The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “A mock wedding?” William asked, knowing the earl would be putting himself at great risk.

  De Longley nodded quickly, his mind working rapidly. The man was a very cunning bureaucrat and knew what he could pull off and what he could not.

  “The king is has a tendency to doze during long ceremonies,” he said. “Mayhap if there is enough Latin and enough pomp, we can pull the wool over his eyes and he will sleep right through it. He will think he has attended a wedding when, in fact, he has simply attended an overly long mass.”

  William wriggled his eyebrows. “That seems risky.”

  “Indeed, but there is no choice.” The earl stood up and William followed. “For now, we have a real wedding to prepare for. I will leave you to tend to Lady Jordan and whoever else you decided must be made aware of the situation. I will summon the priest and make a sizable donation to his coffers for his silence and cooperation. I will send for you later.”

  William could not help himself. He went down on one knee and kissed the man’s signet ring. “For as long as I live, my lord, I shall be your faithful servant. I owe you everything.”

  De Longley looked at his dark head, at the man to whom he owed the very roof over his head. He bade him rise.

  “Nay, you do not,” he said quietly. “But if you must, consider the score even.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Outside in the corridor, Paris was leaning with his back against the wall, staring grimly at the closed solar door and wondering what in the hell was going on in there. All manner of horrible thoughts were racing through his mind, thoughts he would catch and then just a quickly toss away because they terrified him so.

  The earl knew. He wasn’t particularly surprised for the man was not a fool. But he was tremendously worried about William and Jordan, and he briefly entertained the thought of spiriting Jordan out of Northwood simply to avoid the coming wrath. Treaty be damned, he would take her somewhere and then send word to William.

  But he knew he could not do that, at least not until it was asked of him. So he began to pace, his brow furrowed as he watched his boots hit the cold stone beneath him He could not hear anything, either. No shouting or furniture being broken. Just complete silence that was driving him insane.

  “What are you doing?” Kieran came up behind him.

  Paris looked up at the third-in-command. “Waiting for William.”

  “Good. I must speak with him.”

  Paris shook his head warningly. “Now would not be a good time. Anything you would say to him, you may say to me.”

  Kieran looked at him. “ ’Tis about Lady Jordan. William would hear this.”

  Paris stopped his pacing and scrutinized the knight. Kieran held his firm gaze.

  “You know, do not you?” Paris asked after a moment.

  “About our captain and the lady? Aye,” the man said quietly. “ ’Tis why William must know what I have uncovered.”

  Paris stiffened. “Is she in any danger?”

  “Nay, nothing of that sort,” Kieran said, then peered strangely at Paris. “What in the hell is the matter with you? You are acting as skittish as a brood mare.”

  Paris clenched and unclenched his jaw, looking at the man a moment, observing the deep brown orbs. Kieran was a good man, as good as any and then some. He knew the man could be trusted with his life, as he had proven many a time. Paris was so worried he felt the need to confide in someone.

  “The earl knows,” he whispered huskily. “That is why William is in there alone. The earl knows about him and Jordan.”

  Kieran’s face went slack. “Dear… God….”

  Paris nodded grimly in agreement. “Exactly.”

  With that, the both began to pace. When Deinwald and Ranulf came upon them several minutes later, it looked like some strange dance to them.

  “What is going on?” Deinwald demanded.

  Kieran looked up. “The earl knows about William and Jordan. William is in with him now.”

  “Kieran!” Paris snapped reprovingly.

  Kieran swung to him. “Hell, Paris, we all know. We have for a long time. You must have known that.”

  Deinwald’s face was a mask of shock. “Damnation. Who in the hell told de Longley?”

  “No one, Deinwald,” Paris said irritably. “Get a hold of yourself.”

  Ranulf clasped his hands behind his back thoughtfully. He didn’t appear overly worried like the others.

  “William won’t back down,” he said evenly. “ ’Tis likely to be quite a tussle.”

  “I have yet to hear any cries of pain or broken glass,” Paris said, resuming his path.

