Aye,
it makes ye look like a princess.”

Analiese looked at Jordan as if the
woman’s kindness had just suddenly dawned on her. She actually returned the smile,
albeit a small one.

“Thank you, Jordan,” she almost
choked on the words, but it became easier as she went. “You did not have to do
this.”

“Aye, I know it, but I wanted to,” Jordan
replied. “Besides, gold looks better on ye than it does on me. I look much
better in yer blue.”

Analiese looked at her plain blue surcoat
on Jordan, the woman’s breasts straining against the material and the clunky
jewelry about her waist and neck. Jordan wore it as if it were the most
beautiful dress in the world.

“I shall return it to you on the
morrow, after my ladies have cleaned it,” Analiese said, turning away from
Jordan and heading back to the party.

“Nay, Analiese, do not,” Jordan said
after her. When Analiese turned around, Jordan smiled. “Consider it a gift.
From one friend to another.

Analiese looked hesitant for a
moment, then her shoulders slumped and she nodded unsteadily. With a look
Jordan read to be one between guilt and thanks, Analiese turned and walked from
her sight.

Jordan let out a long breath and
followed, trying to adjust the ill-fitting surcoat as she went. From the
shadows, a huge hand reached out to grab her and she squealed in surprise.

“William,” she gasped, hand at her
throat. “Ye scared the wits from me. What are ye doing lurking in corners?”

“Watching for you,” he told her with
a grin. Then he looked her up and down. “I was told you were wearing an
obscenely low cut surcoat. I will slit the throat of the liar who told me such.”

She shook her head, “Nay, dunna, for
it was true. I had Analiese’s seamstress make me a dress of the latest London
fashion, but I gave the dress to Analiese.”

“Why?” he didn’t look particularly
surprised. Jordan shrugged and took his arm, walking slowly for the hall.

“Because she needed it,” she said simply.

“Analiese does not need any more surcoats,”
William said flatly.

“She needed this one,” Jordan
insisted softly. “It seems that Analiese is very threatened by me. She has had
the attention of all of the menfolk here at Northwood for so long that when I
came, she was naturally jealous. ‘Tis why she has been so mean to me. And then
tonight when I came into the hall with my fashionable dress, she felt very plain
and ugly. So I gave her the dress to make her feel better.”

His eyes turned soft. “Is that why
you are wearing this…this monstrosity?”

“Aye,” she gazed down at her dress.

“Then you will go to your rooms and
change at once,” he said firmly.

“Nay, English,” she said resolutely.
“I canna. Dunna ye see? I have to wear this dress. If I were to change it, it
would insult Analiese. When I wear it and everyone says how lovely I look, she
can tell them that it is her dress. But mayhap ye dunna understand a woman’s
pride. ‘Tis important that I keep it on.”

They stopped and he faced her,
gazing at her so warmly and lovingly that she felt her insides go to jelly. She
always found it hard to breathe when he looked at her this way.

“You are the kindest woman, my lady,”
he said softly. “Simply to make plain Analiese beautiful you would risk looking
less than tasteful so that you do not outshine her.”

“Then ye do understand a woman’s
pride,” she smiled.

He wiggled his brows. “That may be
the only thing I understand about women,” he confessed. “But I know one thing -
that I do love you.”

She blushed, wishing he could take
her in his arms. “I love ye, too, English.”

He didn’t dare touch her any more
than he was already doing, her hand on his forearm, but he was aching to draw
her against him. With a sigh only she heard, they turned back for the party.

Back inside the hall, Jordan resumed
her place in the receiving line with a gentle smile to Analiese. The earl
caught the expression and turned his questioning gaze on Jordan as she returned
beside him.

“Everything is…all right, my lady?”
he asked hesitantly.

“Aye, sire, everything will be fine,”
she replied happily. “I am quite enjoying the party.”

He nodded, uncertainty and amazement
filling his eyes. He kept glancing from Jordan to Analiese and back again,
shaking his head. Jordan, for her part, felt as if a gigantic weight had been
lifted for her and she felt quite free to enjoy herself.

Behind the family, a line of knights
had taken up station. William, Paris, Deinwald, Kieran, Michael and Lewis stood
silent and grim-faced as dozens of well-wishers filed by. Originally it had
only been William, Paris and Kieran, and when the others joined William made a
point of casually moving next to Michael.

“Who in the hell is in command, de
Bocage?” he demanded quietly.

“Ranulf has command of the castle
along with Captain Brockenhurst from Deauxville Mount,” he whispered back.        “Marc
and Corin are roving the walls and outlying areas assisted by the captains of
Northumbria and Hawkgrove. Viscount Wereford, son of Cumberland, and Jason have
command of the loft and the room.”

William nodded, glancing up the
loft. It was a balcony that encircled the entire hall, flying several family
banners and now lined with soldiers of all different houses. At the very near
point of the balcony, almost directly over the dais, flew the banner of the
clan Scott. He took another look at it, thinking that in this time of peace it
was not particularly peaceful. It was a four-point shield on a background of
Scott tartan, green, orange, white and black. The design on the shield was
simple, a head stuck on the end of an upraised sword; the sword gloriously
decorated with jewels and the Scot crown.

He turned away from it, hoping no
one would comment at the gory crest considering the entire purpose of the party
was a peaceful one. His mind focused back to the festivities, the people, and
several allied soldiers helping themselves to the food tables.

