The Wolfe (8 page)

’If this danger were
danger to ye,

yer small ear would
attend my words.

But I tell ye sleep, my
baby, and let the sea sleep,

let our trouble sleep;
let some change appear

Zeus, father from ye.

This bold word and
beyond justice

I speak, I pray ye,
forgive it me.’”

The fire crackled in the center of
the small group, the only sound heard. Paris was stunned into silence with the
beauty of the words and the meaning he saw in them. The other three knights
seemed equally sedate. Jordan glanced up from her trance, smiling weakly at
him.

 “I think he was telling me not to
fear my future, and to forgive him his decision,” she said softly.

Paris managed a nod. “Aye,” his voice
was strangely quiet. “My assumption as well.”

Paris was a great admirer of the
Romans and the Greeks, and was amazed at this woman’s intelligence. The words
she spoke had been flawless; he knew the passage. He was suddenly seized with
determination to know everything about her.

“What else did your father read of?”
he asked.

She blinked thoughtfully. “He read
to us the story of Jason and the Argonauts. And he is a great admirer of
Alexander the Great.”

“Holy Jesus, Joseph and Mary,”
Deinwald muttered and shook his head. “A laird who would be emperor.”

The hostile young knight made her
uncomfortable again, breaking the pleasant spell. Paris didn’t look at him; his
eyes were fixed on Jordan’s sad face.

 “One more comment, Deinwald, and I
cut your tongue out,” he said icily. “‘Tis Lord de Longley’s future
father-in-law you speak of. Bank your mouth, although I know how difficult it
is for you.”

Jordan felt a little better with the
blond knight defending her against Deinwald. They sat together a few moments in
silence, Jordan staring at her hands and reluctant to say anymore. Paris could
see how nervous she was and having Deinwald airing his views did not make her
feel better. He felt a stab of pity for his lord’s beautiful new bride. Better
to keep her talking and relieve her and, he decided.

“My lady, allow me to introduce you
to three of Northwood’s finest.” He indicated the other knights, the dark blond
and then the brunette. “That bear of a man is Sir Kieran Hage, and that tall
tree is Sir Michael de Bocage.”

Jordan turned out of politeness to
greet the knights and was not surprised when they both smiled openly and bowed
gallantly. She could only manage a slight nod of her head in their direction,
mostly looking at the man with the thick neck; Sir Kieran. Her instincts told
her that he was a man with character such as William, although she knew not
why.

“And that,” Paris cocked an eyebrow
at petulant young knight with the curly locks, “is Sir Deinwald Ellsrod. Now
that you have been properly introduced, please feel free to insult him as
harshly as you can muster. ‘Tis become a sport with us.”

Deinwald glared at her before
turning away and looking back over the camp. Paris would have liked nothing
better than to slug him. He brought his gaze back around to see Jordan looking
at him.

“You have not told me your name, sir
knight,” she said.

He smiled a sort of cocky grin. “Paris
de Norville, my lady. Second in command of Northwood’s army.”

He was a handsome bugger, obviously
so. The type women swoon over, and she could furthermore see that he knew his
own charm. But his smile was genuine and he had been more than kind to her.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir Paris,”
she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I assure you,
the pleasure is mine. Now, tell me; do you know much of Alexander, Lady Jordan?”

“Aye,” Jordan looked up timidly from
her lap. “He was a great warrior, not only to the Greeks, but to the Egyptians
and the Persians and the Syrians. He actually ruled his empire from Babylon,
but it was so vast he could have ruled from anywhere in the civilized world.”

Paris was pleased. Alexander the
Great was his hero, and he was well versed in the man and his tactics. He never
believed a lady would be the least bit interested in an ancient soldier. He
smiled broadly at her; he was beginning to like her a great deal.

“My lady, one day you and I will
have to discuss Alexander in great length,” he said. “And you must give me your
opinion on his war machine.”

She returned his smile shyly. “I
would like that, Sir Paris,” she said, then suddenly brightened. “My Da read us
the story of Helena and Paris once. ‘Tis yer namesake, is he?”

“Aye,” he replied. “I suppose that
is who I reminded my mother of. Mayhap she had high hopes for me.”

From over Paris’ shoulder, still
with his back to them, Deinwald snorted. “She should have named you Cyclops.
That is who you remind me of.”

Paris smiled wryly at Jordan before
turning around. “And your name shall be Brainless for tempting fate as you do.
One day someone will cut your heart out for one insult too many.”

“And I shall be the first in line to
shake his hand,” Sir Kieran said dryly.

“And I s-shall build a shrine and
burn virgins once a day in his honor,” Sir Michael cut in.

“A severe contradiction,” Deinwald
glanced at the extremely tall man. “I have never heard you utter the word “I”
and “virgin in the same breath.”

“Gentle knights.” Paris roared so
they would cease their train of conversation. “Remember that we have a lady
present, if you please.”

Jordan could not help but snicker
until Deinwald glared at her and she lowered her head. But the smile was still
there.

A very young knight, hardly more
than her age, joined their group. The older knights teased him roughly over
something Jordan could not quite catch, but she really did not care anyway. She
was beginning to feel her fatigue. Paris gently pulled her into the
conversation by introducing the young knight by the name of Corin de Fortlage.
He smiled happily at Jordan as one would when gazing at a sweet plum pudding
and gallantly kissed her hand. She almost giggled at his school-boy charm.

But the frivolity stopped when
William appeared and the knights gave him their full, undivided attention.
Jordan was amazed that the frivolity that had been there only an instant before
was gone as the men looked eagerly at their captain. Even Deinwald’s churlish
expression had vanished. She was beginning to see what a presence William
commanded with his men, and it fascinated her. She thought she had been the
only one to feel his overwhelming presence.

