The Wolfe (56 page)

With each passing minute, she became
more a part of him than the minute before and he knew now, looking at her, that
she could never be the Countess of Teviot. He’d given her a pretty speech
earlier about honor and selfishness, but those reasons were gone.  That was
before the reality of the earl’s visit.  William would not allow Jordan to
marry the man. She belonged to him, the king and the crown and peace be damned.

William unlatched his armor and let
it slide to the floor.  The clothing came off, piece by piece. He was so damned
tired and frustrated he simply wanted to crawl into bed beside her and hold her
until he gained control of himself. Naked, he slid under the covers and
gathered her to him. Instantly she awoke and began struggling hysterically.

“’Tis me, Jordan,” he gripped her
flailing arms. “Calm yourself, love. ‘Tis me.”

Jordan froze, her confused and
terrified gaze riveting to his face. It took a split second for the sight of
his hazel-gold eyes to register, and then she burst into tears.

He pulled her fiercely to him,
clutching her as if he could absorb her fear and her sorrow into his own body.
Her sobs were breaking his heart.

“I am here, love, I am here,” he
whispered over and over. “You are safe.”

“He came here,” she sobbed. “The earl
came to me.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“He touched me.” She pulled away to
look at his face, tears streaming down her face. “He forced me to undress for
him. He…he
touched
me.”

William stiffened against her, white
hot anger ripping through him. He forced himself with every ounce of strength
he possessed to remain outwardly calm.

“How did he touch you?” he asked
hoarsely.

Her whimpers were killing him. “He
touched my skin and made me turn around for him so that he could look me over.
Then…,” she was making herself hysterical, “then he made me lie on the bed so
he could see for himself if I was a virgin.”

Dear God in heaven, how much
could one man take?
William bolted up, taking her with him, his hands
roughly grabbing her face to look at him.

“He did
what
?” he realized
someone’s voice was breaking. It was his.

She was gasping. “He put his fingers
where only ye have touched me, English. It was horrible.”

William felt the blood draining from
his face. “Then he knows that you are no virgin.”

“He asked me who had taken me, and when.”

She was quaking violently in his
grip and he realized that he was shaking, too. “What did you tell him?”

Her eyes were wide on him, fearful
of his reaction. “I told him that no one had taken me, that I had been riding
horses since I was a bairn, astride as men do. Sometimes that accounts for the
lack of virginal evidence even though the woman hasna known a man.

“Then you lied to him.”

“Nay, English, I dinna.” She was calming
somewhat, hiccupping and sniffling. “I remembered what ye had said to me once
that if the earl asked questions that he would have to be most specific in order
to gain an answer. Ye never took me; ye made love to me. He dinna ask me that. And
the rest about riding horses was no lie, either, so I told him no true
falsehoods.”

“A minor point, Jordan,” he replied
softly, his anger draining away and being replaced by cold apprehension.

The earl was no fool; if he had
heard the rumors then he suspected who was to blame. Already, Jordan might be
in a greater danger than she realized, and that thought panicked him. His
natural instincts to protect her were surging wildly.

“Are ye angry with me?” Jordan
asked, noticing he had become distant.

He ran his fingers lightly over her
face. “Nay, love. You did what you had to. Now I must do the same.”

“What do ye mean?” she asked.

He looked at her. Really looked at
her. The decision he came to was so rapid that he scarce had time to review it
before he was speaking.

“We are leaving.”

“
What
?” Her tears were gone,
replaced by stunned surprise.

“We’re going to London, tonight,” he
said. “From there we can arrange passage to France. I have relatives in
Normandy who will welcome us.”

All of her pain and anxiety flew out
the window. She was filled with amazement, hoping beyond hope that he was
serious. “But what about all of those things ye told me?” she wanted to know.
“Ye told me that men would die if we were to run away together. What about…?”

He cut her off. “If I am to weigh
men’s lives against yours, then I will choose you every time,” he said, looking
somewhat contrite. “Forgive me for not putting you first above all. Forgive me
for pretty words that now have no meaning.”

Jordan stared at him. “There is
nothing to forgive,” she murmured. “Truly? We will leave England?”

“Aye,” he was rising from the bed
and retrieving his clothes.

There was a great urgency in his
voice. “There is no time to waste. Pack a small satchel for yourself with only
the things you need.” He was pulling on his breeches but fixed her with a hard
gaze. “Tell no one, Jordan, especially not Jemma. No one must know our plans.
Do you understand me, love?”

“Aye,” she nodded, then her lips
spread into a slow smile. “Oh English, ye really are serious, aren’t ye? But
what about yer life here at Northwood? Yer reputation? Yer station? Will ye
throw that all away?”

He fastened his breeches and hastily
pulled on his tunic. “You are my life, and to hell with my reputation and
station. It means nothing without you.”

She had grown calm. She trusted
implicitly and leaned on every word as if God himself had spoken it.

This was what she wanted, what she
had hoped for. No England, no Scotland, no king and no earl. Just the two of them,
starting a new life in France. It was almost too fantastic to believe, but
believe she did, with all of her heart. The prospect itself was thrilling and frightening
and overwhelmingly wonderful.

“Then I shall be ready for ye,” she
said quietly.

He pulled on his boots and began to
quickly put on his armor. Jordan rose from the bed and helped him with the leg
protection until he was once again in full regalia. He paused a moment in his
great rush, glancing down at the beautiful armor and running a hand over it.

“‘Tis the last time I will wear
this,” he murmured with a hint of regret.

