She was being aggressive and incredible intuitive with him, he thought, but in truth she was following her natural instincts. She wanted to touch him, taste him, everywhere.
But he wanted the same of her. As soon as his breeches were off, he flipped her over on her back and furiously attached himself to her breast. She cried out softly, arching against him, pulling his head to her. His hot mouth was ecstasy, arousing her everywhere it touched until she was panting with shameless need. His kisses were forceful and the harder he pushed, the harder she wanted him to push.
Minutes blended into one another until there was no concept of time, only their needs being sated. He lay between her legs, his mouth dragging down her flat belly, licking every inch of her satin skin. When he descended on the mound of dark-blond curls, she nearly jumped through the ceiling. He was so forceful, so insistent, and so damned skilled that she began to see stars behind her closed lids. Nothing in her life had ever been so sweet or so gratifying.
She knew that if he kept going she would find her release within seconds. Yanking him by the hair, she pulled him up to her mouth and kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on him. She gradually became aware that his intensity had slowed a bit and opened her eyes to find him looking at her.
“What is it?” she whispered breathlessly.
Much to her disbelief, his eyes appeared moist.
“God, Jordan…,” he said huskily, his eyes devouring her. “When I thought I had lost you…I didn’t want to live without you. I never thought I would be touching you like this again. ’Tis the sweetest thing I know, to feel your skin beneath my hands, to hear your voice in my ear. When I think how close I came to never experiencing it again….”
She cut him off by attaching herself to his mouth once more, slowly but insistently to let him know that indeed she was alive and well. He groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her, thrusting full-bore into her hot, slippery flesh.
’Twas a night neither one would forget. Their passion peaked within mere seconds, sending them both into the spiraled oblivion of primal satisfaction. His touch said a thousand words to her, and she answered him with a symphony of lyrics.
They continued to make love for the rest of the night, all night, until the pink haze that signaled the dawn kissed the eastern sky.
She didn’t want him to leave but knew he must, and he was reluctant as well. ’Twas the day of the engagement party and he didn’t know when he would see her next.
“ ’Tis been a most wonderful night, English,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I am sorry to see it end.”
“As am I,” he kissed the top of her head. “But I will be here to escort you to the party tonight, have no fear.”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “The more time passes, the more I dunna want to go through with this wedding,” she said softly.
His smile faded and he reached out to wrap a tendril of satin hair around his finger. “There is nothing either one of us can do.”
She sat up in bed. He supported himself on one bent arm, watching her rigid, creamy back.
“What we do between us, here in the privacy of my chambers, means all to me. ’Tis the most wonderful expression of love and commitment we can express to one another,” she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I only hope that I dunna vomit when the earl touches me the same way ye do.”
He looked at her a long moment before bolting from the bed and grabbing his breeches. She watched him, his abrupt movements, and she felt his pain. She would go insane at the thought of him touching another woman.
“English?” she whispered.
He stood tall, fastening his breeches and she felt herself go warm and liquid inside at the sight of his magnificent, broad chest. It brought warm, erotic feelings flooding into her veins all over again. But his mood was changing.
“What is it that you want me to say, Jordan?” he asked bluntly.
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. “Except…except that ye will love me not matter what happens. That yer feeling for me will not change simply because I am forced to bed with another man.”
He continued to look at her another moment before his shoulders slumped imperceptibly. With a heavy sigh, he sat on the bed beside her.
“Jordan,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion. “We both knew full well what we were doing the first night I bedded you. We knew that, eventually, the earl would become your legal husband and therefore entitled to all its privileges. If I told you that the knowledge that he will be touching you as I have doesn’t eat away at my soul, I would be lying. It pains me more than you can possibly know. But there is nothing we can do except go beyond that and focus on our devotion to one another.”
“But ye spoke of fleeing once,” she pressed. “Do ye remember? Ye said we would flee to Flanders or Normandy. Have ye changed yer mind, then?”
He sighed heavily. “Nay,” he muttered. “I spoke of it in haste; I was only thinking of myself, and of my wants. I was thinking of what should happen if the earl discovered our relationship and the lengths I would go to in order to protect you. But the truth is that to run away with you, simply to be selfish, would cause far more harm. Your father and Lord de Longley would be back at each other’s throats and men would die. All because of my selfish wants, too many men would die.”
Her throat was tight with tears. “Then ye dunna love me enough to take me away?”
He looked at her. “I love you enough to do all that and more. But at what cost? Men’s lives against our selfish desires? I am not sure I can reconcile that.” He sighed heavily. “Nay, love, unless you are in mortal danger, I fear I cannot simply take you away from here, at least not now. Too many would suffer.”
Jordan understood even if she didn’t like the answer. He was strong, noble and virtuous… and she was not. She fought back her sobs.
“Then tell me then one thing, English, and I shall never ask it of ye again,” she whispered. “Will I ever become Lady de Wolfe?”
His chest was being squeezed so hard he could scarce draw a breath. He looked deeply into her eyes, his hand helplessly touching her head. “Aye,” he whispered. “De Longley cannot live forever. On the day he dies, you will be my wife. I swear it.”
