The Wolfe (126 page)

His desire took over and he plunged
into her again and again, bracing his arms on either side of her with only
their loins touching so that he could watch her body respond to his. All of the
months of waiting and frustration disappeared, for the coupling they were
sharing at this moment somehow made it all worthwhile. It was beyond words.

He came first with a violent thrust,
joined shortly by his wife as she felt him spill into her. His pleasure was
prolonged by the throbbing of her passage until he lay forward on her, his head
on her chest and listening to the rapid pounding of her heart. Jordan stroked
his hair tenderly. “English, was it a painful wait for ye?”

His muscular arms wrapped around her
body. “Of course not. The greater priority was yours and Patrick’s health.”

“But did ye…I mean, were ye ever
tempted… oh, damn,” she sputtered. She hadn’t meant to mention what had been on
her mind during her entire infirmary. She felt that asking William if he had
sought relief elsewhere would have been to imply a lack of trust. And she
trusted him with her life.

He lifted his head to look at her. “If
you are asking me if I was ever tempted to take my pleasure with another, then
the answer is no,” he said. “I love you, Jordan. I have not so much as looked
at another woman since I met you. To make love to you is the ultimate display
of my affection and I would not ever consider the same action with anyone else,
no matter what the circumstances.”

“Ye mean to tell me that since ye
met me on the moors and I tended ye that ye havena had another woman? Not even
a whore?” She found that hard to believe.

He shook his head. “Nay, I haven’t.”

She believed him, of course, and she
smiled. “Really? I am touched.”

He smiled faintly and lay his head
back down between her full breasts. Jordan resumed stroking his hair.

“But ye
have
had women
before,” she stated. “How many?”

He rolled his eye at the turn the
conversation had taken. She always picked the most inopportune times to discuss
subjects and he certainly didn’t feel like reviewing past conquests now. But,
should he refuse to answer, she would wonder why and become upset. So he
humored her.

“Aye, I have had women before,” he
replied. “Though not many. Not like Paris.”

“Was there anyone who was ever
special to ye?” she asked timidly.

He shook his head. “No, Jordan, I
can go to my grave with a clear conscience on that. Only you.”

Satisfied, she smiled. “Then how
many would ye say ye’ve had?”

His head came up again and he
frowned at her. “Do we have to talk about this?”

Her head came up to look at him. “And
why not? Is there something ye dunna want me to know?”

“Of course not,” he insisted. “But
why do you want to know how many woman I have had? ‘Tis an ancient subject.”

Her lip stuck out in a pout and she
lowered her gaze. He made a wry face, knowing he would tell her the secret of
life if she asked it. He would say or tell her anything just to keep her happy.

“Offhand, I’d say I have had ten or twelve
women in my life, but I have never truly kept count,” he said. “There was no
one special, although there was one lady I bedded on several occasions over the
course of a few years. But that’s it.”

“And who was this lady?” Jordan felt
wildly jealous and insecure.

He rolled off her and onto his back
on the pillows, bringing up his huge arms and covering his face with his hands.
     

“Her name was Lady Jordan Scott, and
she was pledged to my liege. But I was mad for her and could not keep my hands
from her,” he took his hands away and looked at her. “The last I heard she
married some conceited half-wit and lived happily ever after.”

Jordan’s stance immediately softened
and she gave him a smirky grin. “Stop teasing me.”

He reached out and pulled her to
him, his smoky gaze devouring her face. “I am not. I am simply answering your
question. There has always only been you, my lady, and there will always only
be you.”

She smiled and kissed him tenderly,
looking at him lovingly for a few moments. Then, her smile faded and she almost
looked outraged.

“What do ye mean ‘not like Paris’?”
she demanded.

He groaned and rolled his eye again.
It was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

Paris and Caladora’s wedding was a
huge, lavish affair. Caladora wore Jordan’s wedding dress, although it was too
short, but she looked ravishing in it nonetheless. She was the very model of a
blushing bride and Paris, the nervous groom.

Jordan stood next to her husband
during the short ceremony, thinking how wonderful it would have been if they
had been able to have a big wedding such as this. But her wedding had been
better than Jemma’s, who had been married lying in a bed. Yet she had no
regrets, nor was she jealous in any way. Caladora and Paris deserved as fine a
wedding as this.

The feast that followed was a long
one. Adam had graciously provided for his captain and food and wine flowed
freely. The knights sat on the dais with their captain and Baron Kilham.
William wore his new suit of ceremonial armor for the first time, bearing his
new crest. Kieran, Michael, Marc, Roan and Deinwald also wore their new armor,
as did Sir Henry and Sir Philip. The rest of the knights, new and old, wore the
de Longley crest.

It had been a strange experience
when William and Paris saw each other for the first time, wearing armor of
different crests. It was as if they had passed some sort of milestone and they
were both saddened and gladdened at the same time.

Jordan sat with her husband and next
to Jemma, enjoying herself immensely at such a happy occasion. Thomas and
Matthew were equally pleased with turn of events because they liked Paris and
knew Nathaniel would have, too. It was a wonderful celebration of a way of life
that had come full circle, melded, grown. Privately, the elder Scots never
believed they would see the day when they would sit in harmony with so many
English.

After stuffing themselves with the
numerous courses that had been stylishly presented, the musicians finally
kicked in with a jig, signaling the beginning of the dancing. Jordan sat in her
chair, as stuffed as a capon, watching people as they took to the floor. Her
husband was laughing with Paris about something and she watched him, his strong
profile and the way the candlelight caught the highlights in his hair.

