“I have nothing to say to ye,” she snarled. “I came to serve my cousin, not answer to ye.”
Paris fought off a grin. “Ye have a lot to learn,” he mimicked her burr perfectly.
Kieran could not take it anymore; the man was long gone into convulsions of laughter. Jemma and Jordan, however, were outraged and unleashed a barrage of insults at Paris.
“Paris.” William warned him, then turned back to the women. “Ladies, enough already. God, my head is pounding from all of this shouting. Everyone… shut up.”
Paris could see Kieran doubling over and was nearly lost himself. Jemma and Jordan looked to kill each other as well as the men, and William tried hard not to look at his knights. He would surely lose control should giggles overtake him. He continued to fight to maintain his calm facade.
“Now,” he continued calmly. “Lady Jemma, if in fact you are not a spy, I see no reason why you should not be allowed to accompany your cousin. However, I will brook no disobedience from you. You will take orders and obey them as everyone else and there will be no argument. If I so much as catch wind that you have raised your voice, I will truss you up like a goat on a spit and have one of my knights take you back to Langton. Do you understand me?”
Jemma looked to be properly put in her place. She wanted to scream that she would never take orders from an Englishman, but her common sense won out and she wisely kept her mouth shut. If she wanted to go with Jordan, then she had to tame her tongue. A most difficult task.
“Aye,” she grumbled. “I understand.”
“Good,” William responded. “Paris, since you found her, you may see to her safety. Now everybody get out of here so that Lady Jordan may get some sleep.”
Paris’ mouth went slack. Letting go of Jemma, he moved to William. “A word, my lord?”
William had not yet agreed when Paris was all but dragging him over to the far side of the tent.
“You intend to saddle me with that…that she-devil?” Paris hissed.
“You have your orders.”
Paris’ jaw ticked with angry disapproval. “Those are not orders, they are a death sentence.”
William straightened. “Paris, I forbid you to lay a hand on her no matter what she does. Is that clear?”
Paris sneered at him. “I have never struck a woman and I do not intend to start now, even if she does deserves it,” he said. “I meant that she will probably kill me the first chance she gets.”
“Then tie her up while you sleep if you must, I care not,” William said. “I have my hands full with Jordan.”
Paris cocked an ashy-blond brow at him. “I have a better idea,” he said hopefully. “You take Jemma and I shall take Jordan. Jemma seems much less hostile toward you.”
There was no way William was going to let Jordan out of his sight but he would not let on to Paris that it was for mostly selfish reasons. With a twinkle in his eye, he turned the tables.
“Do not tell me you are afraid of one small female,” he said.
Paris pursed his lips in irritation. “By your command, then,” he said. “I knew it would be foolish to even suggest such a thing. Oh, and by the way, I loathe you, my lord.”
William nodded to him slightly, crossing his arms. “And I, you.”
They broke their little conference and Paris went over to Jemma, scrutinizing her impatiently.
“Well, my little banshee, it seems that you and I are to be constant companions,” he said distastefully.
Jemma looked just about as happy as he was. They glared at each other a moment before Paris loosely indicated her clothing.
“Is that all you have to wear?” he demanded.
Jemma’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, my lord, but I had not the room to carry my silk surcoat.”
He put his hands on his hips. “I will be seen with no peasant washerwoman.”
Jemma was near to explode. Her small face turned red and her mouth worked and Jordan could see that she would be sent back to Langton this night if she did not intervene. Rushing to Jemma’s side, she grabbed her cousin’s arm and squeezed.
“My lord, Jemma is welcome to all that I have,” she said quickly. “I will bathe her and send her to ye a proper lady.”
Paris’ eyes softened on Jordan. “You are most generous, my lady.”
Without so much as another glance, Paris quit the tent and was followed closely by Kieran. William sighed; it seemed as if they would get no sleep tonight.
*
A hasty bath was prepared for Jemma and Jordan roughly scrubbed her cousin, showing her just how much she disapproved of her actions. Jemma muttered and grumbled, but she did not raise her voice as William had instructed her. Jordan thought it amazing that Jemma had yet to yell, considering how roughly she was bathing her.
