The Wolfe (52 page)

Getting her bearings, she knew that
the family’s quarters were further down the corridor. It was so long she could
not even see the other end. With a deep breath of excitement, she trudged down
the endless hall. Would not Analiese be surprised to see her.

She went up a small flight of stairs
and the hallway widened considerably. On the floor running the length of the
corridor for as long as she could see was a richly woven woolen rug. Instantly
she knew she had entered the De Longley family’s realm. She pushed forward,
eager to find Analiese’s rooms.

There was a soldier further down the
hall, standing stiffly next to a door. She approached him.

“Sir,” she said. “Might ye tell me
where Lady Analiese’s room is?”

He looked sternly at her. “Why?”

Jordan blinked, taken aback at his
gruffness. “Because….” She glanced at her basket of mending. “Because these are
the garments she has requested immediately. Where are her rooms?”

He looked her up and down. “What’s
your name, girl? I haven’t seen you around here.”

Oh no, Jordan thought. She didn’t
like the look in his eyes. “My name is Elinor. Might ye show me where Lady
Analiese’s rooms, please?”

“Elinor,” the soldier rolled it on
his tongue, taking a seductive step toward her. “You are a bonny wench.”

“I am married.” she jumped back from
him, holding the basket in front of her.

“Married?” the soldier repeated. “All
the better. Then I won’t be spoilin’ anything.”

She was quickly becoming terrified. “Stay
away from me, Sassenach.” she warned desperately. “My husband is a knight and
he will run ye through if ye touch me.”

“A knight?” the soldier momentarily
stopped. He frowned. “Which one?”

William was the fiercest knight by
far, but everyone knew he wasn’t married. Her mind raced to think of the second
most-imposing knight she could think of. “Sir Kieran Hage.”

“Sir Kieran?” The soldier began to
show signs of nervousness at last. As she had hoped, the man did not wish a
confrontation with the massive man. He looked her up and down again then,
licking his lips, he went back to his post on the door. “You had better not be
lying, wench, or I will track you down and make you wish you’d never been born.
I shall remember your face, too. Lady Analiese’s rooms are three doors down, to
the left.”

“She is lying,” Jordan had failed to
notice that the door the soldier had been guarding was opened. Alexander stood
in the archway, an evil smile on his lips.

The guard jerked around to
Alexander, then back to Jordan. He wasn’t sure what to say or how to react.

Jordan was frightened. Alexander
kept staring at her, the hate in his eyes reaching toward her like an evil,
cloying fog.

She instinctively took a step back,
clutching the basket in front of her. She had to get out of there, realizing
that she had placed herself in severe danger. She could run, but not knowing
the layout of the castle well put her at an extreme disadvantage. Her panic was
growing.

***

William heard the yelling from the
top of the stairs. Puzzled, he took the short walk to Jordan’s door, listening
to the shouting get louder. The guards were gathered around the door,
listening, and he shoved them away in his attempt to reach the latch. With a
glare, he silently ordered them back and entered the antechamber.

Jemma stood in the center of the
room, squared off against Elspeth, the older of the two maids. He glanced
about, noticing immediately Jordan was not in the room. Jemma saw him enter and
instantly shut her mouth, suddenly very afraid.

“This is no way for ladles to the
future countess to act,” he said reproachfully.  “Where is Lady Jordan?”

Old Elspeth had her back to him. She
spun around to face him, her round face flushed. “She’s gone. And this little
pea pod wunna tell me where she went.”

Fear surged through William. His
eyes riveted to Jemma. “Where in the hell is she?”

Jemma was quaking inside but she
defiantly lifted her chin in spite of her common sense. “She’s in no danger,
sir knight.”

His jaw ticked and he took
deliberate steps toward her, standing so close he was almost standing on top of
her. “That was not what I asked. Where is she?”

Jemma was fully intending to evade
his question again but her fear got the better of her. “She’s she went to go
seek Lady Analiese’s rooms.”

He looked perplexed. “Why? How in
the bloody hell did she get out of here?”

“She dressed as a serving girl and
slipped past the guard.” Jemma was gushing like a well. “She wanted to return
Lady Analiese’s necklace, alone, and talk to her again. She doesna like all of
the guard she is always forced to endure.”

The veins on his throat were
pulsating and Jemma impulsively stood back from him. If he was going to
explode, she did not want to be within his reach.

“Damnation.” he hissed between his
teeth. Before anyone could say another word, he was bolting for the door,
slamming it with such force that one of the hinge supports cracked, raining splinters
of wood on to the stone floor.

Jemma and Elspeth stared at the bits
of door sprinkled on the ground. “Oh, my,” Elspeth said slowly.

Jemma nodded in agreement, wondering
what would happen to Jordan when William caught up to her and very glad she had
not gone with her, for once.

***

Alexander was enjoying Jordan’s
terror. He was in such a perfect position to humiliate and terrorize her that
his wicked little mind was whirling with the possibilities.

There were so many things he could
do, but he did not want to be directly implicated in physically harming her.
Hell, the Welsh archer had been the perfect assassin, he thought, until the man
failed. Since then, however, when Alexander saw how his father and the knights
had reacted, he decided that killing her was mayhap not the smartest thing to
do. One could eventually be caught, and a murderer would not ascend the title
of Earl of Teviot.

Of course, at this point, he had no
recollection of his conversation with William the night before and did not
remember his confession or the fact that he damn near implicated himself in the
plot to kill the lady. Even if he had remembered, it would have made little
difference. William had no power over him.

