“When ye went to the English, ye became a whore anyway,” he replied irritably. “What is the difference if ye whore here or at Northwood?”
She was outraged. “Malcolm, I have lain with only one man in my entire life; my husband,” she exclaimed. She debated whether or not to tell him the whole story, but thought against it. She did not want anyone knowing who she was married to.
He shrugged. “And he is an English bastard, he is.”
“What of Callie?” Jordan suddenly wanted to know. “They are not keeping her to whore, are they?”
“Nay,” Malcolm shook his head. “No one has touched her. I think Dunbar wants her for Abner, although she is too tall and thin for his tastes.”
Sweet Caladora. Jordan was desperate to see her cousin and to comfort her. Callie was a weak soul. She could only imagine the fear the girl must have been going through, just as Jordan was now.
Malcolm suddenly stepped back into the shadows as Dunbar and Abner marched into the room, their eyes riveting to Jordan as if she were a fat slab of prize beef.
“Ye dinna lie, for once,” Dunbar said to his son. “Ye did get her.”
Jordan instinctively cowered as Dunbar approached her, very pleased with the turn of events. He put his beefy hands on his fat hips, smiling happily.
“Lady de Longley,” he said. “ ’Tis a pleasure.”
Jordan didn’t reply and simply stared back with apprehension. He took a step closer and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face from side to side.
“Aye, the most beauteous woman in all of Scotland,” he said with satisfaction, glancing at his son. “Do ye want her, Abner? ’Tis a fine bit of flesh.”
“Nay,” Malcolm suddenly stepped forward. “I will claim her.”
Dunbar looked at Malcolm. “Ye?”
Malcolm nodded firmly. “Aye. Consider her payment for all of the help I have given ye. I have always had an eye for Jordan, my sweet little cousin.”
Bile rose in Jordan’s throat. What in the bloody hell was the man saying? She would not, could not couple with her cousin. He’d given her no indication of his intentions in their conversation.
Dunbar looked hard at Malcolm, who returned the glare.
“I am yer son, too,” Malcolm met his glare. “I am a year older than Abner, which makes me yer eldest. I demand first choice of the booty.”
Dunbar held his gaze for a long, long moment and Malcolm kept waiting for a fist in his face. But no fist was forthcoming.
“Ye’re becoming a McKenna after all,” Dunbar said finally. “Ye can have yer cousin until I decide what to do with her, just like the others.”
“But…Da,” Abner stammered. “Ye said we were going to call the leaders and try her as a traitor. What about it?”
“We still might,” Dunbar nodded, smiling humorlessly at Jordan. “But let yer brother have his fun wi’ her first. ’Tis no harm in it.”
“And then what?” Abner wanted to know. “We finally have the mighty Countess of Teviot in our hands. What are we gonna do with her?”
Dunbar scratched his bug-ridden scalp. “To be honest, lad, I hadn’t planned on her being here. ’Tis a great surprise. I dunna know what to do with her. Yet.”
Abner’s eyes darted back and forth between Jordan and his father. When he told his father that he had captured Jordan and ordered her father killed, he hadn’t told him the entire story. He failed to mention the companion that got away. The men he sent after the rider had yet to return, so he still held out hope that the person had been caught.
Yet, he knew he had better tell his father everything lest all of his plans go awry.
“Da, there is one other thing,” he said as bravely as he could muster. “When we found Lady Jordan and her da, they had a companion with them who rode away before we could catch him.”
“What? What’s this?” Dunbar’s attention was on his son.
“I dunna know who it was, but my men will surely catch him,” Abner added quickly. “ ’Tis not possible for the rider to return to Northwood to summon help.”
Dunbar was visibly agitated. He let out a low growl and struck Abner on the side of the face hard, sending spittle and blood flying from the lad’s mouth.
“Damnation!” Dunbar exploded. “Why did ye not tell me this ’fore?”
Abner rubbed his face. “Because the rider willna get through. I wasna worried about it.”
“I am, lad!” his father shouted, then as quickly as he angered, he calmed. “I hope he gets through. Aye, I do, and I shall tell ye why; it will bring the English to our doorstep and we can blast them once and for all.” He was instantly swept away with yet another outrageous plan. “Aye, lads, do ye not see the beauty of this? While the English attack us here, I shall split my forces and route an army wide around the English and back to Northwood. All of their forces will be here fighting us, with no one left to defend the fortress. ’Tis brilliant. Masterful. Northwood will fall.” His last three words were punctuated by correspondingly pounding a balled fist into his hand.
Jordan could scarce believe what she was hearing. She stared at Dunbar, at Abner, at Malcolm, her mouth agape. Oh, God, what have I done?
“Take yer woman, Malcolm,” Dunbar had all but forgotten about Jordan in his haste. “Keep her with the other Scott bitch if ye want.”
Malcolm hastily grabbed Jordan’s arm and pulled her away with him. She struggled against him as he half-dragged her up a crumbling flight of stairs and down a musty corridor to a door that was stoutly bolted from the outside.
Jordan was terrified he was going to rape her and struggled furiously with him. He didn’t say a word as he lifted the big bolt and opened the door.
