“English, what if she tells?” she asked after they were underway.
He never thought the word ‘English’ would sound so sweet to his ears. To hear her use it meant that all was right once again.
“She has given me her word that she will not. We will simply have to trust her.”
Jordan leaned back against her husband with a sigh, knowing he spoke the truth. There was nothing any of them could do but trust the strange woman and pray she was honorable.
*
Jordan was awakened before dawn by Aloria and Sylvie, both women eager and business-like to get her dressed and ready. Jordan was so tired she nearly slept through her bath until Sylvie poured cold water on her head to wake her up and began scrubbing her scalp raw.
After that, she was most definitely awake. While Aloria fussed over the dress and the accessories that went with it, Sylvie dried Jordan and began the long task of drying her thick hair. Even at dawn the day was warm, and with the added fire in the hearth it was no time at all before her silken tresses were soft and nearly dry. At that point, Sylvie took strips of linen and began to wrap Jordan’s hair for bouncy curls.
Her hair rolled up, both serving women took to oiling Jordan’s skin with lanolin and Lavender oil, as well and buffing her fingernails to a clean shine. Pampered, powdered, primped, Jordan felt like a queen. When Aloria’s large hands began to massage her shoulders expertly, she swore she was in heaven.
Jemma hung back and out of the way, concerned with what she was going to wear. She alternately teased her cousin and complained about her own miseries, keeping the mood light and happy.
William had returned Aloria the previous night, and with the exception of a hug from Jordan, there had been no further references regarding the incident. Jordan had sensed no tension from the woman at all, for which she was relieved. She wanted to put it all behind them, yet she truly wondered if Aloria and William would ever be able to forget this, enough to be civil to one another. But even now, Aloria acted as if nothing in the world were amiss.
Sylvie, God love her, had been friendly to Aloria from the start, to which Aloria had responded in kind. Jordan was thrilled, for she was sure the two headstrong women would butt heads endlessly, and she was mightily pleased when they seemed to get along.
Jordan’s ladies dressed her in her undergarments, pantalets and a whale-bone girdle that made her small waist look even smaller and thrust her breasts upward. Aloria made it so tight that she could not breathe and had to beg to have the stays released just a bit. Jemma had had a good laugh over that.
The sun was steadily rising when Jordan’s two maids brought breakfast for the ladies; huge trays filled with porridge, bread and honeyed butter and warmed, mulled cider. It was Jordan’s favorite meal and she delved in with delight, spooning gobs of honeyed butter onto her porridge and slathering it onto her bread.
She ate until she could hold no more, much to the chagrin of Aloria, who wondered how she could eat so much and still stay as tiny as she did. Sylvie, however, heartily approved of her mistress’ appetite and knew the food would serve her well for her busy day.
Jordan sat on a tall stool and sipped her mulled cider as Sylvie unrolled her hair and brushed it out into a satiny mass of curls. As the old woman was forming uniform curls with her hand, there was a sharp rap on the door. Sylvie scampered for Jordan’s robe to cover her near-nakedness as Aloria answered the call.
William entered the room, without so much a glance at Aloria, who was standing next to him. His eyes were focused entirely on his radiant wife. She smiled happily up at him, gripping the mug of cider in two hands and swinging her feet.
“Good morn to ye, Captain,” she said. “What brings ye here?”
Lord, she was so beautiful and loaded with charm. He smiled back at her, his body feeling warm and languid. He hadn’t seen her since late yesterday and had missed her terribly.
“Something I think you will be pleased to see,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. From behind him, he brought forth a lovely wooden box, trimmed in gold leaf.
Jordan dropped off the stool and went to him, handing her mug to Aloria as she touched the box. “What is it?”
His eyes glittered. “From the king and queen. Open it.”
All of the women, including the two Scottish maids, crowded around as Jordan unlatched the box and raised the lid. A cry of delight went up; inside was an exquisite diamond and pearl tiara. Jordan’s mouth was agape as she lifted the prize gingerly from its cradle.
