The Wolfe (47 page)

Jordan froze and stared, agape, at
her cousin. “What on earth do ye mean?” she stammered.

Jemma, still smiling like the cat
who swallowed the mouse, rose and went to her. “I mean exactly that I heard ye
last night, and I heard the captain, too. I’d say ye welcomed him home quite
nicely.”

Jordan didn’t know whether to slap
her or grin with her. Since there was obviously no use in denying it, she took
the direct approach.

“Did anyone else hear?” she asked.

Jemma shrugged. “Paris, probably,
since he was the one guarding the door. But that was all. I dunna think Maggie
and Elspeth heard anything, but even if they did, they wunna tell.”

Jordan let out a hissing sigh. “I
dinna realize we were so loud,” she said lamely. “Tell me, Jemma. Who knows
about…William and I?”

“Ye mean ‘English’?” she teased
boldly, laughing when her cousin threatened to throttle her. “Me, Paris, the
other knights. But that is all. They have done very well at controlling the
rumors.”

Jordan blanched. “What rumors?”

“The rumors that the captain is in
love with ye,” Jemma said patiently. “I told ye of them once before, remember?
Kieran says that whenever someone brings up the subject, the knights are swift
and painful to deter any more gossip.”

Jordan swallowed hard, miserable. “Jemma,
we must not let the rumors reach the earl. There is no saying what the man
would do to William…or to me.”

Jemma sobered for the first time. “I
know,” she said. “But trust me when I say the knights are loyal to William. And
to you.”

“Good,” Jordan nodded, knowing it
was true but appreciating Jemma’s confirmation.

Jemma watched her cousin a moment. “Tell
me, Jordi. Do ye love him or do ye simply lust for his beautiful body?”

Jordan looked at her. “I love him, Jemma.
With all my heart.”

Jemma smiled again and the two woman
shared a private, meaningful hug. Then Jordan’s mind shifted with amazing speed
to the reason she had entered the room in the first place.

“Jemma.” she exclaimed. “My guests
are arriving. And I dunna have a proper dress for tonight.”

Jemma sneered. “What are you saying?”
she demanded. “Yer dresses are beautiful and….”

Jordan bolted for the door. “But
they are not of London fashion.” she yanked open the door to find Jason and
three soldiers staring back at her. She grabbed Jason by the arm. “Jason, who
is the seamstress here?”

He cleared his throat. “Joana, my
lady. She sews all of Lady Analiese’s clothes.”

“Get her.” Jordan ordered as well as
any battle commander. “Send her to me doubly.”

Jason nodded quickly and snapped at
one of the soldiers, who fled quickly. Satisfied, Jordan released Jason’s arm
and thanked him nicely. He nodded, a faint twinkle in his eye.

“May I say that my lady is looking
quite well,” he said. “You will be the most beautiful woman at the party
tonight.”

She smiled coyly. “I hope so, Sir
Jason, for that is my intention.” She closed the door.

***

From a pile of golden silk that
Jordan had purchased on the day she was struck by the arrow, Joana was able to
stitch the most magnificent dress Jordan had ever seen, resplendent of the very
latest court fashion. Over the course of the day she’d had three fittings, and
now stood on a stool receiving her fourth and final. Great care had gone into
making the dress, although it was not quite as finished as it should be due to
the time constraints placed on Joana. The woman had four servants working on it
at once just to make it wearable when Lady Jordan wished it.

Jemma scrutinized the dress as the
seamstress and her assistants made the finishing touches. Jordan could see
herself in the polished glass mirror from a distance and felt giddily fulfilled
by the surcoat.

“‘Tis the most daring neckline I
have ever seen,” Jemma stated disapprovingly.

“‘Tis the latest London court
fashion, my lady,” Joana said.

“Those heathen women - if you will
pardon me – believe that the more breast that shows, the better.”

Jordan and Jemma giggled at Joana’s
frankness. But Jemma was right; the neckline showed nearly half of both of her
creamy breasts Joana had sewn three strands of tiny seed pearls across the very
bottom of the plunge so that it gave the false impression that it was not so
risqué. With the long sleeves and long bodice, Jordan looked as voluptuous as a
roman statue.

In spite of her giggles, Jemma
resumed her critical stance. “‘Tis still indecent,” she sniffed.

Jordan looked at her cousin, a faint
smile on her lips. “Aye, it is, but I want the attention of everyone at the
party. And I intend to have it, even if I have to strip naked ‘fore them.”

“But why?” Jemma persisted. “Ye’re
already far more beautiful than any of those English wenches, so why do ye feel
the need to deliberately outshine them?”

Jordan held up a finger. “Ah, but
this part of my overall plan. With manners, grace, and beauty, I intend to make
those English change their minds about Scots. Mayhap they will not think us
quite as barbaric. I want to be accepted, Jemma, can ye not understand? I am
going to live out my life here and I keep remembering the words of my da. “‘Twill
be what I make of it’.”

Jemma saw the logic and was not
unsympathetic. Unlike her, her cousin had a much greater stake in all of this.
She shrugged carelessly and turned away. “So what will ye have me wear? Anything
at ‘tall will look frumpy and lifeless next to that creation ye’re wearing.”

Jordan thought a moment. “How about
the pale blue-green silk? The one Kieran insisted ye wear one day? That dress
is decadent enough, or so I have been told.” She was remember how William had
reacted to it.

Jemma nodded decisively. “Perfect,”
she motioned to Elspeth. “Come and help me, woman.”

***

Kieran and Jason showed up an hour
later to escort Jemma downstairs. The engagement party was in full swing and
the sounds of music and laughter floated on the warm night air. Jordan could
hear the noise wafting in through her windows as she waited for her escort to
come.