Scoured to within an inch of her life, Jordan ordered her out of the tub and dried her vigorously. As Jemma used the linen cloth to dry her hair, Jordan dressed her in an emerald green brocade surcoat with a slim bodice and long, slim sleeves.
The dress fit her well enough, but it was at least 3 inches too long in the skirt. Jordan frowned.
“Ye’ll just have to lift it high when ye walk, otherwise it will become a muddy mess,” she told her cousin. “Here, put the breeches and slippers on.”
Jemma obediently did as she was asked while Jordan took over the hair duty. She brushed it vigorously with her horsehair brush, holding it up and letting the strands fall individually so that the air would dry it. The brazier in the room was giving off little heat but she did her best. At one point she brushed particularly hard and Jemma let out a yelp.
“Ooch, woman, do ye try and pull my hair from my head?” she said angrily. It was the first hostile thing she had said yet.
Jordan eyed her. “Shut up and let me finish. I should be asleep by now, not bathing my idiotic cousin.”
Jemma scowled. “Dunna call me that. We’ve already said what needed saying.”
Jordan brushed harder on purpose and Jemma jumped up, yanked the brush away, and glared at her. “I shall do it myself,” she snarled.
Jordan’s jaw ticked and she pulled her silk bed robe closer about her as she watched Jemma dry her own hair. She was so angry at her cousin but, truthfully, she was glad as well. Now it seemed that she would not be facing her future alone.
“Does Aunt Lilith know ye’re here?” she asked.
Jemma shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I told no one. Except, I think Caladora might have guessed.”
Jordan shook her head. “Poor Callie. She will be lonely without us.”
Jemma brushed slower. “I know. But ye need me more than she does. She has our kin and ye are all alone.”
Jordan smiled a little. “Ye’re a good soul sometimes, ye know? Even if ye are daft.”
Jemma looked at her. “Then ye want me here?”
Jordan nodded in spite of herself. “Aye, I do,” she said. “But ye had better behave, especially with regard to the knights. They do not play games, Jemma. Believe me.”
Jemma nodded thoughtfully. “The big man with the dark hair, William? Is he The Wolf?”
“Aye,” Jordan replied, feeling a strange warmth in her belly. “He is a gentle man. Kind, too.”
“He is a brute,” Jemma sniffed.
Jordan sat down and watched her cousin finish with her hair. Her thoughts were pensive, lingering on William.
“Do ye want to know something?” she said softly. “I think that he would do anything I asked of him.”
“Why?” Jemma asked, perplexed.
Jordan shrugged. “I dunno. ’Tis a gut feeling I have, and the actions I have seen from him,” she tried to explain. “I bet I could get him to do most anything.”
Jemma smiled mischievously. “What would ye bet?”
Jordan caught on to the game immediately and grinned. “I would bet my burgundy silk surcoat and cloak, the one you love so much,” she said confidently.
Jemma stopped brushing for a moment. “Ye woul
d?” she exclaimed. “Ha. I accept. What will ye have him do? It has to be most humiliating.”
“Wait,” Jordan cautioned. “Ye have not told me what ye will bet should ye lose.”
Jemma thought quickly. “I have nothing with me, so ye may name yer price if and when ye win.”
Jordan shook her head. “Nay, I shall name my price now. Ye have to be nice to Sir Paris should I win.”
“What?” Jemma was outraged. “Be nice to that beast?”
Jordan smiled. “That is the price.”
“Very well,” Jemma waved begrudgingly. “So be it. Now what will ye have The Wolf do?”
“I dunno,” Jordan said. “But I will know when the time is right. I will prove to ye that I have power over these English knights.”
Jemma smiled jubilantly. “What a wonderful thing,” she said. “If it ’tis true, then I shall bow humbly before ye as the greatest Scott that has ever lived. The Scott that will finally bring the English to their knees.”
