*
William was not angry with Jordan. He was positively livid.
He was also exceedingly weary. His hair was wet with perspiration and his face was unshaven and grimy. He still wore all of his battle armor, save his helmet, and he had a big gash on his neck. Still, he continued to bark orders and involve himself in every operation, all the while keeping Jordan seated in the center of his tent. Even with his anger, Jordan felt safe with him. Outside the tent, with all of those battle-weary English soldiers, was definitely not the place she wanted to be.
After an eternity of orders, conferences, and the like, the tent was finally vacant save she and William. He still had not looked at her. Moving to a jug of wine, he poured himself a healthy amount and drank the whole thing in two swallows.
“Our enemy wore Scott tartan,” he remarked.
The sound of his voice made her jump; it was laced with venom. “I know,” she replied. “But they were not Scott men. I would have recognized them.”
He turned to her, scrutinizing her. “How many men does your father carry?”
“Near six hundred,” she replied.
“And you would recognize each and every one of them?” he countered sharply.
“Aye,” she was not ruffled. She had expected the interrogation. “Dunna forget, sir knight, that I tend my father’s wounded soldiers. There are none that I have not seen, because my father does not take on new men-at-arms unless they be relatives of the men already in service.”
He poured more wine. She cleared her throat. “They wore the tartan incorrectly, as well,” she went on. “My father’s soldiers are always impeccably dressed. These men were sloppy. And another thing, I think, the most important thing, was that McKenna tartan was mixed in. We are not allied with the McKenna.”
He glanced up. “I saw the McKenna. But you have fought with the McKenna before, Jordan. I know.”
“Aye,” she confirmed. “But my Da ended that association several months back. He doesna like Dunbar McKenna.”
William took a smaller drink of wine and turned around to face her, she thought, pondering her information.
“So you are telling me that this army was not your father’s?” he asked forcefully.
She shook her head vigorously. “Aye, ’twas not,” she said. “My father is a man of his word, English. He wouldna have done this.”
He thought on that for several minutes. She could see his jaw ticking even though the rest of him was as still as stone. She was beginning to think that the questioning might be over, and it had gone much better than she had ever hoped. But she was very wrong.
With the initial questions out of the way, William could focus on the real problem bothering him. He had done a very good job of keeping his anger in check, but every time he thought of the danger she had put herself in, he got hot all over again. He had to admit to himself that it wasn’t so much that she had disobeyed him, but the fact he had been so bloody terrified for her safety. Every time he thought of how close she came to being injured, or worse, it fed his rage. He prayed to God to give him the control he would need to get through this.
“I told you to ride to Northwood,” William said finally.
She shook her head. “Nay, ye dinna. Ye told Sir Jason to ride to Northwood,” she replied. “Ye dinna tell me anything.”
His hazel-gold eyes glared at her Jordan matched his gaze, trying not to be intimidated by him. Swearing under his breath, he turned away from her. He was becoming more infuriated by the second.
“Do not you realize the danger you were in?” he suddenly exploded.
She startled at his booming voice. She’d never even heard the man raise his voice much less boom. She began to shake.
“I had to see if it was Scotts ye were fighting. ’Twas worth the risk,” she answered.
He whirled around to her. “Worth the risk?” he repeated incredulously. “Damnation, Jordan, you deliberately disobeyed me. We were fighting to buy you and Jason enough time to reach safety, and instead, you returned to the middle of it. It was stupid.”
She blinked at the insult, dropping her head. “ ’Twas not stupid if ye consider why I thought it worth the risk,” she said softly. “I had to see for myself if my father had betrayed his word. Moreover, from the moment the army attacked, the marriage contract was void. I ceased to become a valuable commodity and instead became a prisoner. Dying in battle would be preferable to rotting away in the tower.”
He stopped mid-rage and looked at the top of her lowered head. “There you go with that tower nonsense again,” he said, the fire out of his tone. “Furthermore, ’tis Lord de Longley’s decision whether you would still become his bride or whether you would become a prisoner. You do not seem to realize that you no longer control your destiny.”
She lifted her head and his heart constricted to see tears in her eyes. Yelling at her was like yelling at a helpless pup; he felt like an ogre.
“If I controlled my own destiny, do ye think for one moment that I would be here sitting in front of an English knight?” she returned softly. “But I do apologize for being stupid. I shouldna have distracted ye on the battlefield like I did. But I was scared and sickened by all of it, and when that giant man attacked ye I thought….”
She dissolved into faint sniffles and he relented. He felt like a sadistic fiend for reprimanding her, even though she deserved worse.
With a sigh of defeat, he knelt beside the chair and wondered why in the hell this woman’s tears affected him so. Paris was right, he thought grimly. This woman had the power to turn him to putty.
“My lady,” he said softly.
She ignored him, sniffling into her hand. He tried again.
“Jordan,” he said, more firmly, and put a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. Her sobs nearly broke his heart. “You are not stupid and I am sorry I called you that. I did not mean it. But you must trust that I know what is best for you and your safety. I have promised my life to protect you – remember?”
When she nodded, he smiled gently at her. “And as for that giant on the battlefield, he could not kill me. I have fought him before and I know his weaknesses. ’Twas simply a matter of time before he made a mistake I could take advantage of, which I did.”
“But I thought he had cut off yer head,” she wept.
She began to sob again and he chuckled softly, pulling her head down against his neck. He should not have done it, but he could not help himself. Her concern was touching.
“There is not a sword made yet that can destroy me,” he whispered into her hair. “Do not fear, my lady.”
Much to his astonishment, both arms went around his neck and she continued to cry her heart out. Before he even realized he was doing it, his instincts took charge and his arms enfolded her protectively. He was seized by a tremendous urge to defend and guard her, for always. The feeling gripped him like an iron vise and he knew that all the rationalizing in the world would not chase it away. He was overwhelmed with it, and with her. He was more than infatuated and nearly ill with the prospect.
“My lady,” he cleared his throat softly. “Stop your tears. You will make yourself ill.”
Jordan pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “I am sorry, sir knight,” she said, then glanced timidly at him. “But I saw ye fight. Ye were magnificent. ’Twas almost worth the scare to be able to watch ye in action.”
He smiled faintly, gazing into that lovely face. “I have been a soldier for many years, my lady. I should hope that I would be proficient at it by now,” he said modestly.
“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 hav
ing 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 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, perh
aps 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 why 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.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 51