The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Nay.” She shot up from the chair. “I dunna want to marry an Englishman. They are our enemy, men who have killed our kin and our friends. How can ye ask me this?”

  Thomas remained strong in the face of her frightened and furious barrage. “I am not asking ye, I am telling ye, and ye will do as I say,” he said, somewhat coldly. “Jordan, I am Laird of Clan Scott. Ye are my only daughter. ’Tis yer duty to do what is asked of ye, whether or not it is agreeable. Do you think that if I had any other options that I wunna take them? I am not doing this to punish ye, lass. I have no choice.”

  Jordan just stared at him. Then, she had to sit down or fall down. From fury to despondency, her manner swiftly changed as realization settled deep. It was sickening as well as terrifying. All of the dreams and hopes she had ever held for her future had been dashed in a series of brief, brutal statements. She was reeling.

  “Do ye realize what ye are asking of me?” she finally whispered. “Ye are asking me to bed with our enemy, to bear his children, to be loyal to his house and hold. That is not a punishment, Da; it is a death sentence.”

  He approached her. “It will be what ye make of it.”

  She glared at him. “It will be what my husband makes of it.”

  Thomas could not lose control of the situation now; he was struggling not to feel pity for her. He had to let her know that there was no room for discussion.

  “What I have done to seal a peace is certainly nothing new in the trials of history, Jordan,” he said. “Yer new husband, I am sure, is just as distraught over this arrangement as ye are. If ye will show him a quiet and obedient wife, then I am sure that he will treat ye accordingly. The messenger has already been sent on his way with a reply to King Henry, and I am sure we will hear from the man within the month. Ye had better prepare yerself.”

  It was done. Jordan hung her head miserably and Thomas swore that his heart would break lf he had to look at her another minute. But he was not beyond showing compassion for what he had done to her. Moving to his daughter, he gently touched her honey-blond head.

  “Jordi-girl, I love you more than anything in this world,” he said softly, feeling her pain along with his own. “I dinna want to do this, but I must think of the entire clan’s future. Ye are our best hope for peace. Would ye rather that I had pledged Jemma or Caladora in yer stead?”

  She sighed in defeat. “Of course not,” she murmured. “ ’Tis my duty as daughter of Laird Scott and I wunna let ye delegate the duty to anyone else simply because I am a-feared to go. But what if my new husband is a horrible man and locks me in the tower to rot? What if he beats me or sends me to whore? What if he doesna honor the treaty at all?”

  Thomas stroked her hair. “We will have to trust the English, Jordan. I know it is difficult, but we must show faith.”

  She shook her head slowly. “You ask much,” she said. “After all of the pain the English have caused, ye ask a great deal.”

  Thomas sighed faintly. “That’s why I am making the greatest sacrifice of all,” he whispered. “I am sending my own flesh into the enemy camp as a show of good faith and I expect the same from them.”

  She watched her father’s expression and began to forget her own fear and anger. At that moment, she started down the path to understanding the extent of her father’s love for her.

  Jordan had been selfish, of course, for she had only thought of her own feelings as if she were the only one who had any. Thomas was hurting, too. He’d had to make the most difficult decision of his life and she was making it far more difficult by arguing with him. If there had been another way, she knew he would have done it. As much as she loathed the idea of marrying an English lord, she would if her father wanted her to.

  “Oh, Dada,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I am afraid. I am so afraid. To live out my life with people who hate the very sight of me is a horrible sentence to bear.”

  Thomas’ insides were aching for her. “I know, my sweet lass,” he muttered. “It is killing me to know that. But….there was nothing else I could have done. I can only hope that someday ye will find it in yer heart to forgive me.”

  Her head came up. “For what? For doing as ye must?” she asked. “There is nothing to forgive. I can only hope now that the English king selects a suitable husband for me. At least someone I could grow to tolerate over the years.”

  Her father cracked a smile. “And someone who can tolerate yer endless singing and fondness for clothes.”