“Go get your food,” he ordered.

Everyone obeyed except for Paris. He
was smiling at Jordan until William stepped between them.

“Take one of Lady Jordan’s maids and
bring back her supper,” he instructed. “She is famished.”

“Nay, my lord, I am not,” she
countered softly. “If ye will show me where I am to sleep, I shall be thanking
ye.”

William looked her up and down,
hands on his hips. “It has been a long ride, my lady. You need your strength.”

Her beautiful face turned up to him,
the light from the fire caressing her features.

“I will eat doubly on the morrow,
then, I promise ye,” she pleaded softly. “I only wish to sleep now.”

He was in deep trouble. If his life
depended on it, he could not have denied her. He was appalled at himself and
amused at the same time. He was not used to having his orders countered and
repressed the urge to demand she eat. But he could not very well force-feed her
if she was not hungry, so she might as well sleep as she requested.

Disgusted at his lack of backbone
where she was concerned, he raked his fingers through his dark brown hair.

“Very well,” he extended his hand to
her. “Paris, take charge of both maids for this night.  I will take charge of
the lady.”

Paris watched them walk away,
William’s hand holding her wrist, disappearing into the darkness. His eyes
glittered in the firelight. He had never seen his friend so…soft. It wasn’t so
much in his voice, or his actions, but in his eyes. Paris let out a long,
speculative sigh.

“Watch yourself, William,” he
whispered to himself. “Watch yourself.”

CHAPTER SIX

The huge gates of Houndslow Castle,
seat of the McKenna Clan and sometimes known as McKenna Keep, yawned open for
the approaching rider. The sloppily dressed soldiers watched curiously as the
weary man and his horse came pounding into the unkempt compound, not a one of
them even offering to take the horse as they came to a halt.

No matter, though. The rider nearly
fell from the horse, stumbling to the stairs of the run-down castle and taking
them like a drunken man before being swallowed up by the open door.

If the outside of the keep was
appalling, the inside was worse. A foul, heavy stench hung in the air and to
every occupant like a cloak of death. It was a dank, dirty structure that could
have just as well been a barn for animals.

The McKenna were a slovenly people
and saw no horror to their existence; it had always been so. Dunbar McKenna sat
in a shabby room off of the grand hall, contemplating the fly in his wine as
the exhausted rider entered the room.

He glanced up at the young man, his
only acknowledgement, before looking back to his drink.

“Ah,” he said. “I heard tale you
were riding from Langton. What is it you have come to tell me?”

The man sat heavily on the nearest
dilapidated chair, wondering if it were going to collapse under his weight.

“He’s gone and done it,” the man
said. “By God’s Blood, if the man has not gone and done it.”   

Dunbar drank the wine, fly and all.
The cup clattered to the floor where it lay with several others as he rose and
faced the window, hands clasped behind his back thoughtfully. Then I pity him,”
he said finally.

“I always knew Thomas Scott to be
somewhat of an idiot, but I never knew the man to be weak,” he said. “Who did
he pledge?”

“Who else? Jordan.” The rider
replied, needing drink but not really wanting it from McKenna stores.

Dunbar mulled over that information.
“So he pledged his beauteous Jordan, his only child, to the English warlord,”
he chuckled bitterly. “For peace.”

“Aye, he did,” the young rider said.
“He could have pledged Caladora or my sister, but he dinna. He pledged the only
Scott woman worth anything.”

“Pity,” Dunbar repeated. “I was
hoping to obtain the girl for me own boy, Abner. As ye know, I have pressed
Thomas Scott for years to broker a contract, but he wouldna. It seems me boy
wasna good enough for his baby Jordan.  But by pledging her to the English lord
he is insulting the entire McKenna clan. He is saying that the English are
better than we.”

Malcolm Scott shifted uneasily in
his chair. He knew Dunbar McKenna to be a volatile man and capable of much
violence. He hoped that the man would not take this obvious insult out on him.

Malcolm was the second son of
Matthew Scott, Thomas’ youngest brother. He had never quite fit in to the
family with his mean streak and shabby character, and by befriending Abner
McKenna, he had come to know Dunbar and think of him as more of a father than
his own.

Which was why Dunbar was the first
laird outside of Clan Scott to know that the English king had sent a missive
proposing peace. It had then become Malcolm’s job to inform Dunbar the decision
so appropriate action could be taken against the Scott’s.

The McKenna were an aggressive clan
and they would rather take a dirk in the heart than live peaceably with the
English. For them, there was only war. It was the common hate and the common
love that they all shared. Even thought they were not truly allied with the
Scott clan, they were more than happy to come to their aid in a border
skirmish. Anything that meant killing the English.

The McKenna were a smaller clan,
numbering only about one hundred fifty men, in comparison to the six hundred
that the Scotts claimed. But the McKenna were widely considered the rabble of
the border and were simply tolerated because no one truly wanted to oppose them
for fear that they would turn their aggressions on them instead of the English.

But, clearly, something had to be
done about Thomas Scott’s treasonous act, especially in lieu of the fact that
it cut into Dunbar’s greater plan. He was hoping to rely heavily on the Scott’s
when he united the border clans and proceeded to raid and destroy every English
fortress along the border, breaking down the English power-hold so that,
eventually, the Scots would retain all control of their stretch of the border. 
This included tariffs, goods and services; anything that would fill coffers.

The McKenna of the McKenna Clan
sighed darkly; if he did not regain control of Thomas Scott, then his plans
could be ruined. He had been suspicious of the English messenger when Malcolm
had first told him of the arrival, but he truly had no idea what the missive
contained. Yet, in faith, he had suspected, Thomas Scott had been waging a
fierce war against one of the largest English fortresses for some time and
Dunbar believed the message might possibly be a peace proposal.