The Wolfe (5 page)

Jordan shook her head vehemently. “I
shall not place ye in any danger. Caladora needs ye here. What would she do if
we were both to leave her?”

Jemma cocked a dark brow irritably. “Probably
wither away,” she said dryly. “Jordi, she will have my mother and Aunt Anne.
You will have no one.”

“Untrue. I am taking Maggie and
Elspeth with me,” Jordan replied.

“Pah.” Jemma spat. “Maids. Servants.
Ye might as well be taking two trained dogs for all of the good those two will
do ye. Ye
need
me.”

Jemma was stubborn. Jordan was
stubborner. She stared her cousin down firmly.

“Nay, Jemma, I shall not be taking
ye,” she repeated.

Jordan turned away from her cousin,
a gesture that infuriated Jemma. Her bright amber eyes narrowed as she followed
her cousin back to the window.

“Take me or I will follow ye,” she
threatened coolly. “Ye know that I will. I can do it.”

Jordan hadn’t thought of that. Jemma
was indeed quite capable of tracking her back to Northwood. She turned back to
her cousin, scowling.

“I forbid ye, Jemma Scott,” she said
staunchly. “If ye so much as….”

Her demands were cut off by a loud
rapping at the door, followed by the door swinging open and crashing in against
the wall. The girls startled at the noise, only to see Jemma’s brothers, Donald
and Cord, standing in the archway. Both young men were quite breathless with
excitement.

“Uncle Thomas wants ye in the bailey
now
, Jordan,” Cord demanded.

After a split second of
terror-filled hesitation, Jordan forced herself to gather her wits and comply.
There was no longer any time for anxiety-filled thoughts, for wild wonderment.
The time was upon her and she must obey.

Without a hind glance, she gathered
her skirts and disappeared through the open archway. The two young men followed
her, slamming the door loudly in their wake.

Jemma and Caladora were left staring
wide-eyed at the closed door, agog at the rapid chain of events. Jordan had
been here, only a moment ago, and now she was gone. Like a frightened doe,
Caladora turned to her cousin as if Jemma could do something, anything at all,
to ease their minds and make the situation all right.

“Will we ever see her again?”
Caladora whispered fearfully.

Jemma’s amber eyes flashed. “Aye,”
she said confidently. “That I will.”

Caladora was not as naive or as
ignorant as Jemma and Jordan gave her credit for. Her anxiety for Jordan was
now compounded by Jemma’s shielded thoughts, thoughts Caladora knew instinctively
were not good. She grasped Jemma’s arm.

“What are ye planning, ye little
devil?” she asked. “Jordan told ye to stay put.”

Jemma looked surprised that Caladora
knew exactly what she was thinking, but recovered quickly.

 “I know what she said,” she
snapped, turning for the door. “Mind yer own business, Caladora Scott, or I
shall tell Gray Kinkaid that ye have a heart for him.”

Caladora’s jaw dropped. “Ye wouldna
dare. And where are ye going?”

Jemma opened the door. “To watch
Jordan’s departure from a better place.”

The door slammed. Caladora knew she
was lying through her teeth.

***

Jordan had been standing on the
great stones steps of Langton’s keep for some time, watching as the castle
prepared itself for the necessary intruders. Her father and Uncle Matthew,
Jemma’s father, were at the gates while her Uncle Nathaniel, Caladora’s father,
settled the men-at-arms and bellowed at the servants to vacate. She was
absolutely sick with fear, so terrified that the English soldiers would do
terrible things to her once she left the safety of Langton.

The horn from the sentries sounded
again and she startled, her heart pounding in her ears. The envoys from the
army were at the gate, and laboriously, the massive wood slabs began to swing
open. Her breathing quickened and her palms began to sweat.  She was so caught
up in the opening gates that she failed to notice aunts and male relatives taking
up positions around her like a protective ring.

