The Wolfe (70 page)

He felt foolish, guilty, and
overwhelmed. “She did that?” he asked.

“Aye,” the priest dared to smile. “She
is deathly afraid you are going to spend eternity in hell for murdering the queen’s
woman and hoped that all of her combined valuables would buy you salvation,
though she still does not believe it to be enough.”

William looked at Paris in
astonishment. Then he had to turn away and compose himself. Did she really love
him that much that she was concerned for every little part of him, including
his immortal soul?

“What is she doing now?” he asked
huskily, his back still turned.

The priest’s gaze moved between
William’s back and Paris’ face. “Up until a few minutes ago, praying with her
cousin,” he replied. “But at this moment, we are starting on the mass for the
wedding tomorrow. I have never even spoken Gaelic and will need both of their
assistance.”

William squared his shoulders and
faced the priest. “Then I will leave her here to work. My knights and I will be
outside the church, waiting to escort her home. My orders are to have her back
before the evening meal.”

The priest thought a moment. “Then
that gives us about four hours. Aye, we should be done in plenty of time.”

“Good,” William’s voice was no more
than a whisper as he turned away and headed back down the hall.

“Captain,” Father Sutton called
after him. When William stopped, he continued on. “Was it…was it truly
necessary to kill the woman?”

“She is not dead,” William replied
faintly. “You might want to mention that to my wife and give her back her
jewels. You certainly do not need them.”

The priest simply smiled and
re-entered his room, quietly closing the door behind him. The small monk
offered the knights food and drink, but William refused, instead descending the
tight staircase and retrieving his equipment.

Outside, he felt as if he could
breathe again. But he was not sure he would fully recover, nor understand the
depth of his wife’s devotion to him. He was so unworthy of her.

He spent the afternoon contemplating
Jordan and her loyalty. Nearly three hours later, Jordan and Jemma finally exited
the church. But the women stood at the door, gazing back at the knights with
uncertainty. William nudged Kieran.

“Come on,” he said softly.

The two men walked to within several
feet of the wary women, all four of them gazing at each other and no one
speaking. William could read the pain and sadness in his wife’s eyes and
cleared his throat.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded silently, but didn’t
move. The stand-off was becoming uncomfortable until Kieran finally moved
forward to Jemma.

“Come, my lady,” he took her arm
gently.

“I can walk,” Jemma yanked her arm
away angrily. She had obviously not forgiven him for being so rough with her.

Kieran sighed apologetically and
grasped her arms, forcing her to face him. “Sweetheart, I am sorry I was harsh.
But you gave me no choice.”

Her amber eyes flashed. “Ye pushed
me.”

“Aye, I did, but you were fighting
me and I had to do something,” he said. “Hell, look at this bruise on my eye.
You did that.”

She hadn’t realized she had hit him.
She looked at the bruise and suddenly felt guilty for it; it was quite purple.
Her hard stance wavered.

“I…I dinna mean to hurt ye,” she
said, then suddenly her eyes filled with tears. “But ye scared me. Ye were
going to…to….”

She could not go on and he felt a
surge of emotion, relief as well as regret. He pulled her to him, whispering
soothingly to her, and led her away to his destrier.

Jordan watched her cousin go with
the knight, her gaze averted from her husband. William took a few timid steps
closer.

“Did you get your valuables back?”
he asked softly.

“Aye,” she nodded. “But not all of
them. I insisted he keep some of the nicer pieces, William.”

He didn’t like the tone in which she
used his Christian name. “Why?”

Her pale green eyes riveted to him. “Because
I dunna know ye as well as I thought. You were going to commit murder,
something I dinna believe ye capable of. I would have the priest pray for that
part of ye that would knowingly kill a weaker being.”

His misery returned in one blow. “You
do not understand, Jordan. I was going to do what I felt needed to be done. Too
many people’s lives depended on it. I am sorry if you cannot comprehend that.”

“So am I,” she replied. “I thought
ye were perfect, William. But ye’re not; ye’re just like all the rest.”

She could not have done any more
damage to him if she had taken his sword and gutted him. He stared back at her,
naked pain in his eyes.

“Please do not hate me,” he could
not help himself from begging. “I know you do not agree with me, but I do not
regret my actions. There are things in this life that are necessary, though
distasteful as they may be. Would you have preferred, instead, for me to have
done nothing and for Aloria to have gone straight to the queen with her
knowledge? Do you realize what would - and still could - happen?”

She didn’t answer him; she was
staring off across the small garden, overgrown with foxgloves. He sighed
helplessly.

“Then I shall tell you,” he said
quietly. “For his blatant disobedience, the earl could be stripped of his lands
and titles and taken to London for execution. I, at the very least, could be
made to face the block at Northwood, killed on the very soil I have spent my
life protecting. And you could be sent back to Scotland, in disgrace, and the
Scott clan humiliated. Now tell me; is sparing one life worth losing so many
others?”

When she did turn to look at him,
her eyes were glistening with hot, unshed tears. He could only gaze back at
her, praying to God that she somewhat understood now.

“Ye’re not a murderer?” she was
begging for an answer to satisfy her soul.

He shook his head. “Nay, love, not
if I can help it, not if there is another way,” he replied. “Death in battle is
one thing, but outright killing is entirely another. But I would murder all of
England to keep you safe.”

She crumpled, her hands flying to
her mouth as tears spilled over her cheeks. “I know, English. Forgive me for
doubting ye.”

He caught her in his arms, holding
her so close he was crushing her. He felt his eyes sting with tears at the pure
relief he felt.