  She smiled back in feigned outrage. “My singing is not endless and there is nothing wrong with liking pretty things.”

  He gave her a wry smirk. “You have a coat for every day of the year.”

  The mood was lightening as he teased her and Jordan rose to the taunt. “Mayhap if I make my new husband go broke, he will send me home,” she teased lightly, watching him roll his eyes in agreement. She watched his tired face, glad to see he was smiling somewhat, as she sobered. “I wunna disappoint ye da. I shall be the very model of a Scot lady.”

  Thomas smiled bravely and hugged her fiercely, drawing strength from her. “I know,” he said softly. There was nothing more he could say.

  The time would be upon them before they knew it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  July, Year of our Lord 1232

  Norham Castle (also known as Northwood Castle – the local name)

  Ground Zero on the Scotland Border, England side

  The messenger returned to the English court with the joyous news of peace from the Scottish border. The powerful feudal earl, Thomas Scott, had pledged his only daughter as an offering of peace to help calm the border wars. Henry was pleased.

  Because the bride was offered for peace in the long and bloody border disputes, it stood to reason that the groom should also be a border lord. It was not a difficult selection, for the English lord Thomas Scott had the most animosity with was a widower named John de Longley, Earl of Teviot and brother to the current Bishop of Durham. Norham belonged to the bishopric of Durham and de Longley maintained the garrison with the best fighting force on the border. At fifty years old and with three grown children, de Longley was informed by royal missive of his chosen destiny.

  At Northwood Fortress, high above the ramparts in his lavish bower, Lord de Longley sat in front of his hearth staring grimly into the flames. He could scarcely believe what the king had decided for him. A bride, at his age. And a Scot bride at that. Lord, he was too old for this nonsense. It was not enough that the border wars he had struggled with for years were finally calming, now the king wanted to throw a porcupine into their bed by saddling him with a she-devil.

  John ran his hand through his thin, graying red hair; he was not a handsome man and he had absolutely no interest in anything about his Scottish bride. Yet, he would marry her, as was demanded of him, and he would be honor-bound to keep peace on the border. Providing, of course, that her father was honorable as well. Lord de Longley would not take the offensive, but he would defend what was his.

  The earl took a healthy swig of his mulled wine, contemplating a future he was not looking forward to with particular glee. His two eldest children, Analiese and Alexander, had been furious at the directive. They did not want a stepmother, and particularly not a Scot invading their home. Adam, his youngest son and newly arrived home from his fostering at Beverley Castle, was more concerned with his upcoming knighting ceremony to care much about it. He had been gone from home since he was a young boy and was therefore not accustomed to the routine of things as his older siblings had become comfortable with. The Scot bride was of little interest to him; she was simply another stranger to become familiar with.

  But the issue was complicated. John’s wife, the mother of his children, had been killed by a marauding band of Scots years ago, enough to ease the ache but not enough to quell the anger. He had to keep reminding himself that this girl had nothing to do with Helena’s death, hoping his offspring would take the same fact into consideration when dealing with the lass. But to
say he was satisfied with the arrangement was a lie.

  Lord de Longley wondered darkly what he was going to do with the wild young lass. Not only did he not want her at Northwood, but he would have to protect her from his men. They had all lost friends and relatives in the border wars, and this bride would be a living symbol of all they had lost. She would only bring trouble to his home.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to ease its ache. A fine mess the king had handed him. As he was contemplating his cloudy future, there was a knock on his heavy oak door.

  “Come,” he bade.

  The door opened, spilling forth a figure dressed entirely in black leather and gleaming armor. The room immediately filled with the heady scent of power – complete and utter power.

  The knight was exceedingly tall and muscular, and moved with the grace of a stalking cat. Thigh-high boots echoed loudly against the stone floor as he approached, fairly shaking the room. De Longley had long ago ceased to react to the presence of his captain, although lesser men had actually fainted from the sight of him. There was not a man in England or Scotland who could not feel the presence of The Wolf when he entered a room.

