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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Jordan was looking at him with those mesmerizing green eyes and he felt as if he were being swallowed whole. She took a few hesitant steps toward him, putting her hand up. He stood stock-still, wondering what she was going to do with that raised hand, when it came to rest gently on his chest.

  “Dunna ask me anymore,” she murmured. “Please?”

  His brows drew together. “But if I have….”

  She shook her head and put the hand that was on his chest to his mouth. “Dunna ask me what is wrong. Ever. I beg ye.”

  He could smell the lavender on her fingers. Instinctively, he reached up to grasp her hand. Her palms were sweating.

  “Then answer me and I will not ask again.”

  Honestly, she could not think of one rational thing to tell him. There were too many worries fluttering about in her mind. The more he asked her, the more likely she might be to spill everything out. But she could see he was going to demand an answer until she gave him one.

  She lowered her head. “I am tired, that’s the truth,” she said. “And I am….scared.”

  He frowned, “What of?”

  He still held her hand and it was distracting her. “Of everything, English, of my life to be. I dunna know what it will be like at Northwood and I am worried.”

  “You worry too much,” he said. “I already told you that de Longley is a decent man. You need not fear him.”

  “I dunna fear him,” she insisted. “I…just fear my future. Isna that natural?”

  “Yes, providing you have a basis for that fear. But you do not.”

  “How do ye know?” she scowled. “Ye are the captain of the troops. I am an enemy Scot. I do not belong. I will always be an outsider, even in my own home. I will have no friends, just my maids. I will be alone for the rest of my life.”

  “I am your friend,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him and her stomach fluttered wildly. His eyes were so kind and sincere she knew he was telling her the truth and she found her heart rejoicing at his simple statement.

  “Are ye? Truly?” she asked, slightly breathless.

  He nodded. “Unless you do not want me.”

  “I want ye, English.” Sweet Jesu,’ did that come out wrong. She blushed to the roots of her hair and dropped her gaze. She heard him chuckle softly.

  “Fear not, my lady. I know what you mean,” he said. “ ’Twould be most unknightly of me to assume otherwise.”

  She grinned in spite of herself. “I spoke before I thought again.”

  He sobered. “I hope not.”

  She snapped her eyes up to him and she tore her hand away. No. No. No. She could not think these thoughts, these daft emotional thoughts. Sweet Jesu,’ she could not be strong if he were to encourage her in any way. He didn’t even realize her internal struggle, yet he was making it most difficult when he said or did things that broke down her resistance.

  She spun away from him. “Dunna do this to me, English.” she whispered before she could stop herself.

  William went rigid. Good God, why did she say that? And the way she said it. All of his control flew out of the window; he had to know why she said that. He was advancing on her when Paris suddenly appeared in the tent flap.

  “My lord,” he said gravely. “You are needed.”

  William moved to Paris, trying to regain control of his soaring emotions. He was at once glad for the diversion, but also angry Paris had entered before he’d had a chance to pursue her comments. Damnation, he was going mad.

  “What is it?” he demanded harshly.

  Paris was indeed serious; he didn’t so much as cock an eyebrow at William’s tone. “Outside, my lord,” he instructed.

  William followed him. Jordan sank wearily onto the collapsible chair just as Sir Kieran entered the tent, smiling pleasantly at her. He took position by the tent flap, his gigantic arms folded across an equally gigantic chest.

  Jordan sighed sadly. She should not have said such things to William; she could see how angry he had become. Thank God Paris had saved her from a sure scolding. She hoped he would be calm by the time he came back. At least calm enough not to strike her.

  Jordan glanced over at Kieran. “Are ye to be my watchdog tonight?” she smiled. He really was devilishly handsome, with his flashing brown eyes and light brown hair. Not as strikingly gorgeous as William nor as sensual as Paris, but handsome in a very manly sort of way.

  “Just until William returns, my lady,” he replied.

  She continued to stare up at him a moment. “Do ye want to kill me?”

