The Wolfe (3 page)

Jemma would marry in due time, her
mother knew, but her husband would have to possess the patience of Job and the
strength of Samson to handle her. She had been betrothed shortly after birth to
a young lad from the McKean clan; however, the lad had died at five years of
age and Matthew was reluctant to promise her again due to her wild nature.  No
man wanted to tame the wild horse.

“Isn’t it wonderful that the English
have finally come to their senses and have given us a few months of peace?”
Caladora sighed, distracting the others from their wandering thoughts.

Jordan shrugged, biting at her lip
in concentration. “We shall see how long it lasts. I dunna trust the English.”

“And what of the messenger that arrived
yesterday?” Jemma wanted to know. “My father said he came from the English king
himself.”

Jordan scowled. “Pah. He was
probably sent here to demand our unconditional surrender.”

“Jordi, ye are a cynical soul,”
Caladora said.

“‘Tis my right to be cynical,” Jordan
replied. “I have seen war and death by the English for nigh twenty years now. I
canna trust them.”

There was a knock at the solar door.
A soldier in the green and red Scott tartan entered and bowed deeply.

“Ladies, Laird Scott requests Lady
Jordan’s presence in his hall immediately,” he said.

Jordan secured the loom sticks and
brushed her hands against her brown brocade surcoat. “Mayhap me Da wishes me to
chase off the English messenger,” she muttered.

Caladora and Jemma giggled at their
cousin’s jest and returned to their sewing when the door slammed shut.

Jordan found her father alone in the
cavernous great hall of Langton Castle that smelled of smoke and rushes. Generations
of Scotts had walked these floors, had spoken within these walls, and it reeked
of family and war and the passion that was in every Scotsman. Thomas sat in his
large oak chair, his graying brow furrowed. He watched his beautiful daughter
sweep gracefully into the room, her surcoat swirling and her long hair flowing.

His heart was breaking. For the sake
of his clan, his family and peasants alike, he was being forced into a
precarious position and Jordan was to become the sacrificial lamb. He dreaded
telling her that her future was to be irrevocably changed. His stomach was
twisting in knots of anxiety so that he wished he could die rather than have to
tell her what was to come.

His sweet Jordan Margaret, the only
child he and his beloved Elinor had been blessed with. With Elinor gone, Jordan
had been his life and his salvation, and now he would lose that, too. He
wondered if his grief would kill him.

“Greetings, Da,” she kissed him.

Thomas forced a smile and grasped
her hand. “Sit wi’ me, Jordan.” He moved to the side and allowed her a corner
of the huge chair. “Give the old man a hug.”

He put his arms about his daughter
and held her tightly for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Jordan could sense
something in his manner and she was puzzled.  He was usually loud and supremely
confident, but not today. He seemed pensive and subdued. She didn’t like it.

“What’s amiss?” she asked.

Thomas looked at her, memorizing
each feature. He knew he had to tell her before he lost his courage.  He’d
already put it off as long as he could and if he delayed further, he might never
tell her at all.  With every breath he took, his bravery was waning.

“Yesterday a messenger arrived from
King Henry,” he began.

“I know, I saw him,” she replied.

“He brought a missive,” Thomas
replied, trying to keep his manner calm and even. Jordan was sharp and would
pick up on any apprehension. “Apparently the man is as weary as we are of the
border wars and wishes to seal a peace.”

Jordan’s eyes darkened. “Dunna trust
him,” she said.  “He will strike when yer guard is down.”

“I think not,” her father said
patiently. “We will both be sacrificing a great deal for this peace and neither
would do anything to jeopardize it.”

His words didn’t make much sense but
she knew she didn’t like them. She was suspicious and forced her father to look
at her.

“What sacrifice?” she demanded. “What
are the demons demanding from ye? Our land? Money? What then?”

Thomas was riveted to her green
eyes, intensely so. He dreaded bringing forth the words but he had to.  “Ye,”
he finally murmured. “’Tis ye he is demanding, lass.”

Jordan stared at him as the news set
in. Then her eyes widened enormously until they threatened to pop from their
sockets. Thomas tried to anticipate her reaction, wanting so badly to beg
forgiveness and plead understanding.

He could not bear it if she hated
him forever. He wanted to explain everything to her, to make her understand
that he made the best decision he felt he could. He prayed she would grasp his
battle-weary reasons. He was so very tired of fighting and dying for a bloody
bit of land.

“What?” she gasped, then louder. “He
what?
”

Steady, man
, Thomas told
himself.  
Be strong
. “I promised ye in marriage to a noble of the king’s
choosing to cement a peace alliance,” he said evenly. “This will be a great
honor for ye, Jordan. You will be the instrument of peace for our clan and for
the generations yet to come. Do ye not understand that, lass?”

“Nay.” She shot up from the chair. “I
dunna want to marry an Englishman. They are our enemy, men who have killed our
kin and our friends. How can ye ask me this?”

Thomas remained strong in the face
of her frightened and furious barrage. “I am not asking ye, I am
tellin
g
ye, and ye will do as I say,” he said, somewhat coldly. “Jordan, I am Laird of
clan Scott. Ye are my only daughter. ‘Tis yer duty to do what is asked of ye,
whether or not it is agreeable. Do you think that if I had any other options
that I wunna take them? I am not doing this to punish ye, lass. I have no
choice.”

Jordan just stared at him. Then, she
had to sit down or fall down. From fury to despondency, her manner swiftly
changed as realization settled deep.  It was sickening as well as terrifying.
All of the dreams and hopes she had ever held for her future had been dashed in
a series of brief, brutal statements. She was reeling.

“Do ye realize what ye are asking of
me?” she finally whispered. “Ye are asking me to bed with our enemy, to bear
his children, to be loyal to his house and hold. That is not a punishment, Da;
it is a death sentence.”