Jordan’s smile faded. She did not want to conquer them, only prove an arrogant point to her cousin. But Jemma still saw this entire situation as a war.
“We are no longer at war with them,” she said after a moment. “I would not be cruel in my humiliation. Simply a joke.”
“Not be cruel? Why not?” Jemma demanded.
“Because the knights of Northwood have been kind to me,” Jordan said, and shot out of her chair with much more passion than she had intended. “These men have been patient and generous for the most part and I will not be heartless in return; not even to satisfy yer bloodlust.”
“They are English!” Jemma said, back to fighting with her and completely forgetting her promise to William. “They have no heart, no soul, and no conscience. I wonder just how many of our kin the Northwood knights have personally killed?”
“And I wonder how many of our kin have killed their family and friends?” Jordan fired back. “It goes on both sides of the wall, Jemma. We are not the only ones who have suffered.”
Jemma was red. “By God, how can ye defend these bastards? Is it possible that they have infected yer thinking with sweet words and kindness to make ye forget who they are?”
Jordan was shaking with fury. “Shut up, Jemma. Ye are a stupid, vicious person and I will not speak to ye anymore of it.”
Jordan turned away and Jemma threw down the brush, hitting the tub with a resounding clang. “Ye’re a damn traitor, ’tis what ye are,” she snarled. “Ye like it here, don’t ye?”
Jordan whirled on her cousin with lightning speed, her hands forming claws as she moved for her. She was mad enough to kill because Jemma was voicing the same thoughts she herself was having. But she had to deny it to her death, even if it meant getting the living daylights beat out of her by her smaller-but-stronger cousin. She would die denying the kind feelings she felt for the English knights, and for William.
Fortunately for her, William had heard the screeching and chose to enter the tent just as Jordan was moving for Jemma. Quick as a flash he grabbed Jordan, pulling her away and calling for Paris.
Paris was right behind him. Not surprised they were fighting again, he firmly took Jemma’s arm and pulled her to the tent flap. But William stopped him before he could leave with her.
“Put Lady Jemma on the back of Corin’s destrier and send him to Langton,” he said in a commanding tone. “I warned you, Lady Jemma. I will not tolerate a troublemaker.”
Jordan was so mad she started to cry. He thought she was crying because he was sending Jemma back. He immediately wished he had not issued the order, but he would not back down.
“Get her out of here,” he told Paris.
“No. Wait.” Jordan sobbed. “ ’Twas my fault, my lord. I… I antagonized her. If ye will notice, ’twas me who was advancing on her, not the other way around. Ye may send me back if ye wish, but Jemma… she did not start anything.”
William was mightily torn. He did not want to back down on an order, especially not in front of the women. He was a man who kept his word, and he would. But mayhap not tonight. Mayhap he would let them all sleep on it. Much to his dismay, he realized he was about to rescind a direct order.
Angry, he jerked his head at Paris. “Out of my sight. I will deal with her on the morrow.”
“Aye, my lord,” Paris pulled Jemma from the tent.
Jordan was sobbing softly in his arms, her back to his chest. He should have let her go but he did not want to. She needed comfort and he meant to give it.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
She nodded her head and pulled away from him, wiping her hands at her face. “Jemma has the power to drive me to tears sometimes,” she said lamely. “She can drive one quite mad.”
She was lying. She was crying because Jemma had called her a traitor and she was right.
He smiled at her. “It seems she has that effect on Paris as well, though I have yet to see him in tears.”
She sniffed and smiled at him, wiping her eyes daintily. “Wait until morning.”
He grinned, showing his even teeth. He was pleased that she was calming and hoped that now they could get to bed. The thought of sleeping next to her tonight left him warm and eager. But it would seem that Jordan had other plans.
“Where is Sir Jason so that I might tend him?” she asked.
William’s jaw dropped a little but he recovered. He had forgotten all about her earlier request and hoped she had, too.