  He was completely stumped. The smile vanished. “Do I what?”

  She turned away, staring at the brazier. “Nothing.”

  She heard his timid footsteps come up behind her and stop. She almost wished he’d strike her down and end her torment. She’d not only embarrassed herself, but she probably lost her only English friend. Why did she speak before thinking? One of her many, many flaws, she thought grimly. And now, she had spoken completely out of turn with Kieran. She did not even know why she had asked him that. Her mind was not working properly.

  “My lady, why would you think that I would want to kill you?” he asked sincerely. He had a deep, gentle voice.

  She shook her head and let out a sigh of exasperation. “Forget I asked ye, please. I shouldna have.”

  He didn’t move or speak. After several moments, she turned around to look at him.

  “Sit down, man,” she commanded softly. “Dunna stand there staring at me.”

  He raised his brows before moving into a crouched position several feet away. William was massive, but Kieran was unbelievable. And it was all muscle, too; she could see his bare forearms and they were like roped steel.

  Jordan could see that he was still very puzzled but was politely obeying her request not to ask again. She stared back into the brazier.

  “Because I am Scot,” she explained quietly. “After the battle today, I assume everyone wants to kill me because I am Scot.”

  She heard him sigh. “I see,” he said. “Nay, my lady, I do not want to kill you. You have done nothing.”

  She turned slowly to him, looking at his strong profile.

  “Thank ye,” she said. “Yer a kind man. For an Englishman.”

  He laughed. “Thank you, my lady,” he replied. “And may I say that you are a beautiful lady. For a Scot.”

  She looked sharply at him to see if he was teasing her, but he could see no malice in his smile. She was suddenly embarrassed at his compliment. First William, now Kieran. She was going to become swell-headed if this kept on. But, God’s truth, she was beginning to enjoy the attention.

  She smiled back. “Most Scot women are beautiful,” she replied.

  He drew his brows together. “What about your maids? Surely you cannot mean them.”

  “Every woman is beautiful in her own way,” she insisted.

  “As you say,” he replied dubiously. “They look more like men than some men I have known. No offense.” he added quickly.

  She giggled. “Be that as it may, they are loyal servants and their hearts are indeed beautiful,” she said.

  He nodded sheepishly, hoping he had not offended the earl’s new bride.

  She studied him more closely. “Tell me, sir knight, how long have ye served under Sir William?”

  “We have known each other since we were squires,” he said. “I have served under him for six years.”

  “Then ye have known him a long time,” she said.

  “Aye, my lady,” he replied. “We have been through much together.”

  He meant battles. With Scots. She dropped her gaze and fell silent. Kieran saw her downcast expression and was again fearful that he had again said something to offend her.

  “Sir William is a good man,” he said, hoping she would forget about whatever he had said. “He is the very heart of this army. All of us would die for him.”

  Her head came up. What had William told her? That he would die for her? Strangel
y, she felt special, as if she were included in this brotherhood in some way.

  “ ’Tis a well-trained army,” she replied. “How many soldiers are there?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Her eyes widened. “Five hundred. But I thought….”

  He smiled, following her thoughts. “This is a light brigade, my lady,” he told her. “We left four hundred men back at Northwood. Hell, I didn’t think we’d even need this many men, but William insisted.”

  “Why? Because he thought he would have to burn Langton down to get me?” she asked, half serious, half in jest.

  But Kieran took her seriously. “Mayhap. Once the treaty was agreed upon, you became Lord de Longley’s property. Mayhap William was afraid you would change your mind.”

  She shook her head, “I dinna have any choice one way or the other.”

  He knew that. She was so young and vulnerable and lovely that he would have burned Langton down himself just to get a word from her. It was too bad she was being used as a pawn in a much larger game.

  “You did not want to come.”

  She looked at him. “Would ye?”

  “Nay,” he said. “You are brave.”

  She sighed heavily. “Nay, I am not. I am scared all of the time.”

