The Wolfe (10 page)

He dismissed the two knights he had
placed there for her benefit. Marc Fitz Gerald, a knight who had fostered with
William, had long reddish hair that gave him the look like a Viking. He had
taken his captain’s orders literally and never left Lady Jordan alone for a
moment, whereas Lewis Arnsworth, young and taken with her beauty, had spoken to
the lady in broken Gaelic and generally acted the part of an eager puppy. Once,
she had asked for some water and he had spilled it all over himself in his
haste to pour it for her.

Marc put a firm, fatherly hand on
Lewis’ shoulder as William moved into the tent and all but shoved him out. The
young knight would have been fully content to stay there all night. If William
noticed the foolish behavior, he didn’t let on. When his knights had gone, he
eyed Jordan curiously.

“I thought you said you were tired,”
he said. “Why did you not go to sleep?”

She frowned at him. “Do ye think
that I could sleep with my two watchdogs scrutinizing every move I made? Nay,
sir knight, I was content to sit right here until I could go to sleep
privately.”

He nodded silently, unlatching the
leg armor he still wore and letting it fall to the floor. His squire, from
nowhere, surged into the tent and began to pick it up.

Jordan watched the young boy. He
moved eagerly, efficiently, but she thought he looked more like a frightened
rabbit. The boy eventually scurried out, leaving William clad only in his
quilted linen tunic and snug breeches that clung to his muscular legs. Jordan
was a little taken aback at the sheer size of the man; she had seen those legs,
once, but had failed to remember just how big they really were. He was
intimidating, but she was not frightened of him. It was a strange, giddy sort
of intimidation.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, still
standing over by the tent flap.

She shook her head. “Nay, My lord. I
am exceedingly tired.”

“As you wish,” he replied, walking
towards her. “I apologize for the tent. ‘Tis quite barbaric for a lady. But at
least we will be dry should it rain.”

It took a moment for his words to
sink in. Slowly, she looked up at him.

“We?” she repeated suspiciously. “
We?
”

He fixed her with a firm gaze. “I
promised Lord de Longley that I would protect you always, day or night.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then ye are
saying that…ye plan to sleep in the same tent as me?”

“Not only in the same tent, my lady,
in the same bed,” he replied, pouring himself a cup of wine.

It was ridiculous and completely
improper. Her mouth opened in astonishment. “In the same be…?” she gasped in
outrage. “I will sleep alone, sir knight. I am not here for yer convenience, to
warm yer bed.”

He gave her a wry scowl. “Do not
flatter yourself. I am simply following orders.”

Now she was deeply insulted as well
as angry. So she was not good enough to warm his bed, eh? But, then again, why
should she care? The more she tried to fight off the snub, the angrier she
became at herself and at him.

“Then, pray, what else do ye plan to
do with me?” she demanded. “May I at least relieve myself in private, or must
ye tend me that as well?”

Her anger left him unfazed. “Nay, my
lady, I will not tend you so long as I can see the top of your head.”

“Oh.” she gasped furiously. “I do
not know much of English women’s habits, but we Scots find that there are
certain tasks that we must complete in private.”

He faced her. “My lady, I will allow
you all the privacy you desire so long as it does not compromise your safety.”

She eyed him, visibly calming. She
looked down at her hands, turning them over in her lap and he could tell that
she was not finished with her tirade. He wondered what was going on in that lovely
blond head.

“So yer men would kill me at the
first opportunity, then,” she stated quietly. “They know that I am their enemy.”

The woman went from one emotion to
the other with such speed it left his head spinning. Now she was subdued and
docile again, and her vulnerability was apparent.

“You personally are not their enemy,”
he replied. “‘Tis what you represent.”

She chewed on that for a moment, her
head still bowed and her hands still twisting. Then, to his surprise, he caught
the glisten of a fat tear on her cheek.

Jordan was humiliated that hot tears
were forcing their way from her eyes. She was so tired and emotionally
unbalanced that everything was spilling out all at once. Unlike most ladies, Jordan
could not and did not even try to keep her feelings under control. She was trying
to right now, as not to embarrass herself in front of an English knight, but
she’d had little practice.

“I told my Da not to send me into
the lion’s den,” she whispered. “I wunna live to see my next birthday. Every
person in the God-forsaken country hates me and wants to kill me.”

William felt a stab of pity for her.
If the roles were reversed and it was he who was thrust into the heart of
Scotland, he was not even sure that he would not be terrified. She had taken
all of the events of the day remarkably well, but he knew everyone had their
limits. She had reached hers.

Setting down the cup, he went to her
and sat down beside the chair. He tried not to look directly at her, but from
the corner of his eye he could see her shaking with quiet sobs. There was a
soft white hand resting on her knee, he impulsively reached over and clasped it
in his big, warm grip. He half-expected her to pull away and was pleased when
she didn’t.

“No one is going to kill you, Lady
Jordan,” he said softly. “I swear it on my oath as a knight of the realm. As
long as I have breath in my body, you shall be safe from harm.”

She turned to face him; she was
very, very close. He found himself gazing into those incredible green eyes and
his mind went to mud. She was so unbelievably beautiful, even with her eyes wet
with tears.

“Why would ye pledge this?” she
demanded gently. “Ye are my sworn enemy, English. Do ye not hate me?”

“Do you hate
me
?” he
countered huskily.

She blinked at him as if the question
confused her. Then, slowly, she shook her head. “I should.”

“So should I, but I do not,” he
replied. “How could I possibly hate the woman that saved my life?”

Her gaze was intense on him and he
could almost see the thoughts rolling through her brain. The tears were gone
now and she seemed to be a little more at ease. He didn’t even realize he was
still holding her hand.

“When I first saw ye today, English,
I though ye might have come to kill me,” she said.

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Why
on earth would I do that, my lady?”

She dropped her head again shyly. “Because
I dinna do a very good job of tending yer wound those many months ago and I
thought ye were there to seek revenge.”

When she repeated her thoughts, they
particularly sounded silly. She wished she hadn’t said anything at all.  For
his part, William was surprised.

“Why would I do that?” he asked,
perplexed and concerned. “You saved my life, my lady. I do not make it a habit
to kill people who have shown me kindness, not even Scots.” He peered more
closely at her. “Did you really think that?”

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? 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 bad-mouthing 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 very 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 and try 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, positive it would wake her but 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, but he 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.