The Wolfe (65 page)

Jemma hung her head back, her hair
tickling the tops of his thighs as she came to like the sensation of him inside
her. He was huge and she felt a raw, but his big body wedged into her most
private orifice was becoming a marvelous experience.

His thrusts became extremely
forceful and he held her hips, his eyes focused on her bouncing breasts every
time he drove into her. Jemma gripped his neck, letting him do all of the work
because he knew exactly what he was doing, how to make her feel wickedly
womanly. The fire in her loins, the pressure built into a peaking tingling
sensation and suddenly she felt her whole body go stiff, a wildfire of
turbulent pleasures rippling through her small body. Her mind went black, the
only thing of any importance being this most electrifying excitement and she
boldly wished for it to go on and on, to never end. She heard herself telling
Kieran just that.

He felt her spasms and the erotic
words that spilled forth from the delicious red mouth and was lost in a violent
surge of thrusting, shooting his seed deep into her womb and groaning with satisfaction.
Never, never in his life had he experienced something so completely satisfying,
emotionally and physically. He was so content that he was shaken.

They clutched each other fiercely,
for an eternity, neither one of them uttering a word. In faith, Jemma was still
quite dazed as Kieran raised her face up to his.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a
smile.

She nodded. “Aye.”

He pushed her hair off her face. “I
am sorry it had to hurt so much. You know I would hurt you for anything.”

“I know,” she said. “It passed and…I
liked it.”

He laughed softly. “I know,” his
hands were still in her hair. “Tell me you’ll marry me, Jemma.”

Her eyes opened wide and her mouth
dropped. “Marry ye? Well…yes, of course, but when?”

“Whenever you decide,” he said,
kissing her. “I shall leave that up to you.”

She looked doubtfully at him for
several moments. “Are ye sure ye want me? After all, I speak my mind and….”

He kissed her again to shut her up. “And
I love you that way.”

Happily, she threw her arms around
his neck. Her Sassenach knight.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The day was warm and sunny as Jordan
and Aloria entered the inner bailey of Northwood. In the shadows it was cool,
but as soon as they walked into the direct sunlight it was enough to make one
sweat. They were silent as they walked and every so often, Jordan would glance
behind her at the three knights. They would gaze back helplessly, wanting to
tell her just what they thought of her new lady but wisely keeping silent.
There was nothing any of them could do about it.

When the silence became
uncomfortable, Jordan took to politely pointing out items she thought Aloria
might find interesting. Aloria would nod shortly but remained quiet unless
absolutely necessary. Jordan began to feel as if she were talking to a wall.

Jordan’s favorite place by far was
the outer bailey and all of its activity. Peasants were bustling busily about
and she often wondered what on earth kept the peasants so busy; they always had
something to do.

She stopped at the little lean-to
where the man with the mercantile kept his wares; she loved his shop best of
all. He had all sorts of interesting little things along with bolts of material
and she loved to inspect his stock.

The man, a thin fellow with receding
hair, greeted her familiarly and began to show her his latest acquisition:
perfume from the continent. Delighted, Jordan took to trying every bottle he
had, and when she ran out of space on her arms, she put it on Deinwald. He, of
course, was horrified but in truth liked the attention, so he let her touch him
with the oil and then smell it on his skin.

Aloria hung back, out of the way,
watching her new mistress and the knights. She was such a beautiful, happy
woman that Aloria was jealous and curious at the same time. She wished she
could be like Lady Jordan, but she knew she had not the charm or the beauty.
But it was more than physical beauty; it was the way she talked, the silly way
she laughed, and the charming smile that came from within. The signs of a very
content, very happy lady.

Still, she wished she could laugh
and joke with men the way Lady Jordan did, improper though it might be. She
found herself watching with fascination.

Deinwald, smelling strongly, finally
bowed away and Jordan grabbed Michael’s big arm so that she could smell the
last two bottles. She would sniff and approve or disapprove, and then the
knights would smell the scent and give their opinions. Not all opinions
matched, however, but Jordan finally decided on three different fragrances.
After the perfume, she delved into the new fabrics the man had.

A shadow fell across the doorway and
everyone turned to see William crowding the opening with his massive frame,
smiling at his wife.

“Well, hello, English,” she said
gaily. “Come and see what I am to buy.”

He raised an eyebrow, entering the
cramped space and highly aware of Aloria’s presence. “What now, my lady?”

He called her my lady and Jordan
suddenly remembered Aloria’s presence, too. She pointed to the bottles of
perfume. “These wonderful perfumes,” she turned to Michael. “Hold out yer arm
and let him smell.”

Michael rolled his eyes comically
and held out an arm to the captain. William cocked an eyebrow at his knight,
although Michael refused to look at him, and took a quick sniff.

“Pleasant enough,” he observed. “But
why is Michael wearing it?”

“Because I am already covered with
the stuff,” she held up her arms to emphasize her point. “Deinwald is wearing
perfume, too.”

William cast a reproving eye at his
knights. “Good God, I shall be beating the men-at-arms away from them. What
about you, Marc? Haven’t you been roped into this, as well?”

Jordan turned around, a large
measurement of rose-colored fabric held up in front of her. She immediately put
it against Marc, just under his neck and looked at it thoughtfully.

“What are you doing?” William asked
on behalf of his knight.

She pursed her lips as she thought. “Seeing
how well this color goes with his skin tone. His skin is fair, like mine, and
our coloring is nearly the same. How does it look?”