  “You have nothing to fear,” he said sincerely. “We are sworn to protect you.”

  A flicker of an ironic smile touched her lips. “Whether or not ye want to, right?”

  “I do not do anything I do not want to,” he said stubbornly. “Unless William orders it.”

  She chuckled at him. “And when he ordered ye to protect the earl’s betrothed, ye thought he was mad.”

  He shook his head. “When I first saw you, you looked as if you needed protection. So I wanted to protect you.”

  Her smile faded, touched at his gallantry. “Yes, ye were friendly. But not Sir Deinwald. He dinna look happy to be around me.”

  He snorted. “Deinwald’s grandfather was full Scot. He likes to forget that.”

  Her eyes lit with mirth. “I wunna let him. I shall speak Gaelic to him now every time I see him.”

  Kieran laughed. “That will make him madder than a nest of harassed hornets.”

  “Then I shall do it,” she said decisively.

  He continued to chortle. “My lady has an evil streak.”

  “A small one,” she agreed.

  “Me, too,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Teach me some Gaelic insults to speak to Deinwald.”

  She decided right then that she liked Sir Kieran Hage.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  William and Paris entered the tent fifteen minutes later. Jordan immediately noticed the kicking, fighting child Paris had hold by the scruff of the collar. She peered closer; there was something familiar about the voice but it was difficult to tell with all of the hissing and cursing.

  Kieran shot to his feet much faster than she would believe possible for such a large man. He suspiciously eyed the waif and William was aware that Kieran had put himself between the intruder and Jordan.

  It went without saying that Kieran was doing his duty protecting the earl’s bride until William looked at his face; his expression was battlefield-fierce. He’d never seen Kieran look so…protective before. Jealousy shot up his spine like a wildfire and startled the hell out of him.

  But he banked it well. He was growing accustomed to these emotional surges now where Jordan was concerned and it was becoming easier to gain control of himself. Walking around Kieran, he beckoned to Jordan.

  “My lady,” he said. “We require your assistance.”

  Jordan’s eyes widened. “Me? What can I do?”

  He took her arm and gently led her over to where Paris stood with the peasant youth. “Tell me if you know this….person,” he said.

  Jordan had to lower her head to get a look at the face; the child was looking at the floor. But it took her less than a second to recognize the features and her heart sank.

  “Jemma Scott!” she exclaimed, yanking off the cap her cousin wore. Dark silky hair went cascading to the tiny waist.

  “Aye, ’tis me!” Jemma crowed. “I told ye that I would follow ye. Dinna believe me, did ye?”

  Jordan went rigid as if Jemma had just issued her a personal challenge. Her eyes bugged and her fists clenched and suddenly, without warning, she began beating her cousin with the cap she held.

  “Ye stupid little wench!” Jordan yelled. “How could ye? How could ye do this?”

  William grabbed her by the arms, pulling her away and fighting off the compulsion to laugh loudly. Paris yanked her cousin back out of the line of fire.

  “Ladies, ladies!” Paris admonished sternly.

  They ignored him, and the others as well. There was only the two of them and their spitting-mad anger.

  “I told ye I would come whether or not ye took me!” Jemma fought against Paris’ grip.

  “And now yer a prisoner, ye idiotic girl.” Jordan snapped back. “You always were a stubborn, stupid….”

  “Aye, and it is yer own fault!” Jemma screeched.

  “My fault?” Jordan was flabbergasted. “I shall hear none of that. I told ye to stay.”

  “And I told ye I was coming!” Jemma countered.

  William let them yell. People often said things in anger that one would never otherwise get out of them. Wisely, he stood silent while the two women raged. From what he could gather, this was either a sister or cousin of Jordan’s. They obviously knew each other well.

  “Ha!” Jordan cried. “This is none of yer affair and ye canna stand to be left out, is all it ’tis. Ye’re jealous because I am going to be married.”