Except the power of desire; he
lusted for William as he had lusted for none other. The man’s beauty and
strength inflamed him to the point of insanity. He wanted to feel those arms
around him, run his tongue over the naked buttocks, and feel his mighty sword
as it forged into him. But this little bitch seemed to be taking all of
William’s time and attention, and he would make her pay for her interference.

Scot or English was of no concern to
him, in faith. He simply hated all women. Vile creatures with privates like
horses, huge and slimy and gaping.

The next best thing to killing her
was to make her so miserable that she would voluntarily leave or, at best, kill
herself. He could see a blooming opportunity for Jordan to suffer major
humiliation and he not be made to blame. He had a ready and willing tool in his
guard. The man had appeared shortly before dawn, informing Alexander that Sir
William had ordered him protected because of the attempt on Lady Jordan’s life.

Alexander didn’t stop to think that
it had been over a week since the attack, he was simply flattered that William
was thinking of him. He was doubly flattered when he noticed his sister had no
guard. Obviously, William thought he was worth protecting.

He pushed himself off the door frame
and moved toward Jordan. She stiffened, using the basket like a shield as he
approached, wondering with horror what he intended to do. When his hand lashed
out she let out a small cry, thinking he was going to strike her. Instead, he
ripped off her kerchief. With a thin smile, he turned back for his door,
handing the soldier the kerchief as he passed by him.

“Use this to gag her,” he said
coldly. “‘Twill block out her screams.”

Alexander’s door slammed. Jordan ran
cold; he had given the man his permission to rape her and God only knew what
else. She knew now that she had to run if she were going to get help, no matter
where the corridors took her. Mayhap if she screamed and yelled enough, someone
would hear her. She silently swore to God that lf he let her come from this
crisis free of harm, that she would never again disobey William.

Her body tensed, preparing to bolt
as the soldier glanced curiously at the kerchief and shrugged. “Mayhap I will
use this,” he said thoughtfully. “I would not want your screams to distract me
from my pleasure.”

Bile rose in her throat. She closed
her eyes a brief second to fight it down, but by the time she reopened them he
was upon her, his dirty hands reaching for her.

Jordan screamed, dropping the basket
and twisting away from him but he had her by the arm, pulling her back against
him roughly. She could smell his rotten breath and it threatened to bring up
the contents of her intestines.

He was strong. She fought and twisted,
screeched and kicked, but his grip held firm. She could feel him trying to pin
her against the wall so that he could free up a hand to rip away at her clothing.

But she was a wildcat, scratching
and beating him with her fists and trying desperately to break free from his
grasp. Even when he lashed out and slapped her, bringing the taste of blood to
her lips, she continued to fight. She would get away from the man or die
trying.

He slammed her up against the stone
wall, momentarily stunning her in the brief reprieve in which she stopped her
struggles, he fumbled with the ties of the girdle, trying to loosen it. She was
seeing stars and deathly afraid she would faint when she suddenly felt a hand
to her breast and immediately she returned to the land of the living, slugging
the man in the face and resuming her vicious fighting. She wondered vaguely if
anyone had heard her screams and if they had, if they even cared. They probably
thought it was the screams of another bawdy serving wench in the throes of
passion.

The soldier was grabbing at her
hips, trying to lift her skirts. She was using her elbows, aiming for his face,
screaming curses at him in Gaelic. But her energy, fed by adrenalin, was fading
and being replaced by a panic that promised sweet, safe darkness if she would
only give in. But she would not give up - she could not. She could not let this
happen to her.

Faintly, she heard a high-pitched
noise - a strange sing-song note that sounded like a bell or a tuning fork. She
was almost distracted by it, wondering where it was coming from, when the soldier
lurched away from her like a rag doll, wildly and out of control.

The next thing she saw was William,
broadsword in hand, driving the blade into the soldier’s torso and clean
through the other side. The man twitched once, twice, and moaned before his eyes
closed and he was forever silenced by the hand of death.

Jordan was still pressed up against
the wall, tears over-spilling her eyes and mouth agape as she stared at the
dead man.  Her hair was askew, her dress torn and disheveled, and her lip swollen
and bleeding.

She could not move; she could hardly
breathe. All she could do was gawk in horror as William calmly, coldly, removed
his sword and wiped the blood off on the soldier’s tunic.

He gazed at the soldier a moment
longer before turning to Jordan. She knew he was looking at her but she could
not bring herself to meet his eyes, a man was dead because she had deliberately
disobeyed him. She as good as killed the man herself.

Jordan could not face him, not after
what she had caused him to do. Spinning toward the wall she burst into hot,
frightened tears. Her fingers clutched at the stone as she poured out her
heart. Her sobs grew more violent and her knees grew weak, her mind spiraling
with the shock of what had happened.

William caught her before she fell,
clutching her to his hard chest and inhaling deeply of her hair. The terror
that was clawing at his heart was beyond all rational words and the anger that
had gripped him was the rage of the devil. His emotions were surging like the
raging tides and to hold her, to see that she was physically sound, helped calm
him somewhat. But he still felt as if he were bordering insanity.

He let her cry, knowing she needed
to release her fear just as he had released his own when he had driven the
sword into the soldier’s innards. But after a few minutes of holding her and
stroking her lovingly, of whispering sweet words into her hair, he turned her
around to look at him.

His big hands clasped either side of
her face. “You are safe, love,” he whispered. “Look at me. Let me see what
happened to you.”

She was sobbing quietly but she
tilted her head up. He noticed her eyes were still closed. “Look at me,
Jordan,” he repeated.

She did, sluggishly, revealing the
pale green orbs as if a curtain were slowly raising. His heart lurched at the
myriad of emotions he could so blatantly read. His thumb traced over the small
cut on the corner of her mouth.