She was filled with excitement and
apprehension. What would the English think of her? Would they be pleasant, or
hostile, or not care for anything other than the food and limitless wine. She
sighed, smoothing anxiously at her dress, then patting her hand over her
flowing hair.

She did so desperately want to have
a good time tonight, to dance and to be accepted. But she was not fool, she
knew what more likely lay in store for her. She would probably be treated like
a prisoner, guarded every second and not allowed any freedom whatsoever for
fear of her life.

‘Twas strange, but in spite of
everything that had happened to her since leaving Langton, she did not regret
coming into the enemy camp. In fact, she was quickly coming to like it a great
deal.

The knock she was waiting for came
heavily on the oaken door. She heard Maggie open it and heard the maid’s soft
burr as she bade the caller entrance. With one last, deep cleansing breath,
Jordan straightened her shoulders and moved into the antechamber.

Paris, Deinwald, Ranulf and Corin
stood in the room, blocking out everything else with their huge presence.
Jordan stopped with surprise, appraising them as openly as they were appraising
her.

They were wearing armor she had
never seen before, beautiful ceremonial armor that gleamed like the sun and
with nary a dent or scratch. The breastplate was emblazoned with the se Longley
crest, three hugely clawed falcons imposed over a sword, framed in a
three-point shield.

She stepped forward, smiling as she
nodding approvingly, failing to notice that all four men were agape at her
dress.

“Aye, now, dunna ye look fine?” she
said. “Ye look like knights of the round table.”

Paris was the first one to find his
voice. “And you, my lady, look quite…lovely.”

She curtsied graciously, a coy smile
on her lips. “Ye’re too kind, sir knight.”

Paris may have spoken first but
Deinwald was the first one at her side. He extended an armored elbow. “Your
guests await, my lady.”

She took his arm, oblivious that
behind her the other three knights were vying for her other arm. Paris,
silently threatening the other two with a stern face and gloved fist, took her
hand and put it upon the crook of his arm. He smiled warmly at her as they left
her sanctuary for the wilds awaiting them below.

In the grand hall the party was in
full swing. Mounds of food and barrels of ale kept the merriment constant.
Servants scurried everywhere attending guests, and Jordan was a little stunned
to see a great many soldiers in unfamiliar suits lining the corridor. She
leaned close to Paris.

“Who are these
Sassenachs
?”
she whispered uncertainly.

Paris smiled; it was the first time
he had ever heard her use the Gaelic term for English, the term Scots branded
to be an insult.

“Soldiers from various houses,” he
explained. “With this many guests, you can understand that security is
important.”

She nodded, noticing each English
face as she passed by. These soldiers were strange and threatening to her, and
she was comforted by the four knights as if they were her brothers or kin.

She could barely remember the first
time she had been in the presence of the knights of Northwood, and that she’d
had the same initial fears of them. She almost smiled at the thought of English
knights bringing her comfort; these men who would die before allowing her to
come to harm. In a peculiar way, she felt closer to them than she ever did to
her male cousins or relatives, an unexplainable bond.

They were approaching the doorway
that led into the grand hall. She made eye contact with the crier and when he
signaled the herald trumpets, her stomach did a wild dive. She knew she was
going to have to do this alone, as she had done the very first time, but she
found she was no more prepared. But there had been one difference; William had
been there.

“Where’s William?” she whispered to
Paris.

He leaned down. “Concerning himself
with every detail the earl failed to wind up,” he said. “He will be along. He
would not leave you alone in this.”

She looked up at him. Though she had
never told him anything, and she had no knowledge if William had ever told him
anything, simply by the tone of his voice she knew that he knew everything about
them. Curious that the thought would occur to her just now.

The trumpets blared and she jumped,
feeling Deinwald pat her hand comfortingly. He must have done it before he
realized what he was doing, she mused, an attempt at humor to get her mind off
her nerves. The crier elegantly announced her and the room grew quiet, waiting
for the bride to make her appearance.

Jordan did not have to be told when
to move. She entered the room with a straight back and a great deal of forced
courage, making her way to where her bridegroom and his family awaited by the dais.
She noticed through her haze of terror that the earl was smiling broadly at
her, and that Alexander and Analiese were staring at her as if she was a
creature from another world.

The earl reached out and pulled her
to him, turning her to face the crowd. His hands were gripping her arms too
tightly and she fought the urge to pull away from him.

“My friends and allies,” he said
loudly. “I know you are all eager for the opportunity to meet my future wife,
as you should be. We would be pleased for you to approach the table and extend
your wishes.”

A low hum came from the crowd and
they began to move into what appeared to be a long, single line starting at the
dais and extending out of Jordan’s view. The earl placed her beside him; Analiese
on her other side, Alexander and Adam on his other side. Jordan was so nervous
that she was barely aware that she stood next to her future step-daughter.

The music picked up again softly as
the first of the guest offered their congratulations. Jordan was gracious and
unerringly polite as she said and did all of the correct things. Analiese was
perfectly mannered as well and the two women soon began sounding alike.

Jordan glanced over at Analiese for
the first time, trying to bring up the nerve to speak to her. The simplest word
could start a war.

“Yer dress is lovely, Analiese,” she
said nicely, hoping Analiese would not read an insult into it.

Analiese snorted. “That may be, but it
is not me the men are looking at.”

Jordan immediately went on the
defensive. “I am sorry, I dunna know what ye mean.”

Analiese looked at her. “I mean that
your breasts are hanging out and you look like a whore.”

All of Jordan’s resolve to be nice
fled. “At least I have breasts, which is more that I can say for ye, and if
ye’ll notice, all of the ladies from London are showing considerably more flesh
than I am, so shut yer yap.”