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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Her initial shock was becoming irritation. “I am not challenging yer authority, simply the action taken. Ye hurt him far worse that he hurt me.”

  He brushed past her into the tent. “That is not the point, Lady Jordan, as I am not in the habit of explaining my actions to anyone.”

  He had fairly cut her off with that statement. She watched him for a moment, angry that he had told her to keep out of the affair when she had been the cause of it. She followed him back into the tent, pausing at the door. She knew he thought she was a tremendous agitator, disobeying his orders and then making him punish his own men. She hung her head and kicked at the ground. He was most likely wishing he had never known her.

  William was trying to ignore her for all it was worth, but he was having a difficult time of it. When she hung her head and dug her toe into the earth, he almost relented but he fought it. He had to remain in control and not show her how he truly felt. It frightened him to know that she could control his emotions so easily when he had always taken great lengths to preserve himself.

  He poured himself more wine and drank deeply. Bloody hell, if she hadn’t been standing there he would have ripped young Jason apart limb from limb; his anger had been so great. He fought off an urge to laugh at himself. He never thought his natural instinct to protect the weaker sex would make him a madman.

  But it wasn’t just any woman he was protecting. It was Jordan. The woman who saved his life. The woman who was to be his lord’s wife.

  He caught her movement from the corner of his eye, she was looking beyond the tent opening.

  “May I at least tend his wound, my lord?” she asked, then turned to catch him in her gaze with deadly accuracy. “As I once tended yers?”

  She had called him clever once, but there was no mistaking her own slyness. He met her gaze evenly before taking another drink.

  “Nay,” he replied.

  She glared at him. “Why not?” she demanded. “Ye probably crushed the man’s nose and he probably lays swallowing his own blood as we speak.”

  William gazed at her impassively. “He deserved far worse than what he got.”

  She could not believe what she was hearing. “I canna believe ye are so… uncompassionate.”

  “But I am compassionate, my lady, to those deserving,” he peered strangely at her. “Why do you defend a man who treated you less than kindly?”

  “I am not,” she replied quickly in frustration. “ ’Tis just that…that I hate violence. I havena the stomach for it, I never had.”

  He regarded her. “But your father is a warlord.”

  “That dunna mean that I like it,” she insisted. “I have seen too many young men die and I have come to abhor violence of any kind.”

  He was silent a moment. “Then I apologize for forcing you to watch while I dispensed justice,” he said.

  She smiled ruefully. “ ’Tis better that I watched, I think. Had I not, ye might have run him through.”

  He smiled faintly at her and she felt flushed at his attention. Sweet Jesu,’ this man could make her feel so strange with a mere glance. She was coming to like it.

  “Come and sit,” he said. “Drink some wine. It will help warm you.”

  She obeyed slowly, accepting the wine from him. “Ye still will not allow me to tend him, my lord?” she asked.

  He looked down at her, hands on his hips. “You are not going to let this rest, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  He wiggled his brows in resignation. “Mayhap later.”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile that made him grow weak in the knees. “Thanks to ye, my lord.”

  They sipped their wine in silence, he standing and she sitting. He stood slightly behind her and found himself stealing glances at her. Even disheveled and dirty, she was flawlessly lovely.

  “Are you still cold?” he asked.

  She lifted her shoulders. “I am always cold. The wine helps.”

  She heard clanging of armor and turned to see he was removing his. She watched it clatter to the ground, piece by piece, until he was free of it He wore a linen tunic and dark breeches underneath, and she had to look away. Even through the clothes, he was magnificently built. The man was starting to boil her blood.

  To her surprise, he knelt in front of her. She blinked with shock as his huge hands disappeared underneath her skirts and she felt him grasp her feet.

  “God, Jordan, you are as cold as a corpse,” he swore softly.

  She tried to protest but he ignored her. Removing her shoes, he pulled her feet onto his warm abdomen and nearly pulled her from the chair in the process. She gasped at the heat and at the surprise of his intimate action, but almost immediately she could feel thousands of little pin pricks as her feet began to gain their circulation. A fire could not have done any better.

  She was soon warmed, yet she was stiff, thinking that her feet on his stomach was entirely too intimate and she knew a true lady would never allow a man to touch her so. For all of the righteous thoughts she was thinking, another part of her relented. After all, there was no one around to see them like this. She rather liked it.

  William watched her lowered head with some amusement. He could imagine what she must be thinking. God’s truth, he wished he could put more than her feet against his bare skin. He fleetingly wondered if he dared go to bed tonight without his tunic on. But he put that thought from his mind, he could guess how she might react and he certainly did not want to be accused of trying to seduce his lord’s virgin bride. Virgin bride….

  His smile vanished. He removed her feet and rose quickly, so fast that she lost her balance and would have fallen from the chair had he not reached out to steady her.

  “I will see what is holding up your bath,” he said, leaving the tent before she could reply.

  She frowned at the empty tent flap. Why did he always do that? Leave so abruptly, as if she had scorched him or something. He was so confusing she wondered if she would ever be able to anticipate him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Outside, William was informed that the pot and the water were on their way. He nodded curtly just as Paris came up behind him.