He elbowed Paris. “All the rest of
the captains and officers are bloody well in here, eating us to the poorhouse.
Lazy bastards.”

“You are in here,” Paris remarked
drolly.

William didn’t even look at him. “As
are you -which proves my point.”

In front of them, Jordan was doing
quite well remembering her manners as well as all of the name and titles being
thrown at her. She moved easily as if she were quite comfortable being the
center of attention. She would engage the women in conversations about their
jewels or dress, and encourage the men to tell her something of their families.
All in all, an excellent display and he knew then and there that she would make
a fine countess. He didn’t know whether to be proud or miserable.

The earl was introducing her to Earl
Corvalis’ son, Langley. The lad was perhaps her age and obviously not thrilled
to meet her. Jordan tried her best to be pleasant, but the situation was
uncomfortable and she was eager to get on with it. She was hungry and her feet
were starting to hurt and this fool was taxing her good humor sorely.

She feigned interest as the lad’s
father engaged the earl in a hearty conversation, ignoring Langley where he
stood in front of her. If he was going to be rude and not talk to her, then she
would reciprocate. She could see him from the corner of her eye, looking at her
and fumbling at his tunic.

Kieran saw the dagger first. It was
right in his line of sight. The other knights saw him moving for his sword and,
without question, drew theirs from then scabbards in a surge of force. By the
time that action had been completed, they had all seen the source of Kieran’s
concern and William was in motion.

Faster than speed itself, he grabbed
Jordan out of the way. Paris had the earl and the viscount, shoving the men
behind him, while Michael protected Analiese. Kieran and Deinwald descended on
the earl’s son like vultures as Lewis tried to shove the confused guests clear
of the melee.

People were screaming, falling away
from the center of confusion and the soldiers on the loft began to break rank
to go see what the matter was. Jason and Viscount Wereford were shouting at the
top of his lungs for them to fall back, not at all sure themselves what was
transpiring. It threatened to turn into a boiling mass of panicked people.

Jordan gasped as William swung her
into his arms and was just getting a grip on his neck when he deposited her
into Michael’s big arms.

“Get the ladies out of here,” he
ordered sharply.

She clutched Michael’s neck, still
reeling from shock and the pain of her still-tender shoulder being jostled, but
she heard William’s orders and she balked.

“No.” she yelled at him, but he had
already turned away. She looked up at Michael. “Dunna take me out, Michael. Not
now. I must stay.”

He ignored her, sweeping her away
with him and somehow managing to take Analiese along. Three of Northwood’s
senior men-at-arms came rushing to his aid from then posts by the door.

Jordan had to stay. She had no idea
what was going on, but guessed she was either the cause or the cure. Twisting
hard, she managed to loosen Michael’s grip and he had to stop or drop her.

“Calm down, m-my lady, all will be
well,” he insisted.

She glared at him, half-clutched in
his arms. “Put me down, ye brute, or I shall box yer ears.”

She was dead serious. Michael would
obey William’s order to the death, but for some reason he found himself
obliging and set her gently on the ground.

She sighed irritably and
straightened her confining clothing. Her shoulder was aching a great deal at
all of the exertion and she rubbed at it. Michael, seized with the fear that he
had somehow re-injured her shoulder, went down on one knee so that he could
look her in the eye.

“Are you all right, m-my lady?” he
deep blue eyes were concerned.

She waved off his concern. “I am
fine. I would return now.”

“Nay, my lady,” he said firmly. “I
have been ordered to return you to your rooms.”

Jemma came racing up then, a
difficulty considering she was inebriated. She grabbed Jordan as she came to a
halt so she would not fall over.

“What in the bloody hell is going
on?” she demanded.

Jordan could smell the liquor on her
breath. And not just any liquor; it was whisky. She wanted to demand where she
had got it from, but held her tongue. For now, she ignored her cousin’s
question.

“Aye, ye have indeed been ordered to
return me, Sir Michael,” she eyed him stubbornly. “But Sir William dinna say
when ye were to return me to my rooms.”

His eyebrows rose. “But…my lady, he
meant now.”

She ignored him, and Analiese and Jemma
as well, straining to see what was going on.

What was going on was a lot of
yelling and confusion. William had shoved his two knights out of the way and
had hauled the earl’s son to his feet. He was brutally rough with the lad,
drawing even louder protests from the young man’s kin.

“Where’s the goddamn dirk?” he
demanded harshly to no one in particular.

“I have it,” Kieran held the
emerald-encrusted blade in his left hand, still clutching his huge sword in his
right.

William had Langley by the collar
and forced him to meet his eyes. “You were going to stab the future countess,”
he accused through clenched teeth.

“Nay.” the boy was scared out of his
mind. “I was going to give her the blade as a gift.”

“With the blade pointing
at
her?” Kieran snarled. “I saw you unsheathe it, boy. Do not lie.”

The young man shook his head hard. “Nay,
I tell you. It became unsheathed accidentally.”

De Longley was standing next to
William, his face dark. His usually mild expression was menacing.

“Lady Jordan did not survive an
arrow to be cut down by the likes of you,” he growled. “William, remove him and
his family from my house.”

“Wait.” Earl Corvalis was pale. “He
has done nothing. My boy would not murder anyone.”

De Longley whirled viciously. “We
have known each other a long time, Bruce, and because of that friendship I will
not order your son killed. But from this day on I will wash my hands of you.
You are no longer welcome at Northwood.”