  The knight stopped next to his liege’s chair, waiting silently like a huge and imposing sentinel. At well over six feet and dark as the devil, he stood like stone, larger than life and by far more terrifying. It was a few moments, however, before the earl glanced up at him.

  “Ah,” de Longley mumbled. “You have come.”

  “My lord,” the man greeted in a deep, husky voice, like the voice of the devil.

  “Sit, William, sit,” de Longley said and pointed to the adjacent chair.

  Sir William de Wolfe sat opposite his master, his hazel-gold eyes focused intently on the man. He had served the earl for twenty years and was concerned to see him so distressed. As captain of the earl’s eleven-hundred man force, it was his job to serve his master in every possible way. He could see now that the earl had an important reason for summoning him by the expression of his face.

  “William, our magnificent King Henry has burdened me with an awesome responsibility,” de Longley said with muted sarcasm. “It seems that at my age I am to be a bridegroom.”

  “A bridegroom, my lord?” William repeated with surprise.

  “Indeed,” the earl continued, acknowledging his captain’s astonishment. “What’s more, ’tis a Scot bride I am to take, a peace offering from those barbarians for an absence of hostility along the border.”

  William let out a low whistle and Lord de Longley chuckled. “My feelings exactly, lad,” he said. “Therefore, it will be your duty to retrieve this woman from her home and return her to me. It will furthermore be your duty to protect this woman from any and all harm. ’Twould not be a good thing to have an accident befall her, as I would not only have the Scots breaking down my door, but Henry breathing down my neck as well.”

  William nodded solemnly, belying the disbelief he felt. A Scot bride here at Northwood? Lord, the men would be at her like termites on wood, he thought grimly. She would be lucky if she survived the week. The hatred and animosity ran long and deep.

  De Longley broke in to his thoughts. “On the morrow, you will take as many men as you deem necessary and proceed to Langton Castle, a little less than a day’s hard ride into Scotland near the Bog Forest,” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. When William didn’t reply, he eyed his silent captain. “William, I need not stress how important this mission is.”

  William was as concerned as his lord over this crisis, but he offered the expected answer. “I will protect this woman with my life, my lord.”

  “See that you do,” the earl said, knowing it was an unnecessary statement. He paused, studying William’s preoccupied face inquisitively. “You are lost to me, lad. What are you thinking?”

  William’s features were steady for a moment before washing with an oddly gentle expression, entirely out of character for him. His mouth worked for a moment, as if searching for the words to explain. After a frustrated attempt, he cleared his throat and tried again.

  “My lord, do you remember when I was wounded a year past; the wound that nearly claimed me?” When the earl nodded, he continued with some hesitation. “I had crawled away from the battlefield into a group of trees to await death when a Scot lass came upon me. I expected her to disembowel me, but she did not. Instead, she tended my wound and saved my life.”

  De Longley listened intently. “I asked you who sewed your wound, William, and you simply told me an angel,” he said, remembering the day his captain had returned from the dead. It had been a dark day when William had not returned with the army and they were convinced he was lost until a search party located him days later. “So it was a Scottish lass that saved you?”

  “Aye,” William replied softly. “Strange; I have been fighting the Scots for most of my life and viewed them all as barbaric vermin. I have seen too many good men cut down by these primitive dogs. But this woman… she was not like that at all. She was so… different.”

  “So my William grows soft on Scottish lasses?” Lord de Longley teased gently.

  “Not at all, my lord,” William grinned with embarrassment, looking down at his gauntleted hands.

  The earl was very amused at this show of emotion from serious William. The man was pure perfection – no weaknesses, no faults, and little emotion. The earl had known him for twenty years and had never seen this side to him. He swore the man was actually blushing. He could not resist the opportunity to spur him.

  “Was she beautiful, this lass?” he asked, drinking from his pewter cup.