“Oh… my.” she exclaimed softly. “ ’Tis the most beautiful treasure I have ever seen.”
“To wear today, my lady,” William smiled at her happiness.
Immediately Jordan rushed over to the full-length mirror and held the tiara up on her head, observing it from different angles as Jemma danced excitedly next to her, begging to touch it. All of the women surged over to the mirror like a tide, watching Jordan play with the tiara and offering bits of advice as to how she should wear it.
William stood back and watched, wishing to God that he could be standing beside her at the altar during the ceremony and not the earl. ’Twas his rightful place, after all. But it was enough that she was truly his, and he was infinitely grateful for that.
“And one more thing, my lady, and then I must depart,” he said, digging another smaller box from his vest.
Jordan handed the tiara to Jemma and the women crowded around her cousin. She went back over to her husband.
“What is that, English?”
He placed it in the palm of her hand. “Open it.” With the women occupied, he dared to bend down and kiss his wife tenderly. “I shall see you at the ceremony.”
Jordan watched him leave before opening the little box. Inside was the most beautiful gold heart, encrusted with dozens of small garnets and attached to a delicate golden chain. It was absolutely divine and she noticed a bit of parchment folded in the corner of the box. Unfolding the paper, she read it:
You will always have my heart.
Her eyes filled with tears as she removed the necklace from the box. The women were still admiring the tiara and Jordan slipped into the privacy of her bedchamber.
There, she removed the heart from the chain and re-strung it on the chain that held her wedding band. The heart and the ring tinkled against one another like a crystal bell as she slipped it back over her head, forever to keep the two items most precious to her next to her heart. She could part with any other possession she owned, but she would die before parting with the two tiny treasures.
Sylvie barged into the bedchamber, insisting that it was time to get dressed. Jordan allowed herself to be hustled out into the antechamber and stood atop a short stool while Sylvie and Aloria carefully dressed her in the ivory and gold surcoat. It was an extremely heavy surcoat, with layers of fabric, and Jordan was already beginning to sweat beneath it.
She felt as if she had been standing still for hours while Sylvie and Aloria fussed and tied and straightened. When the ladies were finally satisfied that the dress was presentable, Jordan herself proceeded to place the tiara atop her head. Crowning her flowing hair and lovely face, she looked stunning.
The ladies stood back, admiring her now that she was in full regalia.
“I do not think I have seen a lovelier bride,” Sylvie said with satisfaction.
Jemma, who had been in her own bedchamber dressing, came back into the antechamber to critically observe her cousin. She studied her intently for a few moments before nodding her head with approval.
“Aye, ye’re right,” she said proudly. “There isna a more lovely woman in the whole world. Ye look like an angel, Jordi.” She stepped forward to kiss her cousin’s cheek. Jordan knew she was blushing with all of the praise, but several more coy glances into the mirror confirmed the observations. She thought she looked rather good, too.
With Jordan and Jemma dressed, Aloria changed into her best surcoat. Sylvie and the maids, being servants, were not invited to the ceremony an
d were sent on ahead to the new apartments Jordan would be occupying in the family wing of Northwood. There, they would prepare the bedchamber for the wedding night they knew would not come. But everything had to go smoothly, as if this were truly a wedding, so there would be no confusion or doubt.
There was a knock on the door. Analiese let herself in, gasping with delight at Jordan.
“Oh, Jordan.” she cried. “You look like a princess.”
Jordan hugged her friend. “I feel like one. Look at the tiara from Henry and Eleanor.”
Analiese admired it wholeheartedly, showing a great deal of emotion for one so usually reserved.
“I do apologize for ignoring you since Eleanor’s arrival,” she said after a moment. “But the queen demanded my presence every day, and I have been very busy.”
“Dunna fret over it,” Jordan hushed her. “I know how badly ye want to go to London. Mayhap the queen will ask ye to go with her when she leaves.”
