The Wolfe (22 page)

Paris smiled, knowing well what
William was referring to. People avoided traveling on roads where armies had
recently passed because where armies crossed there was generally trouble.

“It shall be done,” Paris bowed,
pretending to follow the other knights to the tent flap. But when they were
out, he stopped and pulled the flap down.

Paris turned to his lord, his best
friend. He took a deep breath and went over to him. William eyed his solicitous
knight suspiciously.

“What now?” he asked.

Paris looked at him. “William, I do
not pretend to know what is going on in your mind, but I do know that you must
control your outbursts where Jordan is concerned. I have never seen you like
this.”

William licked his lips and dropped
his gaze, kicking at the ground. “I thought I was in control.”

“You are, to the untrained eye,”
Paris amended quickly. “But I know you. And so does de Longley.”

William’s head came up, his hazel-gold
eyes focusing on Paris’ blue ones. Finally, William shook his head slowly and
let out a snort.

“I was doing nothing out of the
ordinary, Paris,” he said. “Malcolm slandered Lady Jordan and I was simply
defending her honor. Nothing more. Had de Longley been here, you know he would
have demanded that I do the same.”

“Do not hand me that nonsense and
expect me to digest it,” Paris said in a low voice. “Think about who you are
talking to, William. We have had this conversation once or twice before and you
have all but admitted your desire for Jordan. You can lie to yourself, but do
not lie to me. You never have before.”

William swung to face him. “What is
it you want from me, Paris?” he demanded in a pleading tone. “Why is it so important
for me to admit….whatever it is you want me to admit? Why does this concern you?”

Paris’ jaw ticked. “Because if there
is a storm coming, I want to be prepared.”

William understood then. If he was
going to do anything that would jeopardize his life and the life of Jordan,
Paris wanted to know. And that act would entail one simple step; an admission
to Jordan of his feelings and an admission to him from her. But that would
never happen. He shook his head after a moment.

“There will be no storm,” he
muttered. “She is de Longley’s bride. I would never do or say anything that
would compromise her.”

“But you care for her,” Paris
stated.

William looked at him a moment. “I
would be lying if I said otherwise.”

Paris was satisfied. Now that he had
an admission, it would be easier to deal with things as they came. William felt
better, too. Without actually saying anything, he had admitted a great deal. He
felt guilty and free at the same time.

“She will never know, Paris,” he
said softly. “No matter what. Do you understand me?”

“I will take the information with me
to my grave,” Paris replied. “You know that she feels as you do.”

William’s heart skipped a beat. “Why
do you say that?”

Paris smiled. “I have been watching
her,” he said simply but would not elaborate. He turned to leave. “Now I had
better go make sure that the knights tie those men to a tree and are not
burning them at the stake or some other sort of rot.”

He was gone, leaving William feeling
absolutely bewildered.

***

Paris came charging back into
William’s tent not five minutes after he had left. William was preparing his
bed for Jordan and glanced up at his second with concern. But, in faith, he was
so damn tired he almost didn’t care. Could not they go for a whole hour this
night without something catastrophic happening?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“He is sleeping with her.” Paris
said in disbelief.

William looked at him curiously. “Who
is sleeping with whom?”

“Kieran is sleeping with Jemma.” he
answered, outraged. “By God, she would not sleep with me, but she will sleep
with him.”

The corner of William’s mouth
twitched. It was very amusing to see Paris so insulted and he wondered what
Kieran had said to the little she-devil to soften her bite. True, Kieran was a
gentle, chivalrous man, but William had doubts that even that would work on Jemma’s
temperament.

“I see,” he muttered, then fought
off a chuckle as he read Paris’ face. “My God, Paris, do not take it as a
personal insult. You and Lady Jemma do not exactly get along.”

“You should see them,” he raged on. “He
is so damn big all I could see was the top of her head. He is probably
smothering her. But they were actually sleeping.”

“Kieran, too?” William wanted to be
sure he understood correctly.

“Like a babe.”

William let out a snort of
amusement, though he was secretly glad that Kieran’s attention was diverting
away from Jordan. He seemed to be becoming a little too attached to her.

“Well… hell,” William mumbled,
glancing at his pallet, wishing Jordan were laying there. “I would like to be
sleeping, too. Go sleep in Michael and Kieran’s tent, since your pallet is
occupied. I have to go get Jordan, anyway.”

Paris pursed his lips together. “Bloody
hell, I might as well. I must rise in another hour, anyway.”

William followed him from the tent,
watching Paris shake his head as they trudged off across the camp together.
Laughing silently at his friend’s injured ego, William could not imagine what
else could happen before the sun rose that would surprise him. It had been a
night of events, and one hell of a monumental day.

What filled his mind now was the
thought of Jordan, her softness against him underneath the furs of his pallet.
‘Twould be the last night they would sleep together, he thought regretfully,
and he had missed most all of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

William never did get back to sleep.
He had gone to Michael’s tent near dawn to retrieve Jordan. She was so sleepy
that he ended up carrying her back to his tent. Kieran brought Jemma over about
the same time and the two women were able to assist each other as they prepared
for the day ahead.