Jordan watched him touch it, the
reverence his fingers held for it, and her eyes began to well again. He glanced
up and saw the liquid pools about to spill over.

“Nay, lady, no more tears from you,”
his voice sounded tight. “‘Tis time I go downstairs and time you prepare
yourself for the feast. And a suggestion if I may; wear a dress that will
travel well.”

She nodded obediently, wiping at her
eyes. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead before moving quickly for
the door.

“William?” she called after him.

He stopped at the archway. “Aye,
love?”

Her eyes were wide at him, her face
pale and wan. “Are ye sure?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing at him to catch
any hint of doubt he might display.

His face went hard and determined. “Never
more certain of anything in my life.”

He fled the chamber. By mid-morning,
Jordan was bathed and dressed and packed. She had tried to be secretive about
it, especially with Jemma’s big ears and mouth, but she feared that she had not
done a very good job. Jemma began to look strangely at her and ask even
stranger questions until Jordan went in her bedchamber and closed the door.

Her bath had been long and she had
washed her hair twice, for she had no idea when she would again get the chance.
Dressing had been the tricky part; she wanted to wear something more elegant
than a traveling dress, yet something that would wear well and she would be
comfortable in for some time.

She eventually decided on a dark
blue linen surcoat with a heavy lining. The bodice was snug and flattering, covering
her delicate skin. The sleeves were long and moved well with her.

She had a heavy petticoat under the
abundant skirt, a pair of thick hose and the doeskin boots that the tanner had
made for her. She was grateful for their durability and comfort. She had pulled
her long hair off her face with a matching lavender-and-gold hair band, then
proceeded to braid it into one thick braid that draped prettily over her
shoulder. Tendrils of hair fell loosely about her face.

She had a lush blue cloak lined with
white rabbit that matched the surcoat perfectly, and she tucked it under the
bed along with her satchel. The bag itself held her essentials as requested: a
brush, a small mirror, two cakes of Lavender-scented soap and a rag, another
set of stockings, a spare shift, a small vial of beeswax for her chapped lips,
and her lighter weight linen surcoat with the gold girdle.

With all of her surcoats and jewels,
everything she was taking to start her new life was shoved into that small
little bag. She absolutely had no regret but for one, she prayed her father
would eventually be able to forgive her for doing what she must.

There was a knock at her door and
she opened it to find Paris smiling at her.

“Good morn, my lady,” he said
pleasantly. “I am your escort this day.”

She smiled and stepped into the
antechamber, noticing Kieran had come for Jemma. She was pleasant and smiling,
but deep in her heart she already missed her friends and kin who had become so
important to her. As much as leaving was to be her ultimate joy, it would also
be her great sorrow because she could honestly say that she loved these people.

“Come, Lady Jordan, for the gallery
awaits,” Paris prodded her towards the door. Without a hind glance to her
cousin, she latched onto Paris’ arm and swept from the room.

Jemma waited until the door closed
before whirling to Kieran.

“Something is not right.” she
insisted.

He looked puzzled. “What do you
mean?”

Jemma shook her small finger at him.
“I mean, Jordan is acting strangely. Most strangely. Something’s amiss and I
intend to find out what it is.”

He smiled and pulled her against
him, lifting her petite body off the floor. He had been quite open with his
affections for her in recent days when they were alone. At first she had
expressed outrage, but in truth, she craved his touch. He was the gentlest man
she had ever known for all of his incredible size.

“Your mind is playing tricks on you,”
he said, buried in her neck. “There is nothing awry.”

She began to melt at his touch but
was determined not to lose sight of her thoughts.

“Stop it, ye brute,” she said
half-seriously. “Put me down.”

He let her feet touch the ground but
he did not release her until she ducked down and pulled herself free of the
tree-size arms.

“Be serious, Kieran,” she stamped
her small foot. “Come with me to her bedchamber. Mayhap there is something
there that will help me discover what she is up to.”

He grinned wolfishly. “My pleasure.”

“Ooch.” She thrust a warning finger
at him. “None of that, I tell ye.”

He looked properly contrite. “As you
wish, but you are disappointing me.”

She jutted her chin up and turned on
her heel. “That is your misfortune.”

Opening the door, she began to
carefully pace the room, her amber eyes searching for anything out of the
ordinary. Everything looked quite normal. She threw open the doors of the huge
wardrobe and ruffled through the dresses and dug through the accessories that
lined the bottom.

Kieran was leaning against the
doorjamb, his arms crossed and his expression amused. “Well?”

She didn’t answer him at first.
Then, she pulled back and looked thoughtfully at the items in front of her. “A
traveling satchel is missing.”

Kieran shrugged. “So?”

Jemma didn’t respond. Instead, she
went to the bed and tore off the covers. He watched her curiously in her
increasingly serious quest. He, however, was becoming quite bored with it all
and was about to suggest she give it up when she suddenly dropped to her knees
and ducked her head under the bed.

“Kieran.” she yelled and he was
immediately on his knees beside her, looking under the bed. “Look. Her bag and
a cloak shoved over there, by the head of the bed.”

She straightened quickly, still on
her knees, looking at him with astonishment. He looked at her with mounting
confusion. Kieran wasn’t naturally suspicious unless he had a good reason, and
it appeared as if he might have just that.

“She is going to leave,” Jemma
jumped to her feet.

Kieran went around the bed and
withdrew the cloak and bag. He opened the bag with Jemma peering over his shoulder
and was disturbed by what he discovered. With a heavy sigh, he replaced the bag
and cloak and turned to Jemma.