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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She was embarrassed to admit it. “Aye, I did,” she said.

  He smiled. “Then I am sorry, but I am going to disappoint you.”

  She glanced up at him and found herself grinning timidly. She felt much better about the entire situation. William’s easy manner and words had done much to ease her mind.

  They continued to sit a moment in silence and Jordan found herself glancing curiously at him. He was so handsome, so kind, that she wanted to know about him, as he knew of her.

  “Where do ye come from, English?” she asked hesitantly, afraid he would tell her it was none of her affair.

  To her surprise, he answered. “My father was the Earl of Wolverhampton. My family has a large keep near Worcester, a gift from the Duke of Normandy to my great-great grandfather.”

  “So ye’re an earl’s son?” She wasn’t surprised. The man reeked of noble breeding. “Are ye the only son?”

  “Nay,” he replied. “My brother Robert inherited the title some years back. My middle brother, Jonathan, is a knight serving the Earl of Norfolk. And I am the youngest.”

  “And ye have served at Northwood all yer life?” she asked.

  “Since I was eight,” he replied.

  “Then ye grew up with the men that serve ye?” It would be her last question, she promised herself. She did not want the man thinking she gabbed too much even though she was quite curious to know everything.

  “Basically,” he said. “I have known most of them since I was a lad. They are good men, sworn to protect and obey.” He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Even you.”

  She raised a doubtful brow. “Well, I think that knight of yers, what’s his name? Deinwald? He may have other thoughts about that. He doesna want me around, I can tell.”

  William cocked an eyebrow and looked off into the dimness of the tent. “Deinwald knows what is expected of him.”

  She suddenly felt as if she had said too much. She did not know Deinwald; how could she know his mind? Quickly, she sought to make amends lest he think she was badmouthing his vassal.

  “The other knights have been most gracious,” she said earnestly. “Sir Paris has been exceedingly kind and seems to want to be friendly. We have had a wonderful conversation about Alexander the Great, and….”

  He rose abruptly, cutting her off. “I know you are tired,” he said curtly. “I shall leave you momentarily so that you may prepare for bed. But I shall be right outside the tent should you need me.”

  He was moving rapidly for the tent flap and she was afraid she had said something terribly to offend him. She did not want to offend the only ally she had.

  “Sir knight,” she called softly after him.

  William paused by the door flap, stopped by the sweetness of her voice. Taking a moment to compose himself, he turned to her.

  “What is it, my lady?” he asked.

  She stood from her chair. “Did I say something to offend ye?”

  “Nay, my lady, you did not,” he replied after a brief hesitation.

  She looked awkward. “Then why are ye leaving so quickly? If I said something, then I apolo….”

  He shook his head. “No need, my lady, for you have done nothing,” he assured her. Then he smiled faintly. “Prepare for bed. We will have an early start.”

  He left her standing there, half-comforted, half-confused at his abrupt behavior.

  Outside, William would have liked nothing better than to punch himself silly. God damn. Why did he react like that when she spoke favorably of Paris? It was as if he was suddenly, overwhelmingly jealous that she spoke of another man. Damnation. He was even sweating over it.

  He had to remain in control of himself if he were going to get through all of this. Angrily, he kicked at the ground. He hated feeling this way, so unnerved. The worst of it was that he still could not decide if it was lust or….something else he felt for Lady Jordan. But his reaction to her speaking of Paris was a testimony to itself. Paris had been right; he had to deal with these emotions and stop denying them or they would destroy him.

  Inside the tent, he began to hear the faint strains of a song. Intrigued, he listened closely and heard her high, clear, sweet voice singing of Tristan and Isolde. She sang so beautifully that he was captivated for quite some time before he realized what the story was telling him.

  Good God. He reeled away from the tent flap with his eyes wide. Was he about to live out that ancient story? Much to his growing horror, he realized he had never been more confused in his life.

  *

  William returned to the tent an hour later. He had left Paris in charge shortly after his confusion had overwhelmed him, going to check the posts again, trying to sort himself out. It had helped greatly to put his mind on his work again, and he found that he was completely rational again when he returned.

  He found Jordan curled up on the furs, her cloak and another heavy fur covering her. The brazier was barely flickering, offering no warmth at all against the cold night. In the dim light, he could see her quivering with the chill in her sleep.

  He removed his boots and one hit the floor with a loud noise. He was positive it would wake her but was not really surprised to see that it didn’t. After all the noise she had slept through that afternoon, he doubted that boots falling to the floor would wake her. Fully clothed, he lay on top of the furs that covered her, perhaps a foot or so away. A safe distance, he hoped. He didn’t want to be too far away from her, wanting to be close enough to defend her should it be necessary. After the turmoil he had been going through over the past hour, he wondered if it was even a wise decision to be in the same tent with her. Wise or not, he didn’t want to put anyone else in charge of her.

  After several long moments, he dared to turn his head and look at her. Jordan was lying on her side, facing him as she slept the sleep of the dead. Her glorious hair was askew and William found himself staring at her for a very long time. She was quaking with the chill and he wondered if he should cover her with more furs. It would have been quicker and warmer to use his body heat but to hold her against him, which was probably not very smart, so he decided to cover her with another fur. Rising from the pallet, he gathered the last fur he had and laid it gently over her. In the process, he inadvertently touched her soft white hand with his index finger.