William shook his head faintly in
defeat. “He looks charming,” he said, backing away as she returned the material
to the merchant.

“I think so, too,” she looked at the
shopkeeper. “I shall take  all ye have of that. And the blue, too,” she glanced
at William, “for Jemma.”

William gave a feeble shrug, watching
her barter for the price. When the amount was finally agreed upon, she noticed
a tray of bracelets she hadn’t seen before. With a cry of delight, she began to
inspect the bangles and bade Aloria to join her.

William turned to watch the big
woman as she respectfully moved past him and quietly appraised the jewelry. He
stood, arms folded across his chest, watching his wife and her new
lady-in-waiting intensely, looking for any signs of discord or trouble. He had
not met this woman yet and was displeased that already the lady was allowed
such close access to his wife before he’d had a chance to interview her.

Jordan turned to her husband, her
hands full of bracelets. “Lend me yer arm.”

He cleared his throat, knowing it
would be useless to argue with her. Obediently, he extended his huge arms and
she immediately put a bracelet on his wrist, but it was the only one that would
fit. She scrutinized the bangle before removing it and spared William any more
embarrassment.

Aloria, however, soon found herself
up to her elbows in bracelets while Jordan tried to decide which one she liked
best.

After a minute she pulled them all
off and handed the one she liked best to the merchant. “That one,” she said
decisively. “Now, if ye would please add it all up and tell me what I owe ye, I
shall thank ye.”

The merchant nodded happily, for it
was a large sale. William groaned inwardly, wondering just how much this was
going to cost him. His wife had one vice and one vice only; she was a slave to
dresses and pretty jewelry and feminine frills. But, then again, so was he.

Michael had the material and
Deinwald carried the vials of perfume as if they were made of gold. Jordan
swore if he dropped them that she would personally kill him. She wore her new
bracelet, the rough-cut sapphire and silver gleaming under the warm sun.
William bade his two knights to return the goods to Jordan’s rooms while he and
Marc continued to escort the ladies about.

Jordan was eyeing the cobbler’s shed
and he caught her look. “What are you going to buy now, my lady?” his voice had
a warning tone to it.

She caught the inflection in his
voice and quickly looked away. “Nothing,” she said, looking for a change of
subject. She turned to Aloria, slightly behind her. “Is Northwood much different
from Windsor?”

“Aye, my lady,” she answered. “Windsor
is much, much larger.”

“And ye like it there?”

Aloria’s eyes snapped to her new mistress
and Jordan caught a glimpse of something, be it sadness or hostility. “It was
my home, my lady.”

She answered her, but without truly
answering the question. Jordan began to wonder if Aloria didn’t leave a lover
behind and resented her new mistress greatly for it, for she was certainly stiff
and formal enough.

“Being the queen’s lady must be
exciting,” Jordan took William’s arm unconsciously. “I shall wager ye’ve
traveled far and wide and seen a great many things.”

Aloria didn’t notice Jordan’s action;
she was watching her feet. “‘Tis an honor to serve the queen, my lady. She is
an educated and gracious lady, as is the king.”

“Are ye educated, Aloria?” Jordan
asked, knowing the English did not encourage education for women.

“I can read Latin, French, and
English,” Aloria replied. “I have had a good deal of practice writing, as well.
Why, King Henry himself taught me to read Latin. He is quite fluent, more than
most priests.”

Jordan nodded before she truly
thought of the contents of the answer. Then, slowly, a dawning horror filled
her veins.
Latin.
The false wedding ceremony tomorrow would be in Latin,
and the king was fluent in it. What if he didn’t fall asleep as the earl
promised, and furthermore paid close attention to what was being said? What
if…?

Her head snapped to William just as
his eyes found hers, silently imploring her to be silent and calm. His thoughts
were exactly the same, as if they were reading one another’s mind, and he was
near panic trying to think of a solution. But he remained outwardly cool,
praying Jordan would remain the same. The woman could panic so easily he hoped
she would be lucid enough to control herself.

Jordan started to quiver; he could
feel it through his thick leather gloves. “What other languages does our king
speak?” she asked Aloria with nary a quiver.

Bravo, Jordan.
William applauded
silently, thrilled that she had the presence of mind to think clearly and
formulate a plan to gain useful information. He felt himself washing with
relief, feeling hopeful that together he and his wife could come to a plausible
solution.

Aloria looked thoughtful. “Aside
from the languages I mentioned, he speaks Italian and German. Our king is
exceptionally educated.”

Jordan nodded. “He doesna speak
Gaelic?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Aloria said. “He
has never had the interest. He believes it a harsh language, and he is not fond
of Welsh, either.”

Gaelic.
Jordan passed her
husband a slow, knowing glance and he fought the urge to kiss her soundly for
her quick thinking. Good God, the woman could think quickly on her feet when
she set her mind to it.

The rest of the walk went pleasantly
enough. William and Marc returned the ladies to the front doors of Northwood
and Marc discreetly excused himself while Aloria stood next to her mistress and
eyed William impatiently. William saw the look and knew exactly what the woman
was doing.

“Lady Aloria, you are excused,” he
said. “I will see Lady Jordan up in a moment.”

Jordan winced, wondering if Aloria
would challenge William’s authority in this matter. She soon found out; much to
her dismay, Aloria planned to do just that.

“Begging the captain’s pardon, but it
is not proper for the future countess to be seen alone with another man other
than her husband,” she said bravely.

Trouble was, she was absolutely
right. William cocked a slow eyebrow at the woman, hoping that she would back
down by sheer intimidation.