The Wolfe (14 page)

“Proficient?” she repeated. “Sweet
Jesu’, ye were a sight to behold. I have never seen anyone fight as ye did, and
I have seen a good many battles. Now I know why they call ye The Wolf. Ye were
positively fearsome.”

He didn’t know what to say. Her
praise made him feel terribly self-conscious and he lowered his gaze.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said
simply.

Jordan could see what affect her
words were having on him. She could swear the man was actually blushing. From
what she knew of William, she did not believe it was possible and could not
resist the urge to needle him. Tears forgotten, she tilted her head so she
could look at his lowered face.

“Why on earth are ye shy about it?”
she asked, grinning. “Yer the greatest knight I have ever seen, even if ye are English.
Why, ye are better than…than good king Arthur. Or Galahad. Or even Cuchulain.”

He looked at her. “What do you know
of Cuchulain?”

She was smiling impishly, seeing
that he was surprised she had knowledge of the man.

“I know that he is the greatest Celt
warrior that Ireland ever had,” she said, then jabbed a finger at him. “Mayhap
someday ye shall be called the greatest English warrior the empire has ever
known. All hail the tale of the magnificent Sir William de Wolfe, guardian of
peace and vanquisher of evil. Sworn to protect silly, mindless Scot maidens.” She
was full of her tale, her enchantment full-blown. “How does that sound so far?
A proper tale?”

He smiled lopsidedly; she was
certainly a bundle of charm when she wasn’t being so darn sensitive. It was a
side of her he had not seen yet but rapidly discovered that it could disarm him
over all else.

“Well and good, but do not forget
that I am also perfect in every way,” he said with mock-seriousness.

“Of course ye are,” she feigned
dismay at her forgetfulness. “Perfect in every way. Perfectly boastful.
Perfectly tyrannical. Perfectly arrogant. Perfectly….”

He put up his hands. “Enough
already;  I understand the message.”

They smiled at each other warmly a
moment before his eyes narrowed.  “Perfectly tyrannical, am I?” he asked.

“Terribly,” she told him firmly.

“Good,” he replied, “which brings me
back to our original discussion. I will not have you disobeying my orders
again. Is that understood?”

She sobered a little, but he had not
entirely destroyed the mood. “Perfectly, English,” she replied with a touch of
sass.

He was half-joking, half-serious. “I
mean what I say, my lady. I will tolerate no insurrection.”

She shrugged lazily. “I am Scot.
That is all that I know.”

He was on his feet, hands on his
hips and trying to look as severe as he could. “Then if I must teach you a
lesson, I will gladly do it.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Is that
so? What could an Englishman possibly teach a Scot?”

He pursed his lips, fighting off a
grin. “Is that a challenge or are you speaking before you think again?”

She stood up from the chair and
thrust up her chin defiantly. “Ye’ll not teach me a thing, English. That is no
challenge, ‘tis a fact.”

“I see,” he said. “Then you are saying
that you know everything that there is to know. Amazing for a woman who admitted
not five minutes ago that she was stupid.”

She shot him such a menacing look
that he laughed aloud and her heart leapt wildly in her chest.

“May I prepare for bed now?” she
asked primly, pretending to ignore the fact that he had bested her in an
argument.

“Aye,” he replied, still smiling. “I
shall call Jason to bring your possessions.”

He caught a flash of something in
her eyes before she nodded quickly and lowered her head. It puzzled him. “What
is it, my lady?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Nothing,
sir knight. Nothing at all.”

She was lying. The change in her
mood was abrupt and he wondered why. What had he said? All he had done was give
her permission to prepare for bed, and that he would send Jason for her things.
Then, it occurred to him.

…
Jason?

“Is there a problem with Jason, my
lady?” he asked.

She hesitated before shaking her
head. It was the hesitation that gave her away. He went to her, putting a
finger under her chin and tilting her head up to look at him.

“What is it with Jason?” he asked,
somewhat quietly.

She blinked back at him and he could
read the fear. His stomach twisted with a spark of rage. “What has he done, my
lady?” he asked. “You will tell me now.”

He caught a nervous twitch in the
corner of her eye as she drew in a ragged breath. Truth was, she was torn
between telling him the truth and lying.  She didn’t want to be alone with
Jason, considering the man could not keep his hands to himself, and she was
afraid of him. She didn’t know what to say, afraid William would explode either
way, but he was waiting for an answer. Frightened and tired and frustrated all
over again, her eyes welled up with hot tears.

William sighed heavily and dropped
his hand from her chin. “Answer me, my lady,” he said softly. “Please.”

She wiped at her eyes quickly. “Well,”
she stammered. “He… I dunna want to be alone with him.”

“Why not?”

She grunted softly, hesitant to say.
But she knew she must. She’d come this far. “Because… because his hands… when I
was on his horse, he liked to… touch me.”

William stiffened and stood his
considerable height. That scared her all the more.

“
Touch
you?” he repeated,
infuriated. “How did he touch you?”

She lowered her head. “In… in a way
a husband would touch his wife.”

He grabbed her and she gasped with
surprise, her eyes finding his. “Where?” he demanded. “Show me where he touched
you.”

She gestured at her legs, her
buttocks, and finally her breast area.  It was all she could do, ashamed. Instead
of raging, as she expected, William cooled. But that was merely a facade, for
her sake; inside, he was mad enough to kill. It took every ounce of willpower
he possessed not to storm out and murder Jason. Damn that boy. He had always
known him to be a wild and irresponsible, but he never believed him to be a molester.

He dropped his hands from her. “When
did this happen?” he asked almost casually.

Because he was calm, she calmed. “When
ye put me in Sir Jason’s charge.”