  Her hand was like ice. True to form, Jordan stirred and her eyes flew open, focusing in on him immediately.

  “What is the matter?” she asked sleepily. “Is something amiss?”

  He shook his head. “You are freezing,” he whispered as he lay back down. “I was covering you with another fur.”

  She nodded, pushing the hair from her eyes. He could see the hand trembling as she did so, so very cold. Watching her struggle with the furs, trying to eek a measure of warmth from them, caused William’s resolve to weaken and something inside him snapped. Almost roughly, he reached out and wrapped the furs tightly about her. Then, he pulled her against him.

  Jordan muttered a few protests and briefly tried to resist, but when she felt his delicious warmth, she reconsidered. He was like a furnace.

  “Stop being so stubborn,” he commanded softly. “It would not do for you to catch a chill and become ill before we reach Northwood. Lord de Longley will not want a sick bride.”

  She stopped trying to push him away, but she lay rigid against him. “I am not being stubborn,” she replied, although she had her arms around her torso protectively. “But I am not sure this is….”

  He cut her off. “My lady,” he grunted as her elbow dug into his gut. “It would be much better for both of us if you relaxed.” He moved the offending joint to a better position.

  Everything in Jordan’s mind screamed of the impropriety of this intimate position but, God help her, she liked it. He was warm and comfortable and she had never felt so contented or safe. She was evil, she knew, for allowing this to take place. But he felt so good, and she really was freezing.

  Caution be damned, she put her cold hands against
his chest and felt him start a little at the shock. William’s massive arms wound around her and she was aware of a tingling sensation in her stomach, the spark of giddy excitement. If she would allow herself to admit it, it was a wonderful sensation.

  “Are you always this cold?” he sounded irritated.

  “Aye, always,” she replied. “My blood is not a thick as it should be.”

  She squirmed a little to get closer against him, ramming her head into his chin in the process. He grunted and put his hand on the top her head.

  “Stop moving,” he told her.

  She disobeyed him for the next few seconds before finally settling in with a sigh of contentment.

  As Jordan drifted off again, William lay there with his eyes wide open. Lavender. He smelled her lavender scent. He had smelled it when she had first sat before him on his destrier and the scent of it now was much stronger. It seemed to caress him, tease him, and taunt him until he felt the urge to groan aloud with the seductive torment of it. He could only pray that he would fall asleep quickly, but so far, sleep was elusive. With her in his arms, he wondered if he could even sleep at all.

  Jordan wasn’t asleep. She, too, was feeling a good deal of tumultuous feelings at William’s nearness. Try as she might, she could not fall back to sleep. Laying in his arms was too new and wonderful a sensation to lose to something as mundane as sleep.

  “What kind of man is Lord De Longley?” she whispered against his chest.

  William heard the soft question. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I am not,” she murmured. “I canna sleep. Will ye answer my question?”

  He thought a moment. “He is a decent man,” he finally answered.

  Jordan was silent a moment. “He….he dunna want any part of me, does he?”

  William was careful in his reply. “He is old, my lady. He feels he is too old to be a bridegroom again.

  She fell silent as she contemplated that statement. It was simply a nice way to tell her she was unwanted.

  “Will he lock me in the tower?” she asked.

  He pulled back and looked at her as if she was daft. “Where in the hell did you get that idea?”

  She pulled back, too, accidentally driving her knee into the flesh of his upper thigh as she did. He grunted, eyeing her as she put her hand to her mouth in a silent apology. Then she sat up beside him.

  “I have heard all about English lords and their cruelty,” she insisted. “I know that they lock their enemies in towers to rot, or torture them for pleasure, or worse. I have even heard that they cut off the heads of enemy warriors and stick them on poles. Dunna deny this, English, for ye would be lying.”

  He gazed up at her. “I will not deny it, but Lord de Longley is not that sort.”

  “Then what sort is he?” she demanded. “He has been making war with my clan for more years than I have been alive.”

  William cocked an eyebrow. “What sort is your father that he has been making war on Lord de Longley for more years than you have been alive?” he countered. “Do not make the border wars out to be all of England’s fault, Lady Jordan.”

  Her eyebrows shot up in outrage. “ ’Tis Scot soil ye English crave.”

  “That, my lady, is a matter of opinion.” He did not want to argue the point with her anymore. Reaching up, he pulled her down to him. Jordan reacted quite naturally by putting her hands up to brace herself against the impact, but in the process made contact with his eye. He muttered something and squeezed his smarting eye shut, closing her in an iron grip.

  Angry and flustered, she pushed against his hard chest. “And dunna hold me so close,” she spat, frustrated. “ ’Tis not proper.”

  He grabbed her hands to still them. “It may not be proper, but it is safe and warm. Now be still before you bruise me all over. I wish to sleep now.”

  “Sleep.” she screeched. “Ye malign me Da and expect me not to defend him? He is a fine and decent man and if ye say otherwise, I shall…I shall…..”