  The four of them made quite a scene in the corridor. Michael came looking for Kieran a few minutes later and, with a brief explanation, joined them in their aimless wandering and waiting game. Before Paris realized it, every knight of Northwood was in the corridor, waiting for the outcome of William’s meeting. Paris thought it felt more like a death watch.

  “What are ye all doing?” said a familiar female voice.

  They all froze, turning to see Jordan coming toward them down the corridor. She looked lovely in the pale blue surcoat, her hair attractively arranged and her beautiful face filled with puzzled amusement.

  It seemed that no one knew how to answer her. Paris, regaining his wits, went quickly to her. ’Twas not the best place for her to be if the door opened and the earl saw her standing there.

  “Waiting,” he said lightly, hoping to throw her off the track. “Nothing of any importance. Shouldn’t you be in the hall?”

  “I was, but everyone is leaving. Seems the engagement party spoiled their appetite for any more drinking because everyone was so horribly ill afterwards,” she glanced around. “Where is William?”

  “With the earl,” Paris told her, desperate to remove her from the area. “He will most likely be awhile.”

  “All day,” Deinwald put in helpfully.

  Paris glanced nervously at the knight before returning to Jordan and taking her arm. “I saw something the other day that might pique your interest,” he was grasping at straws. “Mayhap you will accompany me while we are waiting for William to be done.”

  “What, Paris?” her eyes lit up like fat in the fire.

  “Oh…well, I, uh….” Now he’d done it. Think, you fool, think. “I saw that a dog had had a litter of pups in the stable. Mayhap you would like one?”

  Much to his and the other knight’s relief, she clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, I would love one. I had a rabbit at home but I had to leave it, poor thing. I would love a dog.”

  Thank you, God. Paris prayed silently. “Excellent,” he said. “After you, my lady.”

  He gestured for them to walk in the opposite direction but he wasn’t quick enough. The door from the solar flew open and William came forth, followed by the earl.

  No one in the corridor dared breathe. They were frozen like marble statues, the only thing able to move was their eyes as they focused on William’s face. But his face was unreadable, as it usually was, offering them no clue as to what has transpired. It was impossible to describe the emotions that filled the air, flowing through all of them, feeding off of one another. They knew they should turn tail and run for their lives, but no one could seem to move a muscle.

  Even Jordan felt the tension and was puzzled. In faith, she was also a little frightened to see that the earl and William had been in discussion; alone. She had no doubt that she had been the topic. Her apprehension grew when Paris’ hand tightened on her arm.

  William was only vaguely aware of his knights because his eyes had been riveted to Jordan since he had opened the door. He had felt quite in control when he had quit the room, but now in her presence, he felt that glorious weak feeling spreading through him like wildfire.

  She was his! William wasn’t sure if he could tell her without breaking down. He wasn’t even sure if he could form the correct words. He took a deep breath to compose himself, but instead it went the other way and he l
ost his control. He was suddenly storming toward her with a drive he had never before known.

  “I have always wanted to do this in front of everyone,” he muttered en route.

  Grabbing Jordan with tender violence, his lips descended on hers. She was stunned senseless, wondering if he had indeed lost his mind or if he was possessed in some way. She was so shocked she could not even find the presence of mind to hold onto him as he crushed her to him like he never had. He was so firm and possessive that it took her breath away.

  She thought she was going to faint with his force when he suddenly pulled away, looking at her with the smoky, seductive gaze she had grown to love so well.

  “English!” she managed to gasp. “Have ye gone mad?”

  “Fortunately, no,” he continued to hold onto her even as he turned to his knights. To say they were astonished was a gross understatement. He grinned at them, a very rare occurrence.

  “Buck up, lads, and polish your armor,” he told them. “You are about to be attendants at a wedding.”

  Paris stood in stunned silence, unable to comprehend William’s words. Was he asleep, dreaming he was awake? Or did he somehow pass into another dimension where William and Jordan could be together, legally? He stared back at his captain with a degree of shock William had never seen.

