The Wolfe (60 page)

“But no one will know I am married
to him, at least not yet,” Jordan reminded her patiently. “The earl will stage
a mock ceremony on the morrow for the benefit of the king. Try to remember
this, Jemma, I do not want to repeat it again. The more chance that someone
else might hear.”

Jemma nodded so hard she tipped
sideways. “God’s Blood, yer dress. We must get it out and hang the wrinkles out.”

Jordan put her arm around her
cousin’s shoulder. “We have time, Jemma. Get a hold of yerself now.”

Jemma was flighty and scattered when
it should have been Jordan with the jitters. Yet Jordan was so calm it was
frightening; even as they removed the wedding surcoat from the huge wardrobe
and brought it into the antechamber, she was perfectly collected.

Jemma jabbered and twittered as she
grew accustomed to the idea that her cousin would actually be marrying the man
she loved and not the fat, old earl. It was so incredible she still could
scarce believe it.

“Arna ye nervous, Jordan?” she asked
as her cousin hung the massive dress from the ceiling, near the hearth.

Jordan shook her head, her face
dreamily happy. “Of course not,” she said. “This is what I have wanted more
than anything else in my entire life. To marry is a dream itself, but to marry
a man ye love…well, ‘tis most unbelievable.”

Jemma nodded in agreement, her joy
overcoming her shock for the first time. “Oh, Jordi, I am so happy for ye.”

Jordan grinned back at her, feeling
the excitement. “Me, too.”

Sylvie came into the room, her arms
laden with Jordan’s freshly washed garments. She was so busy that she didn’t
notice Jemma and Jordan until she had set the bundles down. Then, she noticed
the magnificent wedding surcoat hanging from the ceiling.

“What a beautiful surcoat.” she
pointed to the dress. “Getting it ready, are you? Well, let me help you.”

Jemma put her hand on Sylvie’s arm,
twitching with excitement. “Sylvie, can ye keep a secret?” she giggled.

Jordan let her cousin go on. After
all, Sylvie wasn’t stupid and it would be no time before she figured out what
was going on. She trusted the woman and knew that the secret would be safe.

Sylvie eyed Jemma and Jordan both. “Aye,
of course, my lady. What secret?”

“Jordan’s getting married. Tonight.”
Jemma burst.

“Tonight?” Sylvie repeated with disbelief.
“But the king is not here yet.”

“She is not going to wait for the
king, because he is not invited to this wedding.” Jemma said gleefully.

Sylvie was bewildered and Jordan took
pity on her. “Sylvie, I am not marrying the earl,” she said softly.

The woman looked at her as if she was
daft. “You are not?”

“Nay,” Jordan shook her head. “I am
marrying the captain. Tonight.”

The color that had left Sylvie’s
face suddenly flooded back into her cheeks. “The captain? Oh, dear God, what on
earth is the earl going to say?” she gasped, sick for her little ward. “I do
not understand, my lady.”

“Here, Sylvie, sit down,” Jordan
gently pushed her into the nearest chair. “I am marrying the captain with the earl’s
blessing. Ye mustna tell a soul what ye know, not even yer husband. Promise me?”

Sylvie’s eyes were wide as she gazed
up at Jordan, but she nodded. “Anything, my little lamb,” she said, then a soft
expression crossed her features. “You know, I thought there was something
between you two. A woman can always tell these things.”

Jordan gave her a small nod and
moved back over to where her dress hung from the rafter.

“I have seen him look at you, my
lady, and I have seen the way he looks at other men who look at you,” Sylvie
was rapidly making sense out of the entire situation. “Ah, yes, now it is
beginning to become clear to me. I do not know why I should be surprised. Dear
God, you’ll be marrying the most feared man in the realm. What an honor for you.”

Jordan glanced at her cousin, both
of them knowing just how lucky she was. She let out a happy sigh and glanced
back up at her dress.

“Well, now, we need to steam this
dress,” she said briskly.

Sylvie jumped up from the chair. “Do
not worry, my lady, I shall do it now.” She was moving with a sense of purpose.
“Where are those two little birds who call themselves your maids? Lord, I shall
take a strap to them when I find them. They are never around when they are
needed.”

Jordan stepped back as Sylvie began
to break out the hot irons, watching the fat woman bustle about. Jemma came over
to her.

“We need to wash yer hair, Jordi,”
she said. “And flowers. What will we do about flowers? We still have time to go
out and collect some. And food. What about…?”

Jordan put up her hand. “The earl is
making the arrangements,” she said, then looked thoughtful. “Jemma, where are those
flowers we picked on our way here? I know we used most of them for soap, but I
remember ordering some of them dried for winter. Do ye know where they are?”

Jemma nodded, determined. “I shall
find them, dunna ye worry about that. But why do ye want them?”

Jordan smiled a soft, happy smile. “Purely
sentimental, Jemma. Would ye find them for me while I order my bath?”

Jemma nodded, eager and happy to
help out. Jordan watched her bounce away, still in such a haze of happiness and
disbelief she felt as if she needed a good, cold splash to make sure it was all
real. If she woke up on the morrow and it was all a dream, then she would
surely die of a broken heart

***

It was close to dusk. In a seldom
used room under the northeast tower, the knights of Northwood were gathered in
their ceremonial finery. The smell of tallow candles cloaked the air, casting
tiny flickers of light on the brightly polished armor. The mood was soft, the
conversation muted as they waited patiently for the primary players of the
deception.

A small table against one wall held
wine, great wedges of cheese, grapes and small tart apples. The knights congregated
in small groups, speaking with soft tones and gentle laughter, sampling the
wine and food. The only knights missing were William and Paris, for obvious
reasons.