“And he took liberties with you?” he
asked.

She nodded a little sheepishly. “His
hands were everywhere,” she said. “He only stopped when I stole his horse.”

A flash of incredulousness touched
William’s face. “How did you manage that?” he asked. “When I left, you were
both aboard his destrier.”

She sighed, ashamed at her
rapscallion behavior. “I pretended to drop my handkerchief. When he bent over
to pick it up, I kicked him in the arse and rode away as he tried to get up.”

William stared at her a moment
before she saw a strange gleam in his eye. He tried to fight off a smile but he
wasn’t doing a very good job. Before he realized it, he was laughing uproariously.

Jordan watched him curiously. She’d
never seen him laugh and she was torn between wanting to join in and wondering
if he was laughing because he was so angry at her. She decided wisely not to
join in, although his laughter was infectious.

Paris entered the tent, thoroughly
perplexed. His eyes met Jordan’s wide ones for a brief puzzling moment before
he focused on William.

“My lord is hysterical,” he said,
eyeing William critically. “Shall I send you to live with the loons?”

William wiped tears from his eyes. “Not
at the moment,” he replied. “Lady Jordan has an…amusing story.”

Hesitantly, Jordan repeated what she
had told William, leaving out the part where Jason touched her in places that
he should not have. Paris, too, burst out laughing.

But William eventually sobered, his
hazel-gold eyes riveted to Jordan as if he suddenly remembered what he had been
so angry about. She felt her anxiety creep upon her again as William then
turned to Paris.

“Where is Jason?” he rumbled.

Paris wondered why he was suddenly
so serious. “Outside, I believe, supervising the posts. Why?”

William didn’t answer him, instead,
grabbing Jordan by the hand and pulling her with him. She tripped and yelped,
and he stopped yanking long enough to frown at her.

She looked up at him like a
frightened doe. He continued on, perhaps not so rough, until they had exited
the tent flap with Paris in tow. Once outside the tent, he emitted a piercing
whistle from between his teeth and his squire came on the run. Snapping orders,
the boy ran to do his bidding and returned shortly with Jason in tow. It was
obvious Jason had no idea what lay in store for him. William’s face was unreadable.

Jordan watched the situation unfold apprehensively.
She wondered what more he was going to say to Jason and wondered miserably whey
he insisted she listen. She did not care anymore; she simply wanted to go to
bed. This whole affair had upset her terribly and her stomach ached.

But William didn’t utter a word.
Instead, he lashed out with a huge fist and caught Jason dead center in the
face. The lad literally flew backwards and crashed to the wet earth with a dull
thud, compounded with a grunt of pain.

Jordan gasped in shock, her hands
flying to her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to cry out. She continued to stare
in disbelief as Jason rolled on the ground, his hands on his face and blood
streaming from between his fingers.

William was like ice as he stared
down at his struggling knight. “Consider that your lesson for touching Lord de
Longley’s bride,” he said. “If I hear of any more transgressions, there will be
more than your blood on the ground.”

He whirled on his heel, leaving
Jason in anguish as Paris unemotionally jerked the lad to his feet.

“Luke!” William bellowed.

The squire was by his side, his eyes
wide with astonishment at what his captain had done. “My lord?” the lad
squeaked.

William was all business. “Gather
Lady Jordan’s necessities and put them in my tent,” he ordered, suddenly calm. “Put
water on to boil for her bath.”

“But, my lord, we carry no tub with
us.” Luke whined.

“I know, but we have pots big enough
to hold her,” he responded. “See to it, lad, and be quick about it.”

Luke dashed off. William turned to
Jordan. He had calmed with dizzying speed, although Jordan was still breathless
from his actions. Their eyes locked for a moment.

“There was no need for that action,
sir knight,” she said quietly.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “‘Tis I
who will judge what is needed, my lady, when it comes to the discipline of my
men.”

Her initial shock was becoming
irritation. “I am not challenging yer authority, simply the action taken. Ye
hurt him far worse that he hurt me.”

He brushed past her into the tent. “That
is not the point, Lady Jordan, as I am not in the habit of explaining my
actions to anyone.”

He had fairly cut her off with that
statement. She watched him for a moment, angry that he had told her to keep out
of the affair when she had been the cause of it. She followed him back into the
tent, pausing at the door. She knew he thought she was a tremendous agitator,
disobeying his orders and then making him punish his own men. She hung her head
and kicked at the ground. He was most likely growing to wish he had never known
her.

William was trying to ignore her for
all it was worth, but he was having a difficult time of it. When she hung her
head and dug her toe into the earth, he almost relented but he fought it. He
had to remain in control and not show her how he truly felt. It frightened him
to know that she could control his emotions so easily when he had always taken
great lengths to preserve himself.

He poured himself more wine and
drank deeply. Bloody hell, if she hadn’t been standing there he would have
ripped young Jason apart limb from limb; his anger had been so great. He fought
off an urge to laugh at himself. He never thought his natural instinct to
protect the weaker sex would make him a madman.

But it wasn’t just any woman he was
protecting. It was Jordan. The woman who saved his life. The woman who was to
be his lord’s wife.

He caught her movement from the
corner of his eye, she was looking beyond the tent opening.

“May I at least tend his wound, my
lord?” she asked, then turned to catch him in her gaze with deadly accuracy. “As
I once tended yers?”

She had called him clever once, but
there was no mistaking her own slyness. He met her gaze evenly before taking
another drink.

“Nay,” he replied.

She glared at him. “Why not?” she
demanded. “Ye probably crushed the man’s nose and he probably lays swallowing
his own blood as we speak.”