Right now he was not sure if it was a good idea for her to see Jason in her agitated state. She and Jemma were near ready to kill each other and now she wanted to go and see a man that could have easily killed her.
Still, he had promised. Reluctantly, he indicated for her to follow him.
Jordan picked up her skirts and began to pick her way through the muck because of her clean slippers. At that rate it would take her all night. Muttering to himself, William bent down and swept her into his arms.
“Sir knight, I am quite capable of walking,” she said primly.
He ignored her. Pouting, she nonetheless put her arms around his neck as he trudged off around the compound.
Jason lay on a fur pallet in a tent lit by a fish oil lamp. Someone had fixed him some sort of poultice to hold over his face and he was unaware when William and Jordan entered.
William sat her down gently and stood back with his hands on his hips.
“Jason,” he said coldly.
Jason twitched, then sat forward quickly. Only his black-ringed eyes were visible over the pack. William looked at him impassively.
“Lady Jordan wishes to observe your wound,” he informed him.
Jason dropped the poultice to reveal a hugely swollen face. Jordan did not even recognize him and inwardly winced at the pain he must be feeling, not to mention the hate and anger towards her. Those thoughts were emphasized by the glare in his brown eyes.
“I have no need for her,” he growled.
Jordan pursed her lips irritably, unimpressed by his hostility. She had expected as much and did not blame him.
“Dunna act the martyr, Jason,” she told him. “Let me look at yer face.”
His eyes spit venom at her. “I’d rather die first.”
William had just about enough of the blatant hatred the boy was directing toward Jordan. He obviously had yet to learn his lesson.
“That can be arranged,” he said it like he meant it.
Jordan did not want William antagonizing him. She put up a hand to quiet him pleadingly before turning back to Jason.
“Then suit yerself,” she said. “Ye were quite a handsome man, Sir Jason, and it is possible that I could help ye, but if ye are too proud to accept help from a Scot, then ye deserve to be disfigured.”
He glowered at her, torn between being flattered that she had called him handsome and being furious that she had insulted him. Deep down, he knew he had been less than chivalrous to her all along. Because she was Scot he had treated her little better than an animal and
as someone who did not deserve his respect. He had convinced himself he hated her in spite of her beautiful face and gentle manner and he had to continually fight to maintain his level of hostility.
He had lost a brother and a father to the Scots. His bitterness ran deep and this woman threatened him. He was afraid that it was possible to actually like her and thereby dishonor his family. He let the other knights know how disgusted he was with their behavior where she was concerned, treating her with respect, when the truth of the matter was that he found himself wanting to respond to her that way as well but his pride prevented it.
Jordan waited a moment for her words to sink in and see if there would be any reaction. Not receiving one except for a menacing stare, she sighed and turned to William.
“ ’Twas a waste of time, sire,” she said apologetically. “He is as stubborn as an ox.”
William simply nodded and moved to take her arm. He had tried to warn her off and she knew it, so there was nothing more to say. It was late and she was tired and if Jason was going to be a mule, then, so be it. She would not feel sorry for him anymore.
“Wait,” Jason said. It sounded as if the word had been kicked out of him.
Jordan turned around eagerly but William’s eyes glittered threateningly at his knight. He would stand for no more insults.
Jason’s eyes went back and forth between Jordan and his captain. He then visibly braced himself.
“You may…look,” he forced, and with a glance at William added, “My lady.”
Jordan dared not smile; Jason might think she were mocking him. Silently, she went to him and examined his face. His eyes watched her intensely and she was taken back several months when she had tended William’s considerable wound. He had stared at her in much the same fashion, but she had been much more nervous. Where Jason’s eyes were suspicious, William’s had been openly curious. The heat she felt from Jason’s gaze was not the same heat she had felt from William’s. Jason did not trust her and William had trusted her implicitly.
She raised her hand to touch him and he flinched away from her, but she smiled as encouragingly as she could and ever so slowly put her fingers on the sides of his nose and touched him as lightly as she could. When he realized she wasn’t going to hurt him, he relaxed heavily.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 54