The glow of the candles was becoming
brighter as the sun set. William and Paris entered the room, easily talking
between themselves as if they were attending a meeting rather than a wedding.
They smiled at their friends, handshakes going all around. Now that the shock
of William marrying Jordan had worn off, the knights were in a most jovial
mood. Even crusty old Ranulf was smiling a good deal more than anyone could ever
remember.

None could scarce believe the good
fortune that had befallen their captain. Where they had expected violence and
bloodshed at the very least, there was joy and peace. It was a remarkable
situation to say the least; none more surprised than William himself.

Although he was entirely cheerful
outwardly, his insides were shaking as a true bridegroom’s should be. He was
certainly not immune. He was not nervous at the prospect of marriage, of
course, but for the recourse that could follow that event. He knew he should
not allow the earl to be equally guilty in this action, but he obviously could
not deny his liege. The earl was a distant third cousin of the king, but
William wondered if that family line would break under the direct disobedience
of a royal decree. Apparently the earl did not think so, and he hoped to God
the man was right.

And then there were the Scots. Those
damn bastards, to which he would soon be related, wanted to overrun the whole
bloody territory. He, the earl and Paris were still the only people who knew of
the missive. When he glanced about the room, he wondered what the future would
hold for his knights. Would they survive the wars that were inevitably coming?
Would he, for that matter? That thought brought a stab of fear; no longer was
he a lone Wolf. He would soon have a mate, and the need to live, if only for
her, was greater than his fear.

On what should be the greatest day
of his life, he was plagued with worry. He tried to push it aside, if only for
Jordan’s sake. Being as intuitive as she was, she would pick up on his mood.

The earl entered the room in a
bluster of deep green silk, practically dragging Father Sutton by the arm. The
priest had supervised Adam’s knighting ceremony, a young thin man with an
infectious smile. He had been initially overwhelmed at the subterfuge the earl
was suggesting, but in the goodness of true love had graciously accepted a
large donation on behalf of the church and swore on the Bible to keep silent.

He greeted William when the earl
shoved the men together, and smiled at the captain known as The Wolf.

“I never thought I would see the day
when one of Northwood’s finest would approach the altar in marriage,” he said
truthfully. “And if that occasion came, I certainly did not expect it to be you.”

William started to reply when the earl
cut him off. “Shush.” he said nervously. “The bride is coming.”

William barely had time to glance to
the door when Jordan was through it, filling the room with her radiant beauty.
He looked at her; they all did, so captured by her beauty that the room had
gone stone cold silent.

Jordan heard the conversation cease
when she entered and she stopped, smiling self-consciously at William where he
stood several feet away. She wore a dress of pale ivory satin embroidered with gold
thread around the cuff of the sleeves, the hem of the full skirt, and around
the neckline it hung off her exquisite shoulders, the long sleeves clinging to
her arms and the bodice hugging her torso. Her hair was free and flowing to her
waist. William had never seen anything more beautiful in his whole life.

Jemma was behind her dressed in
royal blue brocade. She held two huge bouquets of dried spring flowers, smiling
her pretty curvy smile in compliment to her cousin. It was if time was standing
still, for just a brief span, reveling in the moment that might never have
come.

The earl broke the spell. He shoved
the priest to the front of the room. “Come now, everyone, there is no time to
lose.”

Jordan dashed to William, who
reached out his hand and clasped her small one in it, reverently, taking just a
fleeting instant to kiss her palm softly before tucking it into the crook of
his arm. She smiled lovingly at him as they took their positions in front of
the priest. Jemma stood to her left, handing her one of the bouquets of
flowers.

“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“Surely there are enough fresh flowers in the vicinity.”

“Aye, there are,” she said. “Ye
dunna recognize these? I picked these on the road from Langton; the day of our
very first kiss.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in
remembrance of that day. “I suppose they are to remind me of the humility I
suffered, and that you expect such blind obedience from me in the future?”

“Nay, English,” she said softly. “They
are to remind me of the first time I realized I loved ye.”

He smiled, patting her hand on his
arm as the earl shushed them again and the priest began to recite the marriage
mass.

The knights were circled around the couple,
their armor reflecting the light of a hundred candles. Jordan didn’t notice
until she turned to William to recite her vows that each knight had his sword
drawn, laying across the breast plate from right hip to left shoulder. She was
touched by the show of support and loyalty, and William would tell her later that
the gesture meant a pledge to the death; they would die for her as their lord’s
wife. It was a needless gesture; all would have died for her the day they met
her.

She quickly forgot her thoughts when
William recited his vows in his husky, deep voice and tears sprang to her eyes.
She never believed she would hear those words come from his mouth, at least so
soon. Her voice was so tight when she repeated her vows that she squeaked.
Behind her, she could hear Jemma sniffing.

When it came time to place the ring
on her finger, she did not expect any such memento because of the hasty nature
of the ceremony. Yet to her surprise, William took an item from Paris’ hand and
held it up in front of her. It was a dainty gold chain, fine and delicate, and
strung on the chain was a ring.

“What’s this?” she asked.

He placed the ring in her palm. “A
simple gold band. I intend to have a fine ring made for you when the
circumstances allow, but I wanted you to have a token just the same.”

She smiled reverently as she gazed
at the ring. “Oh, no, English. I would keep this.”

He returned her smile, touched at
her obvious adoration of the plain ring. He was going to argue with her but he
did not have the heart. Later, he would have his way, he told himself.

He placed the chain over her neck. “You
cannot wear the ring on your finger yet,” he said softly. “Until that time, you
can wear it next to your heart.”

She looked at the ring, trying to
keep her composure. But she could not, her emotions bubbled forth and she began
to weep quietly, leaning against him. The priest finished the ceremony, William
kissing salty, wet lips at the conclusion.