“My sweet love, there is nothing to
forgive,” he whispered. “If anyone should be begging forgiveness, it should be
me. I am so desperately sorry you had to go through this.”

She sobbed against his chest armor
as he caressed her with gauntleted hands.

“Ye frightened me so,” she
whispered, muffled against him. 

“I know, love,” he cooed. “I am
sorry.”

He held her for a long, long time.
When her sobs finally died down, he helped her wipe her tears away. She looked
so pitifully tired and worn with worry.

“Where is Aloria?” she asked
hoarsely.

“In the cellar,” he replied. “I shall
retrieve her upon our return.”

Jordan nodded as he tenderly took
her back to his horse. The other knights watched the forlorn figure with great
sadness as their captain helped her to mount.

“English, what if she tells?” she
asked after they were underway.

He never thought the word ‘English’
would sound so sweet to his ears. To hear her use it meant that all was right
once again.

“She has given me her word that she
will not. We will simply have to trust her.”

Jordan leaned back against her
husband with a sigh, knowing he spoke the truth. There was nothing any of them
could do but trust the strange woman and pray she was honorable.

***

Jordan was awakened before dawn by
Aloria and Sylvie, both women eager and business-like to get her dressed and ready.
Jordan was so tired she nearly slept through her bath until Sylvie poured cold
water on her head to wake her up and began scrubbing her scalp raw.

After that, she was most definitely
awake. While Aloria fussed over the dress and the accessories that went with
it, Sylvie dried Jordan and began the long task of drying her thick hair. Even
at dawn the day was warm, and with the added fire in the hearth it was no time
at all before her silken tresses were soft and nearly dry. At that point,
Sylvie took strips of linen and began to wrap Jordan’s hair for bouncy curls.

Her hair rolled up, both serving
women took to oiling Jordan’s skin with lanolin and Lavender oil, as well and
buffing her fingernails to a clean shine. Pampered, powdered, primped, Jordan felt
like a queen. When Aloria’s large hands began to massage her shoulders
expertly, she swore she was in heaven.

Jemma hung back and out of the way,
concerned with what she was going to wear. She alternately teased her cousin
and complained about her own miseries, keeping the mood light and happy.

William had returned Aloria the
previous night and with the exception of a hug from Jordan, there had been no
further references regarding the incident and Jordan sensed no tension from the
woman at all, for which she was relieved. She wanted to put it all behind them,
yet she truly wondered if Aloria and William would ever be able to forget
enough to be civil to one another. But even now, Aloria acted as if nothing in
the world were amiss.

Sylvie, God love her, had been
friendly to Aloria from the start to which Aloria had responded in kind. Jordan
was thrilled, for she was sure the two head-strong women would butt heads
endlessly and was mightily pleased when they seemed to get along.

Jordan’s ladies dressed her in her
undergarments, pantalets and a whale-bone girdle that made her small waist look
even smaller and thrust her breasts upward. Aloria made it so tight that she could
not breathe and had to beg to have the stays released just a bit. Jemma had had
a good laugh over that.

The sun was steadily rising when
Jordan’s two maids brought breakfast for the ladies; huge trays filled with
porridge, bread and honeyed butter and warmed, mulled cider. It was Jordan’s
favorite meal and she delved in with delight, spooning gobs of honeyed butter
onto her porridge and slathering it onto her bread.

She ate until she could hold no
more, much to the chagrin of Aloria, who wondered how she could eat so much and
still stay as tiny as she did. Sylvie, however, heartily approved of her
mistress’ appetite and knew the food would serve her well for her busy day.

Jordan sat on a tall stool and
sipped her mulled cider as Sylvie unrolled her hair and brushed it out into a
satiny mass of curls. As the old woman was forming uniform curls with her hand,
there was a sharp rap on the door. Sylvie scampered for Jordan’s robe to cover
her near-nakedness as Aloria answered the call.

William entered the room without so
much a glance at Aloria standing next to him, his eyes were focused entirely on
his radiant wife. She smiled happily up at him, gripping the mug of cider in
two hands and swinging her feet.

“Good morn to ye, captain,” she
said. “What brings ye here?”

Lord, she was so beautiful and
loaded with charm and he smiled back at her, his body feeling warm and languid.
He hadn’t seen her since late yesterday and had missed her terribly.

“Something I think you will be
pleased to see,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. From behind him, he brought
forth a lovely wooden box, trimmed in gold leaf.

Jordan dropped off the stool and
went to him, handing her mug to Aloria as she touched the box. “What is it?”

His eyes glittered. “From the king
and queen. Open it.”

All of the women, including the two
Scottish maids, crowded around as Jordan unlatched the box and raised the lid.
A cry of delight went up; inside was an exquisite diamond and pearl tiara. Jordan’s
mouth was agape as she lifted the prize gingerly from its cradle.

“Oh… my.” she exclaimed softly. “‘Tis
the most beautiful treasure I have ever seen.”

“To wear today, my lady,” William
smiled at her happiness.

Immediately Jordan rushed over to
the full-length mirror and held the tiara up on her head, observing it from
different angles as Jemma danced excitedly next to her, begging to touch it.
All of the women surged over to the mirror like a tide, watching Jordan play
with the tiara and offering bits of advice as to how she should wear it.

William stood back and watched,
wishing to God that he could be standing beside her at the altar during the
ceremony and not the earl. ‘Twas his rightful place, after all. But it was
enough that she was truly his, and he was infinitely grateful for that.

“And one more thing, my lady, and
then I must depart,” he said, digging another smaller box from his vest.

Jordan handed the tiara to Jemma and
the women crowded around her cousin. She went back over to her husband.