The chaos of the bailey was rapidly
dissipating as servants and peasants vanished into safe hiding, cubbies from
which to watch the exchange. Most had never seen the English this close before
and it was as if demons from hell were entering their sanctuary; in their
minds, there was little difference between the two.

Uncle Nathaniel whooped and Jordan’s
wagons were brought forth out into the open. She paid little heed for her
attention was entirely focused on the gates that were now almost completely
open. Two rows of honor guard had taken position on either side of the gate,
effectively creating a gauntlet that led directly to her.

Jordan prayed at that moment that
she would not do anything to embarrass herself or her kin. She knew that if she
opened her mouth she would vomit or if she closed her eyes she would faint, so
she simply stood frozen like stone and prayed to God to give her strength to
face what she must. The anticipation of actually seeing English soldiers within
the confines of Langton was overpowering. A strange tingling filled her limbs.

A silence settled over the crowd as
three English knights rode beneath the gatehouse and into the outer bailey. All
three were perfectly attired, huge and ethereal, and the hostility in the air
of the compound was tangible. The massive destriers that they rode danced and
snorted their way into enemy territory, and Jordan wondered if indeed the
horses could sense the hate around them. There was no way to miss it.

As the knights approached, Jordan
found herself oddly entranced with them. Their gleaming armor was flawless and
she could see the well-kept chain mail covering them from head to toe beneath the
plate armor. They rode their animals as if they were a physical part of them,
not even moving so much as an inch as the nervous destriers bucked and kicked.
They wore intimidating helmets with the faceplates down, and she found that she
was disturbed by the fact that she could not see their faces. She wondered if
they were even real men; they looked to be statues.

She also noticed the spurs. She had
heard that true English knights wear spurs of pure gold, a symbol of their
rank. All three men wore smooth, shining gold spurs.

Jordan’s father and uncles stood
several feet away from her at the bottom of the great stone steps. The three
knights stopped a good distance from them and dismounted with perfect
synchronization. One knight, the man riding in the middle, handed his reins to
one of the others and deliberately approached the awaiting Scots.

“Who is Laird Thomas Scott?” The
knight’s voice was husky, rich, and deep.

“I am,” Thomas replied. “Who are ye?”

“Sir William de Wolfe, Captain of Northwood
Castle,” the man replied. “I have come on behalf of John de Longley, Earl of
Teviot, to retrieve his bride, by order of our illustrious King Henry.  Will
you surrender her peacefully?”

A small bell went off inside of
Jordan’s head when the knight revealed his name. Had she heard that name
before? It occurred to her that it sounded distantly familiar, though she could
not imagine where on earth she had ever heard it. Still, it tugged at her and
she waited for the warrior to remove his helmet.

Thomas’ face grew dark, his calm
facade vanishing. He glared at the helmeted warrior who stood at least two heads
taller than he did. Jordan saw the open hatred in her father’s eyes and wondered
what had made him lose his carefully controlled manner.

“Take off yer helmet,” Thomas
growled.

The knight didn’t hesitate. He
pulled it off with his smooth grace and tucked it beneath his arm in one
gesture. His hazel-gold eyes focused with arrogance on the Scot.

“God’s Bloody Rood.” Thomas spat
with amazement. “‘Tis ye after all, ye English devil. By God, The Wolf in our
very midst.”

The two other knights accompanying The
Wolf also pulled off their helmets, their faces like stone, one very blond and
one dark-blond. But Jordan was not looking at them; she was reeling with the
shock of her life.

It was as if some unseen force had
kicked her in the stomach. Her head swam and she could not breathe and she was
afraid she was going to become sick in front of God and two countries. Of all
of the knights in England, it was
him
.

The knight she had tended those
weeks back in Bog Wood had come back to haunt her. Jordan closed her eyes hard
and opened them again, only to be confronted by the most handsome face she had
ever beheld. It wasn’t possible. How did he survive? Her knees threatened to
collapse; somehow, God was punishing her. Her blood rushed to her head and
began gushing wildly in her ears, but she fought the urge to faint. She could
not embarrass herself, not here. She had to fight it. Her world was reeling and
she fought desperately for control.

