The Wolfe (23 page)

She nodded, her hair catching the
light. “Aye,” she moved for the animal and suddenly stopped, causing Paris to nearly
smash into the back of her. She turned around and caught his curious
expression. “Tell me, Sir Paris, do I look…presentable? What I mean to say is,
will the earl find me pleasant to look at? Do I look as if I could make a
convincing countess?”

Paris smiled such a gentle smile
that Jordan could not imagine what he was thinking. But he didn’t answer her
question right away and that worried her immensely.

“My lady,” he said finally. “You
would put the goddess Aphrodite to shame. The earl will be entranced by your
beauty.”

Jordan turned pink. “Thank ye,” she
muttered. “Ye really think so?”

Her innocence was refreshing. Paris
realized she had no idea how beautiful she was, how she affected every man who
saw her. The woman was not fishing for compliments, merely seeking reassurance.

“Yes, my lady, I really think so,”
he said softly.

He helped her mount and jumped on
behind her. He helped her adjust her skirts so that they lay across his leg and
onto the flank of the horse, as not to get tangled up in the animal’s legs.

Paris put his arm around her waist
to pull her against him when he was suddenly assaulted by the scent of lavender.
God, it smelled so wonderful it made his head spin. Before he could stop
himself she heard him groan low in his throat.

“What’s the matter?” she was
concerned he was uncomfortable with her sitting in front of him.

“Nothing, my lady,” he assured her
quickly. “My…armor jabbed me.”

“Ah,” she nodded in understanding. “‘Tis
probably why William takes his off when I ride with him. I make his armor jab
him.”

He almost laughed at her naiveté. In
fact, it was so funny that he started to snicker. When she smiled at him
because she had no idea what he was laughing at, he burst into hysterical
gales. He laughed the entire ride up to the head of the column, drawing stares
from his men.

He was still laughing when they
reached the other knights and they fell in between Kieran and Michael. Jemma,
in front of Kieran, scowled at Paris.

“I knew it,” she whispered loudly to
Jordan. “He’s finally gone over the edge and driven himself insane. I suspected
from the first.”

Paris’ smile vanished unnaturally
fast and he glared at Jemma. Jordan glanced at him and could see the merriment
still in his eyes and was not the least worried that he would punish Jemma for
her remark.

“Watch yourself, banshee,” he
warned.

Jemma stiffened, but Jordan saw that
she was up to enjoying a game of pass-the-insult. Perhaps that was the
relationship these two were meant to have.

“How would ye know if I were a
banshee or not unless, of course, ye have first-hand knowledge?” she asked. “Yer
mother wasna a banshee, by chance?”

Jordan fought off a smile. She
lowered her head but not before she glanced wistfully at William’s straight,
tall back several feet in front of her. She wished fervently that she were
riding with him.

“Understand that my mother was a
fine, pious woman,” Paris said indignantly. “But I am sure the only females you
understand are the ones that turn into bats in the middle of the night.”

Jemma’s eyes narrowed. “I shall have
to take yer word for it that there are women as such. Ye must not know any
differently since I suppose they are the only women ye can get into yer bed.”

Jordan’s head came up, sending a
look of caution to her cousin, who was smiling triumphantly. But instead of
returning the insult as Jemma was expecting, Paris did an mediate turn-about.

“What do you know of men’s beds?” he
demanded harshly. “You had better know absolutely nothing…Kieran! Damnation,
man, you slept with her last night. You better not have….”

Kieran looked at him with wide eyes.
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Then his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You
had better not be insinuating that I…..”

The beginning tirade was interrupted
by William. He had reined his huge destrier back and flipped up his visor, his
gaze hard enough to melt stone.

“I have never heard so goddamn much
conversation,” he snapped. “Paris, you ride up with me and leave Lady Jemma
alone. Kieran, wipe that bloody look off your face before I wipe if off for
you.”

They obeyed without another word.
Paris and Jordan rode up with William at the front of the column for a few
hours, barely a word spoken between.

The sun had become unseasonably warm
and the men were sweating rivers underneath their armor. Jordan, however, was
blissfully content. It was wonderful to be anything other than freezing that
several times during the ride she turned her face up to the sun and closed her
eyes, basking in the rays. She could feel the heat permeating every corner of
her body, warming her and chasing away the anxiety and sadness she was feeling.
It was heavenly.

William caught her out of the corner
of his eye the first time she turned her porcelain face upward in worship of
the seldom-seen sun. His visor was down and he was able to watch her unaware
for quite some time, marveling at her beauty. Every so often a soft smile would
cross her face and he wondering what she was thinking.

Truth was, he missed her riding with
him. It did not seem right to watch her riding with someone else, even if it
was Paris. He almost felt empty not having her soft body to hold on to. But it
was for the best, he told himself firmly. The sooner he got over his
infatuation with her, the better off they would all be. It was infatuation, he reminded
himself. Nothing else.

Emotions, love were a gateway to
pain. His father had been a kind and wise man, but he never quite seemed to
have enough time for his youngest son. William’s two older brothers seemed to
warrant all of the attention, and his mother was so ill most of the time that
he was never allowed around her. He’d loved his mother but he had been denied
her. After a while the love was gone. And his father, well… by the time
William was eight years old he was sent off to squire at Northwood and never
saw his father alive again.

He did not want have feelings for
anyone, much less love. Yes, he was possessive and he would not deny that he
felt a good deal of possessiveness for Jordan, but that could not be equated with
love. At least, he hoped not.

As the army plodded along, he
thought of his future. Certainly, he wanted a wife, eventually, and sons to
carry on his name. But all of his logic fled when he realized that he wanted
the mother of his sons to be Jordan. He wanted her and only her, and to think
of someone else having her drove him so mad that his hands actually began to
shake. Oh, God… what was he going to do?