“Mayhap,” Analiese shrugged. “But she has so many women already.”
“Then mayhap the earl will ask her on yer behalf,” Jordan said hopefully.
Analiese shrugged again and smiled bravely. “They are almost ready for you downstairs,” she said. “You should see the chapel, Jordan. It is loaded with flowers and incense and people in fine clothing. It is beautiful.”
Jordan smiled weakly, suddenly feeling just the slightest bit nervous.
“I am so glad we are to be related,” Analiese said, and hugged her again.
Jordan’s smile faded. Aloria turned her head away and pretended to busy herself, while Jemma faintly lifted an eyebrow in Analiese’s direction. Firmly, Jordan broke from the embrace and smiled brightly.
“Well, now, are ye to accompany me downstairs?” Jordan asked. “I would like ye to stand with me, Analiese. Jemma and Aloria are going too.”
“Of course I will,” Analiese said. “I would not leave three ladies alone among all of those men standing at the altar.”
The women passed the remainder of the time drinking the cider and talking softly about anything that came to mind. As the sun rose higher and the temperatures increased, Jordan became increasingly nervous. She could hear the activity in the baileys and the people’s voices, knowing they had all come to see her. This was her day, and she was about to go through with the biggest deception of her young life.
William’s words from the day before kept swirling through her head. What would happen if the king found out about their lie? Death for the earl and William, and disgrace for her. Sweet Jesu,’ she wasn’t as brave as she thought, but it was too late to turn back now. She had to be convincing.
The knock they had been waiting for came. Jordan swallowed hard and tried to look regal as Aloria answered the door. Every knight of Northwood was standing in the corridor; all ten of them. Dressed in their ceremonial armor, bathed and shaven, there were no handsomer men on the face of the earth. A smile of pleasure graced every woman’s face as they beheld the sight; even Aloria. And none was more handsome than William.
He stepped into the antechamber, his eyes softening at the sight of his wife, but highly aware of Analiese’s presence.
“My lady,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “You look beautiful.”
Jordan’s gaze was riveted to her husband as she curtsied. “Thank ye, Captain.”
Paris pushed his way in, grinning openly at Jordan. “Lord God, you are gorgeous,” he said with satisfaction. “I think I shall marry you myself.”
Jordan giggled coyly, lowering he gaze. It was an utterly charming move that had every man captivated. Finally, William regained enough of his senses to move toward her.
“Your groom awaits, my lady,” he said softly, extending his arm. “Are you ready?”
She looked up at him, feeling his potency. It bolstered her sagging courage. “Aye, I am.”
Paris pushed his way next to her, taking her other arm. Kieran took Jemma, Michael took Analiese, and with a good deal of hesitation, Deinwald took Aloria. The other five knights formed a sort of protective circle around the women as they made their way to the chapel of Northwood.
Analiese watched the back of William’s head, the longing in her heart painful. She had loved him as long as she could remember. She would always love him, no matter what. No matter if he was in love with her future stepmother. As it was, she was beyond jealousy for she knew she had not a chance for a match with the illustrious Wolf. It was more of a wishful longing for what could never be, a feeling she was learning to bank more with time.
She hoped the queen would take her back to court and she furthermore hoped she would find a suitable husband there. The Wolf, it had taken her a good while to realize, was better left to the wilds of the north. The sooner she forgot about him, the better.
The king’s soldiers were everywhere as they walked. Jordan felt the stares of the men and kept her gaze lowered. Even flanked by her husband and Paris, she felt scrutinized and vulnerable. With every step, her anxiety rose just a little.
In order to enter the chapel from the main doors, the party had to pass through the inner bailey. Outside, it was exceedingly dusty and Jordan balked on the last stair.
“I dunna want dust all over my dress,” she insisted to the puzzled knights.
