The Wolfe (11 page)

After several long moments, he dared
to turn his head and look at her. Jordan was lying on her side, facing him as
she slept the sleep of the dead. Her glorious hair was askew and William found
himself staring at her for a very long time. She was quaking with the chill and
he wondered if he should cover her with more furs. It would have been quicker ,
and warmer, to use his body heat but to hold her against him was probably not
very smart so he decided to cover her with another fur. Rising from the pallet,
he gathered the last fur he had and laid it gently over her.  In the process,
he inadvertently touched her soft white hand with his index finger.

Her hand was like ice. True to form,
Jordan stirred and her eyes flew open, focusing in on him immediately.

“What is the matter?” she asked
sleepily. “Is something amiss?”

He shook his head. “You are
freezing,” he whispered as he lay back down. “I was covering you with another
fur.”

She nodded, pushing the hair from
her eyes. He could see the hand trembling as she did so, so very cold. 
Watching her struggle with the furs, trying to eek a measure of warmth from
them, caused William’s resolve to weaken and something inside him snapped.
Almost roughly, he reached out and wrapped the furs tightly about her.  Then,
he pulled her against him.

Jordan muttered a few protests and
briefly tried to resist, but when she felt his delicious warmth, she
reconsidered. He was like a furnace.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he
commanded softly. “It would not do for you to catch a chill and become ill
before we reach Northwood. Lord de Longley will not want a sick bride.”

She stopped trying to push him away,
but she lay rigid against him. “I am not being stubborn,” she replied, although
she had her arms around her torso protectively. “But I am not sure this is….”

He cut her off. “My lady,” he
grunted as her elbow dug into his gut. “It would be much better for both of us
if you relaxed.” He moved the offending joint to a better position.

Everything in Jordan’s mind screamed
of the impropriety of this intimate position but, God help her, she liked it.
He was warm and comfortable and she had never felt so contented or safe. She
was evil, she knew, for allowing this to take place. But he felt so good, and
she really was freezing.

Caution be damned, she put her cold
hands against his chest and felt him start a little at the shock. William’s
massive arms wound around her and she was aware of a tingling sensation in her stomach,
the spark of giddy excitement. If she would allow herself to admit it, it was a
wonderful sensation.

“Are you always this cold?” he
sounded irritated.

“Aye, always,” she replied. “My
blood is not a thick as it should be.”

She squirmed a little to get closer
against him, ramming her head into his chin in the process. He grunted and put
his hand on the top her head.

“Stop moving,” he told her.

She disobeyed him for the next few
seconds before finally settling in with a sigh of contentment.

 As Jordan drifted off again,
William lay there with his eyes wide open.
Lavender
. He smelled her lavender
scent. He had smelled it when she had first sat before him on his destrier and
the scent of it now was much stronger. It seemed to caress him, tease him, and
taunt him until he felt the urge to groan aloud with the seductive torment of
it. He could only pray that he would fall asleep quickly, but so far, sleep was
illusive. With her in his arms, he wondered if he could even sleep at all.

Jordan wasn’t asleep. She, too, was
feeling a good deal of tumultuous feelings at William’s nearness. Try as she
might, she could not fall back to sleep.  Laying in his arms was too new and
wonderful a sensation to lose to something as mundane as sleep.

“What kind of man is Lord De Longley?”
she whispered against his chest.

William heard the soft question. “I
thought you were asleep.”

“I am not,” she murmured. “I canna
sleep. Will ye answer my question?”

He thought a moment. “He is a decent
man,” he finally answered.

Jordan was silent a moment. “He….he
dunna want any part of me, does he?”

William was careful in his reply.  “He
is old, my lady. He feels he is too old to be a bridegroom again.

She fell silent as she contemplated
that statement. It was simply a nice way to tell her she was unwanted.

“Will he lock me in the tower?” she
asked.

He pulled back and looked at her as
if she was daft. “Where in the hell did you get that idea?”

She pulled back, too, accidentally driving
her knee into the flesh of his upper thigh as she did. He grunted, eyeing her
as she put her hand to her mouth in a silent apology. Then she sat up beside
him.

“I have heard all about English
lords and their cruelty,” she insisted. “I know that they lock then enemies in
towers to rot, or torture them for pleasure, or worse. I have even heard that
they cut off the heads of enemy warriors and stick them on poles.  Dunna deny
this, English, for ye would be lying.”

He gazed up at her. “I will not deny
it, but Lord de Longley is not that sort.”

“Then what sort is he?” she
demanded. “He has been making war with my clan for more years than I have been
alive.”

William cocked an eyebrow. “What
sort is
your
father that he has been making war on Lord de Longley for more
years than you have been alive?” he countered. “Do not make the border wars out
to be all England’s fault, Lady Jordan.”

Her eyebrows shot up in outrage. “‘Tis
Scot soil ye English crave.”

“That, my lady, is a matter of
opinion.” He did not want to argue the point with her anymore. Reaching up, he
pulled her down to him. Jordan reacted quite naturally by putting her hands up
to brace herself against the impact, but in the process made contact with his
eye. He muttered something and squeezed his smarting eye shut, closing her in
an iron grip.

Angry and flustered, she pushed
against his hard chest. “And dunna hold me so close,” she spat, frustrated.  “‘Tis
not proper.”

He grabbed her hands to still them. “It
may not be proper, but it is safe and warm. Now be still before you bruise me
all over. I wish to sleep now.”

“Sleep.” she screeched. “Ye malign me
Da and expect me not to defend him? He is a fine and decent man and if ye say
otherwise, I shall…I shall…..”