She was satisfied with that and it gave her an immense boost of strength. With that knowledge, she would be brave enough to face whatever the future held because she knew he meant it. The simple answer to the not-so-simple question would be her rock.
Somewhere a cock crowed. He turned from her and hurriedly donned his tunic and boots. Then he bent to kiss her and promised again he would see her at dusk. Quickly, he quit the room, leaving Jordan sitting on the bed, dreaming of that day when she would indeed become Lady de Wolfe.
*
They began arriving shortly after the sun rose. Jordan had finally drifted off to sleep when she heard the trumpets on the wall heralding an approaching caravan of guests. She rose sleepily to see what the commotion was and was instantly awake at the sight of a group of richly garbed riders.
Excitement and apprehension surged through her. The women, riding beautifully decorated palfreys, were clad in the latest fashion from London. Jordan watched with great interest, realizing that, although her surcoats were lovely, they were not anywhere as stylish as the ones the women wore.
A strange obsession settled over her. With all of the other worries she had, the one foremost on her mind was the fact that she did not have a trendy surcoat. Wrapping herself in her blue satin robe, she tore into the antechamber.
Jemma, seated in front of the loom, looked up and smiled broadly.
“So yer up, slug-a-bed?” she announced. “ ’Tis about time, although from what I heard, ye should not be walking so easily.”
Jordan froze and stared, agape, at her cousin. “What on earth do ye mean?” she stammered.
Jemma, still smiling like the cat who swallowed the mouse, rose and went to her. “I mean exactly that I heard
ye last night, and I heard the captain, too. I’d say ye welcomed him home quite nicely.”
Jordan didn’t know whether to slap her or grin with her. Since there was obviously no use in denying it, she took the direct approach.
“Did anyone else hear?” she asked.
Jemma shrugged. “Paris, probably, since he was the one guarding the door. But that was all. I dunna think Maggie and Elspeth heard anything, but even if they did, they wunna tell.”
Jordan let out a hissing sigh. “I dinna realize we were so loud,” she said lamely. “Tell me, Jemma. Who knows about…William and me?”
“Ye mean ‘English’?” she teased boldly, laughing when her cousin threatened to throttle her. “Me, Paris, the other knights. But that is all. They have done very well at controlling the rumors.”
Jordan blanched. “What rumors?”
“The rumors that the captain is in love with ye,” Jemma said patiently. “I told ye of them once before, remember? Kieran says that whenever someone brings up the subject, the knights are swift and painful to deter any more gossip.”
Jordan swallowed hard, miserable. “Jemma, we must not let the rumors reach the earl. There is no saying what the man would do to William…or to me.”
Jemma sobered for the first time. “I know,” she said. “But trust me when I say the knights are loyal to William. And to you.”
“Good,” Jordan nodded, knowing it was true but appreciating Jemma’s confirmation.
Jemma watched her cousin a moment. “Tell me, Jordi. Do ye love him or do ye simply lust for his beautiful body?”
Jordan looked at her. “I love him, Jemma. With all my heart.”
Jemma smiled again and the two woman shared a private, meaningful hug. Then Jordan’s mind shifted with amazing speed to the reason she had entered the room in the first place.
“Jemma.” she exclaimed. “My guests are arriving. And I dunna have a proper dress for tonight.”
Jemma sneered. “What are you saying?” she demanded. “Yer dresses are beautiful and….”
Jordan bolted for the door. “But they are not of London fashion.” She yanked open the door to find Jason and three soldiers staring back at her. She grabbed Jason by the arm. “Jason, who is the seamstress here?”
He cleared his throat. “Joana, my lady. She sews all of Lady Analiese’s clothes.”
“Get her.” Jordan ordered as well as any battle commander. “Send her to me doubly.”
Jason nodded quickly and snapped at one of the soldiers, who fled quickly. Satisfied, Jordan released Jason’s arm and thanked him nicely. He nodded, a faint twinkle in his eye.
“May I say that my lady is looking quite well,” he said. “You will be the most beautiful woman at the party tonight.”
She smiled coyly. “I hope so, Sir Jason, for that is my intention.” She closed the door.
*
From a pile of golden silk that Jordan had purchased on the day she was struck by the arrow, Joana was able to stitch the most magnificent dress Jordan had ever seen, resplendent of the very latest court fashion. Over the course of the day she’d had three fittings, and now stood on a stool receiving her fourth and final. Great care had gone into making the dress, although it was not quite as finished as it should be due to the time constraints placed on Joana. The woman had four servants working on it at once just to make it wearable when Lady Jordan wished it.
Jemma scrutinized the dress as the seamstress and her assistants made the finishing touches. Jordan could see herself in the polished glass mirror from a distance and felt giddily fulfilled by the surcoat.
“ ’Tis the most daring neckline I have ever seen,” Jemma stated disapprovingly.
“ ’Tis the latest London court fashion, my lady,” Joana said.
“Those heathen women – if you will pardon me – believe that the more breast that shows, the better.”