Paris was closer. He leaned over and swept her into his arms, flashing William a delighted grin. William shook his head warningly, but noticed that Kieran, Michael and Deinwald did the same with the other ladles and the action brought a smile to his lips. Ah, chivalry. With a wiggle of his brows, he followed Paris and his wife.
Aloria, aloft in Deinwald’s muscular arms, eyed him warily. He frowned at her intermittently, but there was no force behind it.
“I could have walked, sir knight,” she said.
He scowled. “You ungrateful wen…woman. I am trying to spare your surcoat and you could be more thankful.”
“And I could have just as easily hoisted my skirts so they would not have draped along the ground.”
He looked her right in the eye. “Are you always so disagreeable?”
“Are you?” she returned with a cocked eyebrow.
“Hell, yes,” he barked, shifting her weight to get a better grip on her. He obviously had no intention of setting her down. “You weigh as much as my horse.”
“I would understand if you are too weak to carry me, then,” she said.
He glared at her. “I shall take my hand to your backside and show you just how weak I am, wen…woman.”
She fought off a grin; he was handsome in a boyish sort of way, and exceptionally strong. She liked the feeling of his arms around her. “My name is Aloria, my lord. You may call me by my name if you wish.”
He grunted and she did smile, then. He was trying hard to avoid her gaze, knowing he would surely smile in return and not wanting to. Well, not much wanting to.
As they crossed the compound, William walked close to Paris, his wife’s head just inches in front of him.
“You push me to the limit, man,” he growled to his second.
Paris laughed. “But don’t you see? This will put suspicion on me and away from you.”
William shot him a menacing glare as Jordan turned around to look at her husband; instantly, his face went sweet.
Paris set her down as they entered the cool, dim chapel. There were soldiers everywhere and inside, Jordan could see a roomful of people waiting their chance to study her. Her nerves were apparent.
But they gave her no time to dwell on her lagging courage. As soon as Father Sutton saw that she was in the church, he advanced to the altar. The earl stood and approached it as well, with Alexander beside him.
With an encouraging wink, although he wished he could have done more, William took his place a foot or so to her left and bade her enter.
Father Sutton spoke Gaelic as if he had been born into it. Although he mispronounced several words, he spoke so convincingly that no one but a Scot would have known he had completely butchered
the Gaelic word for ‘Lord.’ And he was swift in his delivery, as if feeling he were committing a deadly sin by performing the ceremony at all. He moved quickly through the mass and prayers, as well as the final benediction. The priests that were assisting him kept looking at him as if he had gone mad.
The knights and ladies formed a cozy little group around the earl and Jordan, nearly sealing them off from the rest of the church. Jordan had lost sight of William and wondered desperately where he was, when in fact he was directly behind her. It would have eased her mind considerably if she had known that.
When it came time for her and the earl to drink from a common chalice, she was able to turn slightly and caught a glimpse of her husband’s face. He was sweating profusely in the humidity, dressed in layers of armor, as they all were, but he managed to give her a nearly imperceptible wink. Her heart soared with the acknowledgement and she nearly smiled, until she caught a figure just inside her line of sight.
Henry, King of England, was staring at her emotionlessly. A bolt of fear surged through her; the man could destroy her life, all of their lives, if he so chose to do so. And why wouldn’t he? They had all lied to him. Her nerves roared to life and she broke into a cold sweat, with uncontrollable horrors rolling through her mind. So many people were in jeopardy because of a wedding she allowed to take place; it would then be her fault if the king were to discover their deception.
William saw her hands start to shake again and he was concerned. Up until this moment, she had handled herself beautifully. He passed a glance at Paris from the corner of his eye, and was met with a puzzled look reflecting his own feelings. He wondered briefly if she were becoming ill with all of the excitement and with the heat.
Jordan was ill, but not for those reasons. The enormity of the situation was weighing heavily on her and she wondered how on earth she was going to get through the rest of the day with Henry and Eleanor bearing down on her. How could she convincingly live a lie? What if she slipped up? What if she inadvertently said something? What if…?
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 91