“I did not say otherwise,” he said mildly,
cutting off her tirade. “I simply asked what sort of man he was, as you asked
of Lord de Longley.”

She was instantly still. He could
feel her breathing hard against him and wondered what else she was plotting to
say. To his surprise, she chuckled softly.

“Ye are as sly as a fox, sir knight,”
she muttered.

He smiled to himself and felt her
relax against him once again. He had to resist the urge to caress her back; he
found that his hands fairly ached to touch her. Jordan was just drifting off to
sleep when she heard his voice again.

“Of what were you and Paris talking
when I interrupted earlier this eve?”

William had no idea why he should
blurt out this question now, but he had been wondering what the conversation
had been about. When he had returned to them at the fire, Paris and Jordan had
been smiling at one another quite companionably. He began to think that perhaps
his jealousy had started at that moment.

Jordan was so sleepy she could not
quite remember.
When earlier? Ah, he must mean when he left Sir Paris to sit
me with the other knights. Now, what had we been talking about?

“Conspiring, my lord,” she teased
him; she was too tired to think on it.

Now he was damn curious. Was she
being evasive in a taunting sort of way? He would find out now or she would
never get to sleep.

“I see,” he said evenly. “What
about?”

She was nearly asleep, her face
half-buried in his shoulder.

“We plan to run away together,” she
whispered.

“Is that so?” he replied. “I wonder
what the king would have to say to that.”

She stirred, bringing up her head.
Her sleepy face was an inch from his own, her heavy-lidded eyes looking at him.

“I was jesting, my lord,” she said. “I
believe we were speaking of Greek poetry and Alexander the Great. I did not
mean to infer that Sir Paris was traitorous.”

“You did not,” he said. “I know
Paris well enough, I think. But I hope he did not bore you with such talk.”

“Nay, My lord, ‘tis I who was
speaking of it,” she replied. “My Da is a devotee of Alexander.”

“I see,” William said, satisfied to
know the conversation’s contents. “Paris is a great admirer of the Romans and
the Greeks. He would talk you into your grave on the subject.”

“Hardly, my lord,” she grinned
sleepily. “Have ye not heard of the Scotsman’s gift for gab?”

“Aye,” he replied. “And I see you
have it. Go to sleep now.”

“Aye,” she sighed, cuddling to him
once again as if she had been doing it all her life. He responded in the same
comfortable manner, nearly unaware of it and completely relishing the feel of
her.

Content, they fell asleep together
in the cold stillness of the night.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The army was disassembled and moving
before dawn. Hot breath hung in the air from man and beast alike, mingling with
the blanket of fog that had settled over the land. The smell of wet foliage was
heavy in Jordan’s nostrils, and she had spent a good deal of the morning sneezing
off the effects.

Jordan was dressed in a heavy linen surcoat
with the thick matching cloak, yet she was still freezing. Ever since William had
left their bed to tend to his duties she had been freezing. Mornings like this
were soaking wet and she kept her hood on to keep the wet off her face. It
seemed a gloomy, depressing day.

She was standing with Paris and Marc
and her maids by the wagons, waiting patiently for William to retrieve her. The
caravan was preparing to move and she became concerned that he had not yet come
for her, yet neither Paris nor the other knight seemed to pay much attention to
her. They were staring off down the road, as if they could see something she
could not.

Shortly, William’s squire rode up to
Paris and, after a brief conversation, dashed off again.

Paris turned to Jordan. “My lady
will ride with me this morn.”

Without a word, Jordan mounted his
big roan and the two of them rode towards the front of the column. She wondered
if William was angry with her after her outburst last night and had chosen
Paris to bear her burden. She was angry at herself for being hurt by his
actions, as if they had formed any sort of relationship whatsoever.

There were times, however, when she
caught something so intense in his eyes that it left her breathless. As
beautiful as she was, she’d had no experience with men whatsoever because her
father kept them well away from her. She knew nothing about them, their
thoughts, or their ways. But she knew without a doubt that Sir William could
not possibly be interested in her personally and was simply showing her
kindness.  She was to be his liege’s wife, and that was that.

Jordan and Paris rode at the head of
the army for nearly an hour. William and most of the other knights were nowhere
to be seen and she fought off the desire to ask Paris where they all were. She
was somber, pouting and not even realizing it. Paris knew, however. He could
feel it in the rigid way she was riding.

Suddenly, they heard a host of
pounding hooves riding up behind them and Jordan had to hold on for dear life
while Paris’ destrier did a wild, excited dance. There was some shouting going
on but she could not make out a word of it.

William appeared beside them,
dressed in full battle armor. He threw up the visor on his helmet and looked
directly at Paris as if Jordan didn’t even exist.

“Give her to Jason,” he ordered. “I
need you with me.”

Jordan was immediately and unceremoniously
passed over to the strong young knight. She was a little concerned to notice
that all of the knights were in full armor, shield slung over their left knees
for quick access. She had been around enough battles to sense the tension in
the air. She knew something was very wrong.

Even with the tension in the air, it
was William who held her attention. To actually see The Wolf in action was
something few Scots had lived to see and tell about. The pure power and command
presence radiating from the man was awe-inspiring, even to a woman. Without
seeing him swing a sword, she could see that there was basis for every rumor
she had ever heard about him.

Paris slapped on his helmet and
quickly latched it to the lip extending from his breast plate. Behind them, the
other knights began screaming orders and she could see the column begin to
dissolve and head for the surrounding wooded areas.