In hindsight, perhaps she should not
have been shocked that she had saved the life of the infamous border Wolf. He
had given her his name and she had chosen to believe it wasn’t the man known to
be the scourge of her people. But she had. The man had been menacing her people
for several years and she had tended him as she would have any other soldier.
Her shame and horror was unbelievable.

As she reeled, more horror gripped
her; if her father found out, there would be hell to pay. Would The Wolfe even
recognize her? Would he thank her publicly, in front of her kin? Terror shot
through her when she remembered his promise to thank her for her kindness. If
he were planning on doing it now, her life would not be worth the ground she
stood upon.  She must have faltered because someone put a hand on her back to
steady her. Jordan could not even summon the will to thank them.

“So my daughter is to marry yer
lord?” Thomas’ angry words broke into her turbulent thoughts. “And ye are to
take her to him, are ye?”

“I am,” William replied evenly.
“Will you surrender her to me?”

Thomas looked terribly indecisive
but he had to show faith or Jordan would be terrified. He stepped close to the
English captain so that only he would hear his words.

“I will tell ye that I hate yer
bloody guts, ye bastard,” Thomas rumbled. “For all of the pain and misery ye
have caused my kin, I would gladly run ye through right now. But I canna, for I
have pledged something even greater than my hatred - my honor. My daughter is
to be Laird de Longley’s bride. Ye take her, Wolf, and treat her with the
respect of a countess or so help me, I will gut ye myself and take great
delight in yer pain.”

William held the same expression he
had since he took off his helmet. He wasn’t the least bit offended or
frightened by the earl’s words, but the more he stood in the bailey of the enemy
castle the more uncomfortable he became. It would only take one man, from
either side, to start something and then there would be no end to the melee.
Better to get the wench and get the hell out of there.

“Understood, my lord,” he replied
quietly. “If you will direct me to your daughter, I will be grateful.”

Thomas held the man’s gaze a moment
longer before turning on his heel and the two of them headed towards the keep. Jordan,
from her position at the keep entry, saw her father and the knight swiftly
approach and her panic began to bloom; mayhap the knight would not even remember
her; it had been dark that night and he had been horribly ill. She silently
beseeched God for help, praying that the knight would not remember her and that
she had been wiped from his memory.

He arrived sooner than she had
prepared for and suddenly, their eyes locked. His gaze was shocking, piercing,
yet she could read no emotion, no flicker of recognition, and she was slammed
with relief. So many emotions were swirling though her brain that she felt as
if she were a weak, quivering mass of flesh. She simply could not think
rationally any longer as she averted her gaze and stared at her feet.

“This is my daughter, Lady Jordan
Scott.” Thomas was completely unaware of his daughter’s turmoil and wondered
why she was looking at the ground. “Jordan, this is yer new husband’s captain.
Greet the man.”

Jordan curtsied a bit too deep
because her knees were shaking so. “Sir knight.”    William acknowledged her
silently. Truth be known, he didn’t trust himself to speak; he would have
sounded winded because he had not taken a breath since he first lay eyes on
Jordan’s beautiful face, looking pale and fearful. He simply could not believe
what he was seeing.

The more he gazed at her lowered
head the more disbelieving he became.
Good God, it is her.
His angel of
mercy in the flesh. He never truly believed he would ever see her again and to
have her standing before him, as his charge no less, was too incredible to
comprehend. He almost laughed aloud at the stroke of fortune, or misfortune,
considering this woman was to be his lord’s bride.

There was no mistaking her
incredible beauty and he wondered if she would even remember him. Turning
abruptly to her father, he spoke.

“My orders are to return her
immediately to Northwood,” he snapped forcefully. “I assume she is ready to
leave?”