  William let go of Jordan with one arm long enough to slap Paris forcefully on the shoulder.

  “Quit staring at me,” he said. “I am quite sane. In fact, I have never been better.”

  The earl took pity on the knights since William wasn’t. He motioned to the men to come closer to him, provided they remembered how to walk.

  “Gather around, my faithful lads,” he said. “I have a story to tell you.”

  *

  Jemma was having fits. When Jordan told her of what had transpired, she had to hold her hand over her mouth for a full minute to keep from screaming aloud. She simply could not believe what her deliriously happy cousin was telling her.

  “What of the king?” she demanded with a gasp.

  Jordan shrugged. “The earl will take care of him. All that matters is that William and I will be married.”

  “But…but….” Jemma stammered. “But the whole purpose of the treaty was to marry ye to a powerful English house so that we could have peace on the border. William is not an English lord, he is just a knight.”

  “But no one will know I am married to him, at least not yet,” Jordan reminded her patiently. “The earl will stage a mock ceremony on the morrow for the benefit of the king. Try to remember this, Jemma, for I do not want to repeat it again. There may be a chance that someone else might hear.”

  Jemma nodded so hard she tipped sideways. “God’s Blood, yer dress. We must get it out and hang the wrinkles out.”

  Jordan put her arm around her cousin’s shoulder. “We have time, Jemma. Get a hold of yerself now.”

  Jemma was flighty and scattered when it should have been Jordan with the jitters. Yet Jordan was so calm it was frightening; even as they removed the wedding surcoat from the huge wardrobe and brought it into the antechamber, she was perfectly collected.

  Jemma jabbered and twittered as she grew accustomed to the idea that her cousin would actually be marrying the man she loved and not the fat, old earl. It was so incredible she still could scarce believe it.

  “Arna ye nervous, Jordan?” she asked, as her cousin hung the massive dress from the ceiling, near the hearth.

  Jordan shook her head, her face dreamily happy. “Of course not,” she said. “This is what I have wanted more than anything else in my entire life. To marry is a dream itself, but to marry a man ye love…well, ’tis most unbelievable.”

  Jemma nodded in agreement, her joy overcoming her shock for the first time. “Oh, Jordi, I am so happy for ye.”

  Jordan grinned back at her, feeling the excitement. “Me, too.”

  Sylvie came into the room, her arms laden with Jordan’s freshly washed garments. She was so busy that she didn’t notice Jemma and Jordan until she had set the bundles down. Then, she noticed the magnificent wedding surcoat hanging from the ceiling.

  “What a beautiful surcoat.” she pointed to the dress. “Getting it ready, are you? Well, let me help you.”

  Jemma put her hand on Sylvie’s arm, twitching with excitement. “Sylvie, can ye keep a secret?” she giggled.

  Jordan let her cousin go on. After all, Sylvie wasn’t stupid and it would be no time before she figured out what was going on. She trusted the woman and knew that the secret would be safe.

  Sylvie eyed Jemma and Jordan both. “Aye, of course, my lady. What secret?”

  “Jordan’s getting married. Tonight.” Jemma burst.

  “Tonight?” Sylvie repeated with disbelief. “But the king is not here yet.”

  “She is not going to wait for the king, because he is not invited to this wedding,” Jemma said gleefully.

  Sylvie was bewildered and Jordan took pity on her. “Sylvie, I am not marrying the earl,” she said softly.

  The woman looked at her as if she was daft. “You’re not?”

  “Nay,” Jordan shook her head. “I am marrying the captain. Tonight.”

  The color that had left Sylvie’s face suddenly flooded back into her cheeks. “The captain? Oh, dear God, what on earth is the earl going to say?” she gasped, sick for her little ward. “I do not understand, my lady.”

  “Here, Sylvie, sit down,” Jordan gently pushed her into the nearest chair. “I am marrying the captain with the earl’s blessing. Ye mustna tell a soul what ye know, not even yer husband. Promise me?”