  “Jason fares as well as can be expected,” he commented to his captain.

  William did not look at him. “I do not recall asking how Jason was.”

  Paris moved so he could see William’s face, crossing his arms across his massive chest. He tried not to smirk; he was afraid William would throttle him the same way he had Jason.

  “My lord is troubled,” he said, concerned.

  William rolled his eyes and turned away. “God, not that again. Leave me alone.”

  Paris could not help it and he started to laugh. William whirled on him, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he bit his lip.

  “Damnation Paris,” William growled. “Shut your mouth.”

  Paris choked a little, trying with effort to obey. “Aye, my lord.”

  William caught on to his friend’s merriment and choked out a little chuckle, trying hard to remain angry but not succeeding.

  “You know what I am going to do to you, don’t you?” William threatened.

  Paris shrugged carelessly and leaned close so that only William could hear his answer. “If you do anything to me, I will run right to Lady Jordan and tell her everything.”

  William’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Tell her what?”

  “That you are in love with her and to watch out for The Wolf,” he stated smugly.

  William’s eyes widened. Paris was grinning so confidently that he was seized with a sort of good-natured fury. How could he possibly know that, especially when William himself had no idea as to what he was feeling? How dare he be so smug.

  His big hands reached out for Paris’ throat and the two of them slammed back to the damp ground.

  Inside the tent, Jordan heard the thud and the grunting that followed and curiously went to see what was going on. Upon opening the tent flap, she was instantly horrified to se
e William and Paris rolling over the ground with their hands around one another’s throats, tossing and struggling in their quest to throttle one another.

  Panic seized her; she had to do something or they would surely kill one another. Turning back into the tent, she looked wildly about for something to stop them. A sword? Nay, one of them would grab it from her and use it on the other. Then she spied the wine jug, rushed to it and snatched it. She ran back out to where William now lay atop Paris as he was turning his friend’s face blue. Jordan was mortified to see that a crowd had gathered but no one was doing anything to stop them.

  Raising the jug, she doused them with wine for all she was worth. She didn’t know what else to do.

  They ceased immediately; the wine stung their open eyes and William sputtered the liquid all over Paris’ face as it coursed over his lips. Paris snapped his head away but was too late; wine went into his eyes and he shook his head like a wet dog.

  “Are ye mad?” she hollered. “What were ye doing, trying to kill one another?”

  William peered up at her, blinking his eyes against the sting. “Why did you throw wine on us?” he asked calmly.

  Her eyes bulged and her fists dug into her hips. “Because yer no better than little peasant boys, rolling around in the dirt like pigs,” she said angrily. “You should be ashamed of yerselves, fighting in front of yer men.”

  William pushed himself off of Paris, who grunted loudly at the shifting of weight. Both men picked themselves off the ground, noticing the crowd of smiling soldiers was dissipating.

  “That will give them something to talk about for a while,” William remarked, wiping at his eyes.

  “ ’Tis beneath my dignity to roll around on the dirt, William,” Paris bemoaned, straightening his askew armor. “Why didn’t you just throw a damn punch? ’Tis much more honorable to fight standing up.”

  “You would have been on the ground anyway had I thrown a punch,” William said, then looked at flaming-mad Jordan. “You did not answer me. Why did you throw wine on us?”

  “To stop ye,” she said as if he were the biggest moron on earth. “What on earth were ye two fighting over?”

  He wasn’t about to tell her. From the corner of his eye he caught Paris’ attention and silently warned him to keep his mouth shut. As far as he knew, Paris would make good on his threat.

  Paris, for his part, caught William’s warning, but he could not resist the urge to give his lord the scare of his life. Rarely, if ever, had he had a chance this good and the rascal in him took over.

  “ ’Twas my fault, my lady. I insulted our great captain and deserved the punishment,” he said with mock sincerity.

  William swore under his breath and fought off the urge to clamp back down on Paris’ neck again. Damn him. What did he think he was doing?

  She scowled at Paris in disbelief. “Ye insulted him? What is the matter with ye, man. He’s yer captain. He could slit yer throat for such a thing. What a stupid thing to do.”

  Paris was a little taken aback at the passion at which she defended William. He suddenly felt like a boy being scolded by his mother. His joke was backfiring and he was not at all pleased.

  William was also surprised, and if he admitted it, flattered, by her loyalty. He knew Paris’ game and saw that it wasn’t working out as Paris had hoped. It was all he could do to keep from laughing in his friend’s face. Yet, before things got out of hand, before the game did in fact turn in Paris’ direction, he decided to hastily end the conversation.

  “ ’Tis nothing you need be concerned with, my lady,” he assured her quickly. “Go back to the tent.”

  She knew he was telling her it was none of her business. Pursing her lips, she let out a frustrated shriek before throwing down the jug and marching back the way she had come.

  William watched her backside appreciatively, as did Paris.

  “William,” Paris said softly.

  “What?”

  “If you do not take her for a lover, I will,” he said.

  William didn’t look at him. “Over my dead body.” He followed her back into the tent.

  *

  The bath did wonders to ease Jordan’s nerves. Sitting in a huge cooking pot, she washed her hair twice with lavender-scented soap and scrubbed herself so clean that she was raw.