Jemma had slept in her borrowed surcoat
and it was a wrinkled, dirty mess. Jordan remarked that it looked as if Jemma
had slept in the dirt which, of course, she had, but Jemma would not admit it. 
Instead, she promised to wash the dress and insisted on borrowing another.

Jemma was too proud to admit that
she had not been able to con the English knight out of his bed, and there was
furthermore no way on earth she was going to confess to Jordan that she had
spent a portion of the night in an English warrior’s arms.

It made her feel silly and warm to
think of the massive, gentle Sir Kieran. She had awoken to find him staring at
her. He barely said a word, but his expression had been most tender. She had
almost hated to leave him when the time had come to dress, much to her
confusion.

Such were her muddled thoughts as
she and Jordan dressed. They took forever. All of the tents were disassembled
with the exception of William’s, standing like a sentinel in the middle of the
field while an entire army of men grew restless around it.

Paris and Kieran formed the company
in anticipation that any minute the women would appear from the tent, but it
did not happen. The sun was rising, as was the temperature and tempers, but
still no women.

Finally, Paris rode up to William. “Shall
I hurry them along, sire?”

William sighed. “Nay, I shall do it.”

He started to rein his warhorse when
the tent flap flew back and Jemma marched out onto the grass. Without even
looking, William knew smiles were crossing the faces of his men. She was
dressed in a royal blue satin surcoat and her long dark hair was pulled back
away from her face, falling in ringlets over her shoulders and down her back.
Her white skin was a beautiful contrast to her dark coloring, for the low
neckline showed plenty of flesh. She was very well endowed.

She would have looked quite angelic
except for the fact that her brow was furrowed angrily for some reason. Kieran
spurred his chestnut destrier over to her and the animal kicked up some dirt.
Furious, she brushed at her skirt.

“Are ye daft?” she demanded. “Dunna
ruin my dress before I get to Northwood.”

Kieran smiled at her. She didn’t
even realize it was him until she looked up, shading her eyes from the bright early
morning sun. Then, her countenance changed entirely.

“Greetings, sir knight,” she said,
her voice honeyed.

The other knights heard her change
of tone and snickered among themselves, save Paris and William. Paris rolled
his eyes and William found himself waiting eagerly for Jordan to make her
appearance.

Kieran extended his hand to the
lovely young lass. “My lady is to ride with me this morn.”

Jemma smiled happily and put her
hand in his huge one. As if she weighed no more than a child, he pulled her up
in front of him and waited politely until she moved herself to a comfortable
position. Paris watched, scowling.

“She must be a witch,” he muttered. “Look;
she has cast a spell on Kieran and turned him into a spineless whelp. Look how
he smiles at her?”

William did crack a smile then. “If
you could only hear yourself, Paris.”

Paris looked over at him
indignantly, but before he could speak, William’s expression softened and Paris
knew that Jordan was making her appearance.

A hush settled over the army. All
eyes were on the vision crossing the field towards them. Even Kieran had taken
his eyes off Jemma long enough to gaze appreciatively upon Jordan. One could
almost hear the collective male sigh as they beheld a sight few have truly
seen. A truly perfect woman.

William could not breathe. A small
gust of wind could have knocked him from his horse. She was so incredibly
beautiful that he almost could not believe she was real. As much as he wanted
to race to her like an eager boy, that was as much as he knew that he could
not.

It occurred to him that if he were
going to get a handle on himself, he would have to get away from her. He was a
sensible man and his common sense told him to put some distance between them
for a while, at least until he could beat down his raging emotions. He would
concentrate on what he did best today, and that would be soldiering.

But he stole one last glance at her.
She was dressed in a clear shade of red, yards of voluminous brocade swirling
around her as she walked. The dress was well off her shoulders, revealing just
how exquisitely formed she really was, and the color complimented her
beautifully. Her silky honey-blond hair was loose and flowing about her in soft
waves.

She was breathtaking. William knew
there was no one on the earth who could compare with her beauty. If he’d
possessed any less strength he would have dropped to his knees before her.

“Paris,” he said, reining his horse
away from her. “Take her with you.”

Paris cocked an eyebrow seductively.
“With pleasure, my lord.”

William shot him a menacing look and
Paris laughed. “A jest, William. It shall be, in truth, the most arduous of
tasks.”

William spurred his animal back
toward the column as Paris moved to meet Jordan.

Jordan saw William ride away and her
heart sank. So she was to ride with Paris again today. She took a deep breath
and reconciled herself to the fact that William simply did not like her very
much. And he was probably mad at her for taking so long in preparing this morning,
but it was necessary. She was to meet her future husband today and she wanted
to look her best.

As Paris reined his horse in front
of her she saw several soldiers break from the column and rush over to take
down the tent. She smiled up at Paris, even though she did not feel much like
smiling.

“I am sorry we took so long, sir
knight,” she said to him. “I am sure the captain is quite angry with me.”

Paris dismounted. “Nay, my lady, he
is not,” he said. He noticed she carried a small satchel. “Would you like me to
take that?”

She handed it to him and watched him
strap it to his saddle. As he was jostling it about, there was a great
clanging. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“What do you have in here? The bells
of Notre Dame?” he asked.

“Something much more valuable,” she
insisted. “My comb and hand-mirror.”

“Ah,” he understood, securing the
satchel. “Then, my lady, if you are ready?”