  “I did not say otherwise,” he said mildly, cutting off her tirade. “I simply asked what sort of man he was, as you asked of Lord de Longley.”

  She was instantly still. He could feel her breathing hard against him and wondered what else she was plotting to say. To his surprise, she chuckled softly.

  “Ye are as sly as a fox, sir knight,” she muttered.

  He smiled to himself and felt her relax against him once again. He had to resist the urge to caress her back; he found that his hands fairly ached to touch her. Jordan was just drifting off to sleep when she heard his voice again.

  “Of what were you and Paris talking when I interrupted earlier this eve?”

  William had no idea why he should blurt out this question now, but he had been wondering what the conversation had been about. When he had returned to them at the fire, Paris and Jordan had been smiling at one another quite companionably. He began to think that perhaps his jealousy had started at that moment.

  Jordan was so sleepy she could not quite remember. When earlier? Ah, he must mean when he left Sir Paris and sat me with the other knights. Now, what had we been talking about?

  “Conspiring, my lord,” she teased him; she was too tired to think on it.

  Now he was damn curious. Was she being evasive in a taunting sort of way? He would find out now or she would never get to sleep.

  “I see,” he said evenly. “What about?”

  She was nearly asleep, her face half buried in his shoulder.

  “We plan to run away together,” she whispered.

  “Is that so?” he replied. “I wonder what the king would have to say to that.”

  She stirred, bringing up her head. Her sleepy face was an inch from his own, her heavy-lidded eyes looking at him.

  “I was jesting, my lord,” she said. “I believe we were speaking of Greek poetry and Alexander the Great. I did not mean to infer that Sir Paris was traitorous.”

  “You did not,” he said. “I know Paris well enough, I think. But I hope he did not bore you with such talk.”

  “Nay, my lord, ’tis I who was speaking of it,” she replied. “My Da is a devotee of Alexander.”

  “I see,” William said, satisfied to know the conversation’s contents. “Paris is a great admirer of the Romans and the Greeks. He would talk you into your grave on the subject.”

  “Hardly, my lord,” she grinned sleepily. “Have ye not heard of the Scotsman’s gift for gab?”

  “Aye,” he replied. “And I see you have it. Go to sleep now.”

  “Aye,” she sighed, cuddling to him once again as if she had been doing it all her life. He responded in the same comfortable manner, nearly unaware of it and completely relishing the feel of her.

  Content, they fell asleep together in the cold stillness of the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The army was disassembled and moving before dawn. Hot breath hung in the air from man and beast alike, mingling with the blanket of fog that had settled over the land. The smell of wet foliage was heavy in Jordan’s nostrils, and she had spent a good deal of the morning sneezing off the effects.

  Jordan was dressed in a heavy linen surcoat with the thick matching cloak, yet she was still freezing. Ever since William had left their bed to tend to his duties she had been freezing. Mornings like this were soaking wet and she kept her hood on to keep the wet off her face. It seemed a gloomy, depressing day.

  She was standing with Paris and Marc and her maids by the wagons, waiting patiently for William to retrieve her. The caravan was preparing to move and she became concerned that he had not yet come for her, yet neither Paris nor the other knight seemed to pay much attention to her. They were staring off down the road, as if they could see something she could not.

  Shortly, William’s squire rode up to Paris and, after a brief conversation, dashed off again.

  Paris turned to Jordan. “My lady will ride with me this morn.”

  Without a word, Jordan mounted his big roan and the two of
them rode towards the front of the column. She wondered if William was angry with her after her outburst last night and had chosen Paris to bear her burden. She was angry at herself for being hurt by his actions, as if they had formed any sort of relationship whatsoever.

  There were times, however, when she caught something so intense in his eyes that it left her breathless. As beautiful as she was, she’d had no experience with men whatsoever because her father kept them well away from her. She knew nothing about them, their thoughts, or their ways. But she knew without a doubt that Sir William could not possibly be interested in her personally and was simply showing her kindness. She was to be his liege’s wife, and that was that.

  Jordan and Paris rode at the head of the army for nearly an hour. William and most of the other knights were nowhere to be seen and she fought off the desire to ask Paris where they all were. She was somber and was pouting, and had not even realized it. Paris knew, however. He could feel it in the rigid way she was riding.

  Suddenly, they heard a host of pounding hooves riding up behind them and Jordan had to hold on for dear life while Paris’ destrier did a wild, excited dance. There was some shouting going on but she could not make out a word of it.

  William appeared beside them, dressed in full battle armor. He threw up the visor on his helmet and looked directly at Paris as if Jordan didn’t even exist.

  “Give her to Jason,” he ordered. “I need you with me.”

  Jordan was immediately and unceremoniously passed over to the strong young knight. She was a little concerned to notice that all of the knights were in full armor, shield slung over their left knees for quick access. She had been around enough battles to sense the tension in the air. She knew something was very wrong.

  Even with the tension in the air, it was William who held her attention. To actually see The Wolf in action was something few Scots had lived to see and tell about. The pure power and command presence radiating from the man was awe-inspiring, even to a woman. Without seeing him swing a sword, she could see that there was basis for every rumor she had ever heard about him.