  Her maids had helped a little, but she had chased them away as soon as she was finished soaping because she wanted time alone to herself to think. She could not do that with Maggie and Elspeth in the room; they chattered like two hens.

  She wanted time to reflect. On what specifically, she did not know, but she wanted time to think about everything that had happened since leaving Langton. Sweet Jesu,’ so much had happened it seemed like she had lived an entire lifetime in two days. And it frightened her to know that on the morrow they would reach her new home of Northwood.

  Northwood. The name sounded foreboding to her. It sounded like some dank, isolated place set far back from the real world. And what about William? Would she even see him once they reached their destination? And if so, what kind of relationship would they have?

  She hung her legs out of the pot, thinking darkly that he would probably ignore her from that point on. Right now, he was forced to associate with her. But given the choice, would he still speak to her? Probably not, considering she had just poured wine on him. She was positive he thought of her as a nuisance and a troublemaker. And why shouldn’t he? She hadn’t given him any reason to believe otherwise.

  Her heart was heavy. At Northwood, she would have no friends. She was terrified that her new husband would loathe and despise her and make her life hell, in spite of what William had told her about the man. Was she destined to be unhappy forever? Probably. She didn’t want to marry the earl.

  She would be alone. She was already alone. The only reason she felt remotely safe was because of William. The man absorbed her fear and she trusted him completely, but she knew he was only doing his duty. He had told her so. She was angry at herself for being distressed over the fact that William wasn’t protecting her because he wanted to. It was because he had to. She wanted him to want to. She wanted him.

  The revelation struck her like a slap in the face. She sat straight up in the tub and water sloshed over the side. Bloody hell, he was English. She didn’t want anybody, much less an English knight. But as soon as she thought it, another more forceful thought crashed in on the heels of it; he was the kindest, most handsome man she had ever met, English or not. He was a simple man; flesh and blood and emotions. English, Scot, no matter; feelings knew no boundaries.

  Sweet Jesu.’ Jordan thought, closing her eyes and submerging herself up to her neck in the warm water. What have I done to myself? What a fool I am.

  She dressed herself slowly, her mind a bog of swirling emotions. She sat in front of the brazier in a heavy linen shift and matching robe, so huge it was like wearing a coverlet, and ran a brush through her hair over and over as it dried. Her thoughts were a million miles away.

  William chose that moment to enter the tent. One look at the angelic Jordan sitting by the brazier was enough to make him want to turn and run like hell simply to protect himself. But he could not, even if he were able; she looked so beautiful that he could not take his eyes from her.

  “You are finished?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “Aye,” she did not look at him. “I am. Please take the water away.”

  Three soldiers rushed in at William’s signal and hauled the pot away. When they had gone, he walked across the tent to where she was sitting and paused a few feet away, opening a collapsible chair. She wondered what he was doing and when she did force herself to look at him, she saw he had set a large white bundle on his lap.

  “You have not eaten,” he said. “I had Luke pack you some food.”

  She didn’t say anything, watching as he unwrapped the bundle and exposed the contents of cheese, apples, a hunk of cold meat, and a half loaf of brown bread. She hadn’t realized how hungry she
had been until she saw the food.

  William watched her eat. She didn’t look at him once, nor did she speak a word. He was curious to know why she was so quiet, but imagined that it had something to do with the earlier fight. Maybe she was mad at him.

  “Was your bath satisfactory?” he asked.

  She nodded, tearing off a piece of bread and putting it in her mouth.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, feeling the least bit uncomfortable. If, in fact, she were angry, should he apologize? But why in hell should he? After all, she was the one who had thrown wine on him.

  “Are you angry with me?” he asked before he could stop himself, and was immediately sorry as soon as the words came spilling out of his mouth. Men didn’t ask those questions.

  Jordan looked up at him for the first time, her mouth frozen in mid-chew. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but quickly shook her head and lowered her gaze.

  Now he was piqued. “Then why haven’t you spoken to me?”

  She shrugged, breaking off a small piece of cheese. “I have nothing to say, sir knight.”

  “To me or just in general?” he asked.

  She put the cheese in her mouth, but her movements had slowed considerably. “In general,” she said softly.

  He watched her move like an old woman, slowly, lethargically. All of the fire from not an hour before was gone. He wanted very much to know what was upsetting her.

  “Enough, Jordan,” he finally said, quietly but firmly. “What is bothering you?”

  Abruptly, she set the food down and stood up. “I am tired. I wish to sleep now.”

  He watched her from his seat on the floor. “Not until you tell me what the matter is. We will stay up all night if we have to.”

  She whirled around to him. “Are ye deaf? I said nothing. Can I go to sleep now?”

  He scratched his head and stood up. “Are you angry because Paris and I were fighting? I could see that we had frightened you, but….”

  “William,” she interrupted him in a low voice.

  She had never called him by his Christian name. The way she said it was like a caress, so soft and soothing and disarming. Hell, he didn’t even know up until this point if she even remembered his name; she always called him ‘English.’ He wanted to hear her call him by his given name again. Always.