As William was gripped with turmoil,
Jordan was actually enjoying the ride even if she was not sitting with
William’s strong arm around her. The countryside was starting to level out a
bit, the sharp hills rounding off and dipping into beautiful valleys. Patches
of wildflowers were everywhere, filling the air with their warm scent.

Jordan had never been this far south
before and thought it was lovely. She wondered what Northwood would look like;
would it sit in one of those lovely valleys she had seen or did it sit on a hill
watching over the fields below? She would have asked, but she did not want to make
conversation. William seemed to discourage it in the ranks and she did not want
to rouse his ire.

The army rounded a crest of a hill
and suddenly she was confronted by millions of wildly blooming flowers, in
every color and shape imaginable. It was a wonderful, magnificent sight and she
knew she had to have some.

“Stop, Paris.” she ordered eagerly.

He jerked the animal to a halt. “What
is it?”

Her answer was to slither off the
horse before he could grab her. Suddenly, she was running like a rabbit, tearing
down the road with her skirts hiked up around her knees. Before any of the men
could recover their shock, Jemma was down and racing after her.

The destriers, startled by the
sudden movement and the squeals began to dance about in anticipation of what
was to come. With their riders tensing above them, they sensed a battle.

William knew they could not possibly
be attempting to escape but found himself thoroughly confused by their
irrational behavior.

“What in the hell….?” he finished
his sentence by spurring his horse after them.

Paris, Jason, Kieran and Michael
followed him, leaving Ranulf and Deinwald shouting the column to a halt.
William was nearly on top of Jordan when she suddenly veered off the road and
plunged down a small incline, feet first into waist-high flowers. With a cry of
delight, she began yanking every bloom within her reach.

He bound off his horse and stood
there, hands on his hips and watching with disbelief. He pushed his helmet up
so that the chin guard was resting on his forehead and scowled as rivulets of
sweat ran down his face.

“Of all of the…,” he muttered
irritably. “Flowers?”

Jordan swung around to him, her arms
loaded with flowers and her face broke into a radiant smile. She was ecstatic.

“Are they not beautiful?” she
demanded. “I must have all that I can gather.”

She ran at him and thrust the
flowers against his chest. He instinctively slapped a hand over them to keep
them from falling to the ground yet at the same time realizing he must look
like a complete fool. He opened his mouth to harshly reprimand her when she
bound away from him once again, darting off like a nymph and filling her arms
with more flowers.

How could he be stern with her when
she was so damn happy? He could not, and found himself even angrier but now
with himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his knights shaking with
laughter. Paris had his head turned, but he could see his shoulders convulsing.
Well, he would not be alone in his humiliation.

“Paris.” he boomed. “Do not just
stand there like a dolt - help her.”

Paris’ head snapped to him, the
mirth draining from his face. “Why me?”

“Do not argue with me,” William
snapped, marching by him and shoving his burden into the arms of his second. “You,
Kieran. Get the hell off that animal and help Lady Jemma. By damn, hurry up and
we shall be done with this nonsense.”

Paris turned to yell at William as
he walked away. “I am a knight of the realm,” he said staunchly. “I do not pick
posies.”

William turned around and jabbed a
big finger at him. “You’ll goddamn wear a dress if I wish it. Now, go and help
her.”

Behind the huge bouquet she held,
Jordan smiled broadly. She could hear William barking orders at his knights to
give the ladies a hand, muttering angrily as he made his way back to his destrier.
She inhaled the blooms deeply; ah, the sweet smell of humiliation.

Jemma was beside her, her face and
torso nearly obscured by all of the flowers she held. She continued to pick,
grinning wickedly.

“He is as angry as sin,” she
whispered delightedly.

“Aye,” Jordan agreed, fighting off
the giggles. “Do ye remember that bet I made with ye last night?”

Jemma nodded vehemently. “Aye, I do,
and ye have won it. Ye were right when ye said he would do anything ye asked.”

Jordan picked a huge yellow flower. “I
intend to ask him one more thing.”

Now Jemma looked at her cousin. “As
mad as he is? He will take yer head off.”

Jordan wiggled her eyebrows. “He
will not.”

“What will ye bet?” Jemma asked. “I
have nothing more to wager - ye already demanded that I be nice to Paris.”

Jordan was grinning mischievously. “If
I win my bet, then ye have to ride with Paris for the remainder of the journey.”

“Nay.” Jemma looked thoroughly
disappointed. “I want to ride with Kieran.”

“All right, then,” Jordan knew Jemma
like Kieran. He was all she could speak of when they were dressing earlier. “Then…then
ye have to give Paris a big, sloppy kiss.”

Jemma’s mouth opened into a big “O”
of astonishment. “I would rather kiss a horse.” she declared.

Jordan was firm. She went back to
her flowers. “That is the price.”

Jemma pouted. “Can I kiss Kieran?”
she asked hopefully.

Jordan chewed her lip and grinned. “Nay.
It must be Paris.”

Jemma looked stricken, as if Jordan
had just asked her to kiss a troll. “Oh, very well, ye blood-thirsty wench.”

“In front of everyone,” Jordan
insisted.

“I say I would.” Her cousin made an
irritable face, disgruntled she was getting the bad end of the bet. “But what
about ye? If he doesna do what ye ask, then I will demand a high price.”

“What?” Jordan was very suspicious.

Jemma’s eyes twinkled sinisterly. “I
say ye have to kiss the big knight, Sir Michael.”

Jordan winced. “Ooch, Jemma, that is
likely to draw the captain’s wrath. I canna do it.”

Jemma made a wry face. “Ye’re
probably right on that account. Well, have no doubt, I shall think of something
for ye, then.”