  “Ha!” Jemma mocked her. “And it ’tis an English husband ye’ll be getting. I’d rather marry a pig.”

  “ ’Tis the only mate that would have ye,” Jordan countered nastily.

  Jemma shrieked and fought against Paris to let her go so she could take a swing at her cousin.

  “You will cease!” Paris ordered to her, to them both.

  Jemma twisted on him, her amber eyes flashing. “Ye dimwitted clod, treating me as if I were an animal!” With that, she drew back her small foot and kicked Paris as hard as she could square in the shin. When he flinched and loosened his grip, she plowed both fists into his abdomen.

  Air escaped from Paris’ lungs as she knocked the wind from him. Stunned, but not senseless, he snatched her arm and twisted it behind her back before she could attack her again. He could not believe she had actually assaulted him.

  “Why, you little witch! That hurt!” he said, more outraged than injured.

  Jordan, her anger shifting from Jemma to Paris when she saw how he was manhandling her cousin, jerked free of William’s grip and dug her sharp nails into Paris’ forearm. They were all surprised to see docile Jordan turn into a she-cat with her cousin being threatened and Paris was completely unprepared for the knee to his armorless leg.

  “Ouch!” he yelped in surprise.

  William was highly amused to watch Paris on the defensive from two small women. But he took mercy on the man and pulled Jordan away, pinning her arms to her side. She was hollering in Gaelic and he decided he’d had quite enough. Shifting her, he managed to keep both of her arms pinned with one of his own while covering her mouth with her free hand.

  “Silence!” he roared. “Both of you.”

  He felt Jordan jump, but Jemma disobeyed him and was still cursing Paris in Gaelic. Paris slapped his hand over the offending mouth.

  With the tent suddenly silent, William smiled but there was no humor to it. Kieran had to turn his head; he was close to collapsing with laughter.

  “Much better,” he said calmly. “Now, Lady Jordan, am I to understand that this is a relative of yours?”

  Jordan nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth.

  “Aye,” her eyes were splitting daggers. “She is my cousin, Jemma Scott. She said she was going to follow me, but I dinna believe her to be serious.”

>   “Hmm,” William glanced at Jemma. She was small and darkly pretty, but not nearly the beauty her cousin was. He looked more sternly at her. “We were attacked today, lass. What do you know of it?”

  Jemma’s face went blank with surprise. Then she scowled, angry again. “I know nothing.”

  William handed off Jordan to Kieran, his stare sending shivers of fear down Jemma’s spine. She was terrified of this man, but she tried desperately to maintain her level of fury for all to see. Now was not the time for cowardice.

  William was nearly standing on top of her, his eyes cold and glittering. “You are a liar.”

  “Nay, I am not,” Jemma protested loudly. “I will tell ye that I did hear the army, but I was trying to stay close to ye by hugging the trees and hiding in the grass in the fields. I am no spy.”

  “I did not say you were,” his voice was gritty. “I called you a liar. You called yourself a spy.”

  “I am not a spy.” In spite of her anger, she was close to tears. This man scared the hell out of her and twisted her words.

  Jordan’s heart was in her throat, terrified that William was going to decapitate her cousin as an enemy.

  “Sir knight,” she said in a soft, controlled voice. “She is telling the truth. Jemma is no spy. She is disobedient, willful, and stubborn, but she is no spy. I swear to ye on my mother’s grave.”

  He knew that. But, in case Jemma did know something about the attack on his army today, he wanted to find out and intimidation could be a wonderful tool. To his surprise, she was holding her own rather well. Hell, Jordan looked more frightened than she did.

  He slowly moved away from Jemma, his hands on his hips and his head lowered thoughtfully.

  “Lady Jemma, what do you have to say in your defense before I pass judgment?” he asked.

  “Pass judgment?” Jordan paled. “What do ye mean?”

  Jemma was in no mood to plead her case. Now that he believed she was not a spy, she was mad because he had called her a liar.