It suddenly occurred to her that she
had never, ever danced with him. He’d always been too busy, or gone, or every
another excuse. Tonight, she would have her dance.

She sat forward and leaned on his
back. “Dance with me, English.”

He looked at her over his shoulder, “Now?”

She stood up and thrust out her hand
to him. “Now.”

He stood up, looking warily at her. “Jordan,
I do not dance nearly as well as you do. Why do not you ask someone else?”

She stepped close to him, her
shining eyes on his face. “We never had a wedding dance, English. In fact, we
have never danced at all. Will ye still refuse now?”

He gazed down at her. “Of course
not,” his voice was husky. “But I do not want to hear any cries of pain when I
land on your feet.”

He didn’t land on her feet. He was a
wonderful dancer, as she knew he would be, and they danced song after song
until they were sweating rivers. Paris and Caladora were the only couple who
could keep up with them. But after an hour or so of endless dancing, the
knights began to cut in and William soon found himself watching from the table
as his wife danced with every knight in attendance, at least twice. With
Deinwald, it was four times, and all of this before midnight.

Jordan and her cousins were nonstop
well into the early morning hours. William knew she loved parties and was
careful to watch her wine intake. When she had imbibed four cups of wine, he
insisted on flavored water from that point on. She complied, reluctantly,
already feeling the alcohol in her veins when she told him he was a stick-in-the-mud.
He smiled and kissed her before Michael gallantly swung her away again.

William sat with Thomas and Matthew,
their conversation very pleasant as they watched the merriment. Jemma came over
and yanked her father to the dance floor while her weary husband took the man’s
vacated seat. William laughed at Kieran, flushed and sweaty, knowing how he felt.

Paris and Caladora retired to their
chambers shortly before dawn to a host of whistles and cries and promises that
the guests would insist on inspecting the linen. Horrified, Caladora looked at
her new husband, who simply smiled and told her through clenched teeth that
everything would be fine. She trusted his word.

The dancing resumed and William was
once again engaged with Thomas and Kieran. He didn’t know how long it was
before he realized his wife was not on the dance floor. Puzzled, he glanced about
the room.

“Kieran, where is your wife?” he
asked.

Kieran looked about the hall and
shook his head. “I do not know. Where is yours?”

William stood up. “I have no idea.”

Thomas noticed the concern he saw in
both men, even over a matter as small as this. It was a constant amazement to
him that two small, sometimes flighty women could exert such control over two
huge, powerful men.

“Let’s go find them,” William said
with a sigh. “They are probably harassing the hell out of Paris and Caladora.”

“Aye,” Kieran agreed. “Your wife has
one hell of a mischievous streak in her.”

William frowned at him as they
walked away. “As if your wife does not?”

Thomas grinned, turning his
attention back to the party in front of him and savoring the good French wine.

But Jordan and Jemma were not
harassing the newlyweds. A search of both couples’ apartments turned up
nothing. Perplexed, William and Kieran checked the hall again but the women
were nowhere to be found. Yet they were not worried, at least not yet. If a
search of the entire castle didn’t turn them up, then they would find the time
to worry.

A search of the castle, however,
proved to be unnecessary. They were passing down a corridor just outside of the
hall when they heard familiar giggles. More relieved than they would admit,
they followed the sounds until they came to a closed door from which the noises
emanated.

The men paused a moment, listening
to the giggling with amused curiosity. Whatever they were laughing at was
certainly funny and the men hesitated a moment to break up the party, after
all, ‘twas only two women laughing about…something. They were probably
laughing about Paris and Caladora, mayhap something to do with sabotaging the
bridal suite. William motioned Kieran to follow him back into the hall when
they heard another, deeper sound - a male giggle chiming in with the others.

The door shattered in a million
splinters within a second.

Jordan sat, wide-eyed, on the top of
the earl’s desk. Jemma was standing in the middle of the room, her hair hanging
wildly over her face as if she had just righted herself from an upside-down position.
Both women were staring at the two huge, huffing men standing in the doorjamb,
looking at them as if they were quite mad.

Adam de Longley, Earl of Teviot, was
sitting in a chair behind the massive desk that had belonged to his father, the
bottle of alcohol in his hand frozen on the way to his mouth. He, too, stared
in surprise at the men in the doorway.

“You broke my door!” he exclaimed.

William was trying to control
himself as he stepped into the room, kicking a piece of wood away. His gaze was
focused entirely on his wife.

“Would you mind telling me what you
are doing?” he asked her.

She blinked at him, opened her mouth
to speak, and then started giggling. Jemma joined in and it was no time before
they were giggling like a couple of fools. William lost his patience.

“Jordan!” he snapped.

She jumped, her laughter gone when
she slapped her hand over her mouth in a silly gesture.

“Shhh,” she admonished him. “Dunna
yell, English. There is no need.”

In that short answer he knew
everything he needed to know. She was drunk. Calming with amazing speed, he
crossed his arms and looked reprovingly at her.

“What have you been drinking?” he
asked.

She looked at him innocently, trying
to cross her legs casually but seemed to be having difficulty. She looked down
at them, wondering why they were refusing to work. “Drinking what?” she asked.

William looked at Kieran and they
gave each other knowing glances. “That’s what I asked you, love. What have you
been drinking?”

She shook her head and found herself
falling forward off the table while Jemma screamed with laughter.

“Nothing much, English,” she
insisted when he reached out to grab her before she collided with the floor. “The
earl has a special reserve.”