  Sylvie’s eyes were wide as she gazed up at Jordan, but she nodded. “Anything, my little lamb,” she said, then a soft expression crossed her features. “You know, I thought there was something between you two. A woman can always tell these things.”

  Jordan gave her a small nod and moved back over to where her dress hung from the rafter.

  “I have seen him look at you, my lady, and I have seen the way he looks at other men who look at you,” Sylvie said, rapidly making sense out of the entire situation. “Ah, yes, now it is beginning to become clear to me. I do not know why I should be surprised. Dear God, you’ll be marrying the most feared man in the realm. What an honor for you.”

  Jordan glanced at her cousin, both of them knowing just how lucky she was. She let out a happy sigh and glanced back up at her dress.

  “Well, now, we need to steam this dress,” she said briskly.

  Sylvie jumped up from the chair. “Do not worry, my lady, I shall do it now.” She was moving with a sense of purpose. “Where are those two little birds who call themselves your maids? Lord, I shall take a strap to them when I find them. They are never around when they are needed.”

  Jordan stepped back as Sylvie began to break out the hot irons, watching the fat woman bustle about. Jemma came over to her.

  “We need to wash yer hair, Jordi,” she said. “And flowers. What will we do about flowers? We still have time to go out and collect some. And food. What about…?”

  Jordan put up her hand. “The earl is making the arrangements,” she said, then looked thoughtful. “Jemma, where are those flowers we picked on our way here? I know we used most of them for soap, but I remember ordering some of them dried for winter. Do ye know where they are?”

  Jemma nodded, determined. “I shall find them, dunna ye worry about that. But why do ye want them?”

  Jordan smiled a soft, happy smile. “Purely sentimental, Jemma. Would ye find them for me while I order my bath?”

  Jemma nodded, eager and happy to help out. Jordan watched her bounce away, still in such a haze of happiness and disbelief. She felt as if she needed a good, cold splash to make sure it was all real. If she woke up on the morrow and it was all a dream, then she would surely die of a broken heart.

  *

  It was close to dusk. In a seldom used room under the northeast tower, the knights of Northwood were gathered in their ceremonial finery. The smell of
tallow candles cloaked the air, casting tiny flickers of light on the brightly polished armor. The mood was soft, the conversation muted as they waited patiently for the primary players of the deception.

  A small table against one wall held wine, great wedges of cheese, grapes and small tart apples. The knights congregated in small groups, speaking with soft tones and gentle laughter, sampling the wine and food. The only knights missing were William and Paris, for obvious reasons.

  The glow of the candles were becoming brighter as the sun set. William and Paris entered the room, easily talking between themselves as if they were attending a meeting rather than a wedding. They smiled at their friends, handshakes going all around. Now that the shock of William marrying Jordan had worn off, the knights were in a most jovial mood. Even crusty old Ranulf was smiling a good deal more than anyone could ever remember.

  None could scarce believe the good fortune that had befallen their captain. Where they had expected violence and bloodshed, at the very least, there was joy and peace. It was a remarkable situation to say the least; and none were more surprised than William himself.

  Although he was entirely cheerful outwardly, his insides were shaking as a true bridegroom’s should be. He was certainly not immune. He was not nervous at the prospect of marriage, of course, but for the recourse that could follow that event. He knew he should not allow the earl to be equally guilty in this action, but he obviously could not deny his liege. The earl was a distant third cousin of the king, but William wondered if that family line would break under the direct disobedience of a royal decree. Apparently the earl did not think so, and he hoped to God the man was right.

  And then there were the Scots. Those damn bastards, to which he would soon be related, wanted to overrun the whole bloody territory. He, the earl and Paris were still the only people who knew of the missive. When he glanced about the room, he wondered what the future would hold for his knights. Would they survive the wars that were inevitably coming? Would he, for that matter? That thought brought a stab of fear; no longer was he a lone Wolf. He would soon have a mate, and the need to live, if only for her, was greater than his fear.