Jordan heard a familiar gasp and knew that Caladora was in the room. Her struggles ceased for the moment at the imminent prospect of seeing her cousin and she thrust herself through the doorway, coming face-to-face with tall, wan Caladora Scott.
Caladora’s pale face went paler with shock. “Jordan!”
“Callie!” Jordan threw herself into her cousin’s arms, hugging her tightly. “Are ye all right? Did they hurt ye?”
“I told ye nobody hurt her,” Malcolm said from the doorway. “And nobody will hurt ye, either, if ye do as ye’re told. I shall be back later.”
“Wait!” Jordan cried before he could close the door. Malcolm looked at her darkly, expectantly. “Ye said nothing about making me yer own when we talked before, Malcolm Scott. Is that what ye intend?”
He made a face. “Nay,” he snapped. “I only said that so they’d leave ye alone for the time. Even if ye are an English whore, ye’re still my cousin.”
“But why should ye protect me?” her tone was deadly serious. “Ye let the clans kill yer mother, yer aunt, and yer brother. Why am I any different?”
Malcolm didn’t even know why. All he knew was that Jordan had always been nice to him, even when they were children. She had always been special, which was why he didn’t have the heart to slit her throat when he’d had the chance a year back. Why was she asking him such dumb questions? His face glazed with an angry expression.
“Well, I shall ravish ye if that’s what ye want!” He slammed the door and bolted it.
Still in each other’s arms, Jordan and Caladora stared at the door for a moment before turning back to each other. Caladora touched her cousin’s hair as if trying to convince herself she wasn’t seeing things.
“Are ye real, Jordi? I thought ye were in England.” Caladora exclaimed softly.
“I was,” Jordan said. “But I came back to see Langton for myself after I was told of her attack. Oh, Callie, there is so much to tell ye.”
Time flew by as Jordan told Caladora every single detail of her life, and of Jemma’s, since the moment she left Langton’s gates. Her cousin was amazed, frightened, and thrilled for her, all at the same time. Color gently washed her pale cheeks at all of the excitement.
When Jordan came to the point in the tale where Jemma’s daugh
ter had been a stillborn, she tried to be gentle but Caladora broke out in tears anyway. Dear Callie had always been so sensitive, but Jordan knew she would want to know of Jemma’s misfortune. Jordan spent a good fifteen minutes comforting her cousin before finishing her story.
When it came Caladora’s turn to fill Jordan in on everything that had happened at home during that time, the mood sobered a little, but not completely. Life at Langton had not been near so exciting.
“I find it so unbelievable that ye married the fearsome Wolf, Jordi.” Caladora said in her gentle voice.
Jordan lay back on the small bed, smiling. “He’s not so fearsome to me,” she said. “He’s the most handsome, the most charming, and the most dashing man I have ever met. We canna keep our hands from one another.”
Caladora blushed as her cousin laughed at her. “Dunna say such things to me, Jordi, for I am a maiden.”
“Well, I am not,” Jordan felt bawdy but, after all, ’twas only Caladora. “I carry another babe as we speak.”
Caladora shook her head. “And the twins only six months old, yet. Did it hurt much to birth a babe?”
“Nay,” Jordan said confidently. “Well, mayhap a little. But it was over quickly.”
Caladora nodded, but childbirth scared the hell out of her; it always had. Jemma’s mishap scared her even more.
“I intend to have no children,” she said firmly.
Jordan grinned knowingly. “Aye, ye will want to when ye meet a man ye can love. Ye would die for him if he asked it.”
Caladora shrugged. “What man would have me, Jordi? Especially after I have been locked up in here for months, he will think me despoiled.”
“Callie, any man would be lucky to have ye,” Jordan sat up and went to her cousin. There was a dirty ivory comb on a small broken table. Picking it up, she ran it through her cousin’s soiled hair. Even oily and sticky, it was the most beautiful shade of red Jordan had ever seen. So much gold and light to it.
Caladora closed her eyes at the attention; it felt good to have her hair combed. “Next to ye and Jemma, I always felt so awkward and plain. The men always noticed the two of ye and never me.”
Jordan gave her hair a gentle yank. “ ’Tis not true, I tell ye. Ye’re beautiful. Tall and elegant as I wish I were. Jemma and I are as short as trolls.”
Caladora’s pale green eyes opened as she gazed out of the small window overlooking the western half of the keep. “But ye’re so beautiful, Jordi. No one alive is as beautiful as ye are.”
“Hush, now, no more of that,” she told her sternly. “If I had yer long legs, I would believe that. Now, when is the last time ye washed this hair of yers?”
Caladora sighed thoughtfully. “Oh, let me think…a couple of weeks ago, I think.”
“What?” Jordan cried. “Why so long?”
Her cousin shrugged. “Because they frighten me and I dunna like demanding things of them.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, they dunna frighten me. I shall get us soap and water, and a proper bath, too.”
When Malcolm returned several hours later with a bit of dinner for them, she had her wish.