He approached her. “It will be what
ye make of it.”

She glared at him. “It will be what
my husband makes of it.”

Thomas could not lose control of the
situation now; he was struggling not to feel pity for her. He had to let her
know that there was no room for discussion.

“What I have done to seal a peace is
certainly nothing new in the trials of history, Jordan,” he said. “Yer new
husband, I am sure, is just as distraught over this arrangement as ye are. If
ye will show him a quiet and obedient wife, then I am sure that he will treat ye
accordingly. The messenger has already been sent on his way with a reply to King
Henry, and I am sure we will hear from the man within the month. Ye had better
prepare yerself.”

It was done. Jordan hung her head
miserably and Thomas swore that his heart would break lf he had to look at her
another minute. But he was not beyond showing compassion for what he had done
to her. Moving to his daughter, he gently touched her honey-blond head.

“Jordi-girl, I love you more than
anything in this world,” he said softly, feeling her pain along with his own. “I
dinna want to do this, but I must think of the entire clan’s future. Ye are our
best hope for peace. Would ye rather that I had pledged Jemma or Caladora in
yer stead?”

She sighed in defeat. “Of course not,”
she murmured. “‘Tis my duty as daughter of laird Scott and I wunna let ye
delegate the duty to anyone else simply because I am a-feared to go. But what
if my new husband is a horrible man and locks me in the tower to rot? What he
beats me or sends me to whore? What if he doesna honor the treaty at all?”

Thomas stroked her hair. “We will
have to trust the English, Jordan. I know it is difficult, but we must show
faith.”

She shook her head slowly. “You ask
much,” she said. “After all of the pain the English have caused, ye ask a great
deal.”

Thomas sighed faintly. “That’s why I
am making the greatest sacrifice of all,” he whispered. “I am sending my own
flesh into the enemy camp as a show of good faith and I expect the same from
them.”

She watched her father’s expression
and began to forget her own fear and anger. At that moment, she started down
the path to understanding the extent of her father’s love for her.

Jordan had been selfish, of course,
for she had only thought of her own feelings as if she were the only one who
had any. Thomas was hurting, too. He’d had to make the most difficult decision
of his life and she was making it far more difficult by arguing with him. If
there had been another way, she knew he would have done it. As much as she loathed
the idea of marrying an English lord, she would if her father wanted her to.

“Oh, Dada,” she whispered, shaking
her head. “I am afraid. I am so afraid. To live out my life with people who
hate the very sight of me is a horrible sentence to bear.”

Thomas’ insides were aching for her.
“I know, my sweet lass,” he muttered. “It is killing me to know that.
But….there was nothing else I could have done. I can only hope that someday ye
will find it in yer heart to forgive me.”

Her head came up. “For what? For
doing as ye must?” she asked. “There is nothing to forgive. I can only hope now
that the English king selects a suitable husband for me. At least someone I
could grow to tolerate over the years.”

Her father cracked a smile. “And
someone who can tolerate yer endless singing and fondness for clothes.”

She smiled back in feigned outrage. “My
singing is not endless and there is nothing wrong with liking pretty things.”

He gave her a wry smirk. “You have a
coat for every day of the year.”

The mood was lightening as he teased
her and Jordan rose to the taunt. “Mayhap if I make my new husband go broke, he
will send me home,” she teased lightly, watching him roll his eyes in
agreement. She watched his tired face, glad to see he was smiling somewhat, as
she sobered. “I wunna disappoint ye da. I shall be the very model of a Scots lady.”

Thomas smiled bravely and hugged her
fiercely, drawing strength from her. “I know,” he said softly. There was
nothing more he could say.

The time would be upon them before
they knew it.

July, Year of our Lord
1232

Norham Castle (also
known as Northwood Castle – the local name)

Ground Zero on the
Scotland Border, England side

CHAPTER THREE

The messenger returned to the
English court with the joyous news of peace from the Scottish border. The
powerful feudal earl, Thomas Scott, had pledged his only daughter as an
offering of peace to help calm the border wars. Henry was pleased.

Because the bride was offered for
peace in the long and bloody border disputes, it stood to reason that the groom
should also be a border lord. It was not a difficult selection, for the English
lord Thomas Scott had the most animosity with was a widower named John de Longley,
Earl of Teviot and brother to the current bishop of Durham.  Norham belonged to
the bishopric of Durham and de Longley maintained the garrison with the best
fighting force on the border. At fifty years old and with three grown children,
de Longley was informed by royal missive of his chosen destiny.

At Northwood Fortress, high above
the ramparts in his lavish bower, Lord de Longley sat in front of his hearth
staring grimly into the flames. He could scarcely believe what the king had
decided for him. A bride, at his age. And a Scot bride at that. Lord, he was
too old for this nonsense. It was not enough that the border wars he had
struggled with for years were finally calming - now the king wanted to throw a
porcupine into the bed by saddling him with a she-devil.

John ran his hand through his thin,
graying red hair; he was not a handsome man and he had absolutely no interest
in anything about his Scottish bride. Yet, he would marry her, as was demanded
of him, and he would be honor-bound to keep peace on the border. Providing, of
course, that her father was honorable as well. Lord de Longley would not take
the offensive, but he would defend what was his.

The earl took a healthy swig of his
mulled wine, contemplating a future he was not looking forward to with
particular glee. His two eldest children, Analiese and Alexander, had been furious
at the directive. They did not want a step-mother, and particularly not a Scot,
invading their home. Adam, his youngest son and newly arrived home from his
fostering at Beverley Castle, was more concerned with his up-coming knighting ceremony
to care much about it. He had been gone from home since he was a young boy and
was therefore not accustomed to the routine of things as his older siblings had
become comfortable with. The Scot bride was of little interest to him, simply another
stranger to become familiar with.