  William fixed the earl with a look that amazed him, an expression of tremendous sincerity and depth. It was unusual for the emotionless man.

  “My lord, no one is greater an admirer of English women than I,” he said, “but in all honesty I have never seen an Englishwoman that could compare in beauty to this Scot. When I said she was an angel, I meant it literally.”

  “Truly?” the earl raised his eyebrows. “William, this is not at all like you to expose your fondness for a woman. Pity, I shall never meet this lass who has branded you.”

  William smiled wryly. He had not thought of the fair Jordan in a long time. The months following his wound she had permeated his mind like a soft wind, gentle, yet unmistakable. For the sake of his promise to her, he truly wished to return to Scotland someday on a peaceable mission to reward her for her kindness.

  He had convinced himself that the only feelings he held for her were those of thanks and appreciation, and nothing more. Yet every time he thought of that beautiful face, he felt a tug at his gut like none he had ever known. Every time he smelled lavender he was catapulted back to the damp spot on the dark Scot earth while Jordan’s delicate hands ministered to him.

  As time passed and the border wars continued on, he knew the impossibility of seeing her again and reluctantly pushed her from his mind. But he would find her someday to thank her; he felt strongly that his honor was at stake. But her smile, the last gesture she gave him, stayed with him.

  He forced himself to push her aside again; it was getting a little easier with time to forget about her.

  “If that is all, my lord, then I shall go and inform my officers,” he stood on his long, long legs. “We have preparations to make.”

  “Aye, prepare them.” The humor was gone from the earl. “And, William, I want only the officers carrying daggers; none of the men-at-arms. Swords and spears only.”

  William eyed him disapprovingly. “My lord is sending us into enemy territory,” he pointed out. “Why would you insist…?”

  The earl put up a curt hand. “No daggers,” he repeated. “It will be much more difficult for one of the men to kill the lass with a sword or a spear than it would be with a dagger. I want only the officers to carry daggers. Am I understood?”

  “Completely, my lord,” William answered formally.

  He left the chamber without another word. Out in the
dim and cold corridor, he paused a moment to collect himself. A Scot bride. Damn the king for bringing this element into Northwood. Life was hard enough this far from London without having the fear of the enemy from within.

  He knew how the men were going to react and he did not blame them. But he was not God; he could not be everywhere at once, watching everyone to make sure they were not contemplating murder. But he could be with one person all the time; the woman. He would have to be with her every hour of the day and night until he felt the threat had passed, if indeed it ever did.

  If she were the vile sort, then he might just take a dagger to her himself. He fervently hoped that it would not come to that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jordan had not slept the entire night. Well before dawn she had carefully dressed in a green woolen surcoat with a square neckline that displayed her torso and round breasts very nicely. The front of her hair was pulled off her face and secured with a strip of ribbon, allowing the rest of her hair to flow in soft silken curls to her waist.

  She looked extraordinarily beautiful, but felt like a lamb to the slaughter. No amount of mental encouragement could bring about the bravery she so desperately sought. She spent weeks working up to this moment, frightened to her very bones, afraid of the unknown horrors awaiting her. Ever since she had been a child, she had been taught that the clans south of the border were her enemy. Now she was to live in the heart of them.

  Down in the bailey of Langton stood three large wagons laden with goods for her dowry. Bolts of Scottish wool, barrels of whisky and finely milled soaps sat alongside her personal possessions. Everything in the world of any value to Jordan was loaded into the carts which now waited in the damp early dawn for transport to Northwood Fortress. They were a silent testament to the future that awaited her, silently taunting her that there was no turning back.

  The sun rose steadily, no matter how Jordan prayed that it would never rise again, and the day promised to be bright and beautiful. Outside on the castle grounds, the village was coming alive, preparing for the important day ahead. She could hear shouts and voices and squeaking wheels as the courtyard rose to a steady hum of activity. Jordan gazed out over the scene, a lump in her throat as she realized this would be the last time she would ever hear those comforting, familiar sounds.