Jordan and Jemma giggled at Joana’s frankness. But Jemma was right; the neckline showed nearly half of both of her creamy breasts Joana had sewn three strands of tiny seed pearls across the very bottom of the plunge so that it gave the false impression that it was not so risqué. With the long sleeves and long bodice, Jordan looked as voluptuous as a roman statue.
In spite of her giggles, Jemma resumed her critical stance. “ ’Tis still indecent,” she sniffed.
Jordan looked at her cousin, a faint smile on her lips. “Aye, it is, but I want the attention of everyone at the party. And I intend to have it, even if I have to strip naked ’fore them.”
“But why?” Jemma persisted. “Ye’re already far more beautiful than any of those English wenches, so why do ye feel the need to deliberately outshine them?”
Jordan held up a finger. “Ah, but this part of my overall plan. With manners, grace, and beauty, I intend to make those English change their minds about Scots. Mayhap they will not think us quite as barbaric. I want to be accepted, Jemma, can ye not understand? I am going to live out my life here and I keep remembering the words of my da. ’Twill be what I make of it.”
Jemma saw the logic and was not unsympathetic. Unlike her, her cousin had a much greater stake in all of this. She shrugged carelessly and turned away. “So what will ye have me wear? Anything at ’tall will look frumpy and lifeless next to that creation ye’re wearing.”
Jordan thought a moment. “How about the pale blue-green silk? The one Kieran insisted ye wear one day? That dress is decadent enough, or so I have been told.” She remembered how William had reacted to it.
Jemma nodded decisively. “Perfect,” she motioned to Elspeth. “Come and help me, woman.”
*
Kieran and Jason showed up an hour later to escort Jemma downstairs. The engagement party was in full swing and the sounds of music and laughter floated on the warm night air. Jordan could hear the noise wafting in through her windows as she waited for her escort to come.
She was filled with excitement and apprehension. What would the English think of her? Would they be pleasant, or hostile, or not care for anything other than the food and limitless wine. She sighed, smoothing anxiously at her dress, then patting her hand over her flowing hair.
She did so desperately want to have a good time tonight, to dance and to be accepted. But she was not fool, she knew what more likely lay in store for her. She would probably be treated like a prisoner, guarded every second and not allowed any freedom whatsoever for fear of her life.
’Twas strange, but in spite of everything that had happened to her since leaving Langton, she did not regret coming into the enemy camp. In fact, she was quickly coming to like it a great deal.
The knock she was waiting for came heavily on the oaken door. She heard Maggie open it and heard the maid’s soft burr as she bade the caller entrance. With one last, deep cleansing breath, Jordan straightened her shoulders and moved into the antechamber.
Paris, Deinwald, Ranulf and Corin stood in the room, blocking out everything else with their huge presence. Jordan stopped with surprise, appraising them as openly as they were appraising her.
They were wearing armor she had never seen before, beautiful ceremonial armor that gleamed like the sun and with nary a dent or scratch. The breastplate was emblazoned with the de Longley crest, three hugely clawed falcons imposed over a sword, framed in a three-point shield.
She stepped forward, smiling as she nodding approvingly, failing to notice that all four men were agape at her dress.
“Aye, now, dunna ye look fine?” she said. “Ye look like knights of the round table.”
Paris was the first one to find his voice. “And you, my lady, look quite…lovely.”
She curtsied graciously, a coy smile on her lips. “Ye’re too kind, sir knight.”
Paris may have spoken first but Deinwald was the first one at her side. He extended an armored elbow. “Your guests await, my lady.”
She took his arm, oblivious that behind her the other three knights were vying for her other arm. Paris, silently threatening the other two wi
th a stern face and gloved fist, took her hand and put it upon the crook of his arm. He smiled warmly at her as they left her sanctuary for the wilds awaiting them below.
In the grand hall the party was in full swing. Mounds of food and barrels of ale kept the merriment constant. Servants scurried everywhere attending guests, and Jordan was a little stunned to see a great many soldiers in unfamiliar suits lining the corridor. She leaned close to Paris.
“Who are these Sassenachs?” she whispered uncertainly.
Paris smiled; it was the first time he had ever heard her use the Gaelic term for English, the term Scots branded to be an insult.
“Soldiers from various houses,” he explained. “With this many guests, you can understand that security is important.”
She nodded, noticing each English face as she passed by. These soldiers were strange and threatening to her, and she was comforted by the four knights as if they were her brothers or kin.
She could barely remember the first time she had been in the presence of the knights of Northwood, and that she’d had the same initial fears of them. She almost smiled at the thought of English knights bringing her comfort; these men who would die before allowing her to come to harm. In a peculiar way, she felt closer to them than she ever did to her male cousins or relatives, an unexplainable bond.
They were approaching the doorway that led into the grand hall. She made eye contact with the crier and when he signaled the herald trumpets, her stomach did a wild dive. She knew she was going to have to do this alone, as she had done the very first time, but she found she was no more prepared. But there had been one difference; William had been there.
“Where’s William?” she whispered to Paris.
He leaned down. “Concerning himself with every detail the earl failed to wind up,” he said. “He will be along. He would not leave you alone in this.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 74
