Behind her the chamber door opened, and Caladora and Jemma entered. While Caladora sat quietly, Jemma moved for Jordan. The dark little lass was dressed in the red and green of Clan Scott, her brunette hair in unbound curls down her back. She came in bearing a wrap of sorts. It was a shawl intended for her cousin to wear when the English came to retrieve her. But with that wrap came a small, bejeweled dagger. She silently exposed it to her cousin so the woman would get the message. Jemma wasn’t about to send Jordan off without some measure of personal protection.
Jordan eyed the weapon without enthusiasm. “This isna a war, Jemma,” she said, her voice sounding oddly weak. “ ’Tis to be a wedding.”
Jemma’s jaw set hard. “ ’Tis always a war with the English, Jordi, and well ye know it.”
Jordan’s eyes strayed to the open window, envisioning the scene below. “It will be what I make of it,” she said, echoing her father’s words. “If I fight them, they will fight me. I canna live the rest of my life fighting my husband like a she-cat.”
“But ye canna give in to them,” Jemma insisted. “One good thrust to yer husband on the wedding night and there will be no husband at ’tall.”
“I willna do it,” Jordan returned forcefully. “But there be other ways to win a war, Jemma, not just the physical ones. Yer cousin will make ye proud, have no doubt. I shall show them what Scot pride is.”
Caladora was far removed from the conversation, sitting on a small stool nervously. Jemma eyed her younger cousin for a moment before moving closer to Jordan.
“Take me with ye, Jordan,” she whispered. “Caladora would be so much baggage to ye, but I would make a fine lady. Take me.”
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 more stubborn. 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 complied. There was no longer any time for anxiety-filled thoughts or for wild wonderment. The time was upon her and she obeyed.
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 her 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 and 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 in perfect synchronization. One knight, the man riding in the middle, hand
ed 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 he 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?”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed at the hostility in the man’s voice. “Of course she is.”
“Very well,” William said authoritatively and spun on his heel, bellowing as he went. “Bring forth the wagons.”
The bailey deteriorated into a rolling mass of running, shouting people. Jordan’s father grabbed her arm and the two of them hurried after the knight.
William reached his destrier and plopped his helmet back on his head, much too forcefully. His shock at seeing Jordan was getting the better of him. He held his hand out to her.
“The lady will ride with me,” he said.
Jordan balked. “I can well ride, sir knight, I have my own palfrey.”
He grasped the destrier’s reins. “You will ride with me.”
His tone was calm but left absolutely no room for disobedience. Both Jordan and her father sensed it. Thomas pulled his daughter into his arms, squeezing the breath from her. Hot tears stung his eyes.
“Jordi-girl, I miss ye already,” he whispered. “I love ye, lass. Always remember that, no matter what.”
Tears welled in Jordan’s eyes. “I love ye, too, Dada,” she said softly. “Come see me. Soon, please?”
Thomas pulled back. “I will, I promise.” He turned his hostile eyes to William. “Take good care of her, Wolf. She is the reason we willna be meeting on the battlefield anymore.”
William’s visor was up, but he did not return the hostile look. “I am well aware of that, Laird Scott,” he replied. “And whether or not it means anything to you, I have pledged to protect your daughter with my life. She will be safe, I assure you.”
&
nbsp; Thomas did not want to outright insult the English captain, especially when he held Jordan’s life in his hands, so he gave a curt nod before giving his daughter a nudge in the knight’s direction.
Reluctantly, she turned to William. When she saw those hazel eyes again, peering at her though the upturned visor, all of the shock and astonishment she felt earlier seemed to creep up anew. Her mouth went dry and she ran a pink tongue over her full lower lip.
“Very well, sir knight, I am ready,” she informed him with a firm voice.
William reached down and picked her up, setting her easily atop his massive horse. Without a word, he vaulted up behind her and heard her grunt as his armor bumped into her soft body. Putting a thick arm around her waist, he dug his heels into his horse and was gone from the bailey with the other two knights close behind.
The last glimpse Jordan had of her beloved castle was the huge gates whisking past, and then they were out into the countryside. She knew, at that moment, that her life would never again be the same.
CHAPTER FIVE
Not a word was said between them.
Since the moment Jordan mounted the charger, she had kept as still and as quiet as she could, not even so much as turning her head to look about her. She decided the best course was to be silent and allow the captain to begin any and all conversations. Terrified, she concentrated on keeping her head down and her eyes averted.
When they had joined the main body of the army, she discovered there were six more knights in addition to the three that were riding with her. Nine massive, deadly English knights. Jordan had never been more frightened in her entire life, and even though she could not see their faces, she knew they were watching her intently. Head lowered and hair hanging down to cover her face, she wished for invisibility. Or at least she hoped they would ignore her. She was terrified that if someone spoke to her, she would faint dead away.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 45