*
Dunbar had called the clan chiefs together again, and within a half a day, they were gathered. The men sat skeptically before Dunbar as the McKenna chief laid out his grand plan, telling them of his recent capture and of Thomas’ death. When the lairds tried to argue against taking on Northwood again, Dunbar was adamant that this time they would be successful. After all, all of the English troops would be riding to McKenna Keep to rescue the earl’s wife, leaving their own fortress vulnerable.
Into the night they argued and fought until one by one, the chief’s began to give in. ’Twas easier to give in that continue beating their head against a wall. Dunbar, when convinced he was right, was immovable.
Yet no one was glad to hear that Thomas was dead. The man had been a loyal border earl for many years. They had made the mistake of allowing Dunbar to convince them that Thomas was a traitor, when in fact he had been wiser than all of them by seeking peace. But they were afraid to oppose Dunbar and side with Thomas because at the time they, too, doubted Thomas’ loyalties. Now, months after the fact, they knew it was a mistake, but it was too late to turn back. And no one would admit it, not even to each other. So they were alone and isolated in their guilt.
Now Dunbar wanted to split up his force and send half to attack Northwood while her guard was down while the other half set up the defenses of McKenna Keep. Ambitious, even for him, but he was so charismatic and logical that even they began to believe it possible. With Northwood gone, mayhap Dunbar’s overall scheme would indeed work. So far, all the clans had acquired from their initial assault was a lot of widows and orphans and none of the promised border wealth.
Yet, so be it. By midnight they had all agreed what needed to be done and assembling began immediately, outside in the small bailey by the light of a thousand torches. Men were moving and preparing, thinking that mayhap this time victory and glory would finally be theirs. Their faith lay in their clan lands and in the mutual hatred for the English.
They were tired of fighting; aye. The bout with King Henry’s troops had weakened them considerably, but as true hearty Scots, they were not entirely beat. They still had the drive and stamina to try one last time. They were seasoned and good soldiers, lacking the peasants they had employed in the first rounds of the battle for the border. But there were two obvious flaws that would eventually defeat them, whether or not they knew it.
Firstly, they put their faith in Dunbar McKenna. Secondly, they would be fighting The Wolf. If the first didn’t kill them, the second surely would.
*
Jordan, clean and bathed, her hair freshly washed and dried and pulled softly back at the nape of her neck, was dressed in a huge voluminous white linen surcoat that Malcolm had managed to scavenge. The sleeves were long and full, closing tightly around her wrists to keep the draft out. A tiny braided black and leather cord ran around the neckline, crossed between her full breasts, and then continued to run beneath them before joining in the back of the surcoat. It was actually a quite lovely and feminine thing and she wondered where in the world Malcolm had managed to come across it. It was even clean. With her black boots and black hose on for warmth, she was extremely comfortable.
Caladora found it exceedingly wonderful to have Jordan’s strength to lean on now. She was an unassertive woman, though sweet as honey, but since Jordan’s arrival she’d had a bath, her hair washed, and her old dirty surcoat taken away to be washed. Meanwhile, Malcolm had scavenged a lovely peach-colored surcoat for her which was a blessing in that it brought some color to her cheeks. Yet she, as well as Jordan, were extremely curious where Malcolm got the dresses from. But they didn’t ask for fear he stripped them from dead bodies.
And, they were suspicious for other reasons. Why was he being so nice to them when he but killed the rest of their kin?
Exhausted, Jordan and Caladora had fallen asleep soon after the bath and small meal, crowded together on the small bed but taking comfort in one another.
Jordan dreamed of William. He looked as he did when they had first met, his left eye restored and his face perfect. He was smiling at her, sitting in a large chair with a babe in his arms. Suddenly there were a dozen children crawling around him, over him, and he was delighted. ’Twas a comforting dream that quickly faded into blackness, yet her husband remained on her mind fully.
Even in her sleep, she knew he was coming for her. She was as much a part of him as he was of her and she knew in her heart they would be together again soon.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
William stopped his army a mere two miles from McKenna Keep. The knights slung their shields and unsheathed broadswords, the bright moonlight gleaming wickedly off the steel. ’Twas bright enough to read by, which was why William was not the least bit hesitant about attacking at night.
McKenna Keep was shielded by a small forest of trees, blocking
the approaching army’s view of the keep as well as blocking the keep’s view of them. Yet his spies told him the army was mobilized around the outside of the wall and the bridge was down, which William thought was extremely strange behavior if they knew his army was advancing.
“Why in the hell is the drawbridge down if they are expecting us?” he demanded to Paris and Kieran.
“Mayhap they are not expecting us at all,” Kieran said. “If the army is assembling on the outskirts of the keep, mayhap it is for another reason. Such as, coincidentally, preparing to launch another attack on English border earls?”
William nodded, “Of course. ’Tis the only explanation,” he said. “Lads, it seems as if we will be doing Northwood and her allies a favor this night. Mayhap it is a good thing my wife was foolish enough to get herself captured so that we could come here and destroy the marauding army. Had she not been taken, we would have found out too late.”
He was making light of Jordan’s situation, making it easier for him to deal with it. Paris nodded rapidly.
“She is a brilliant tactician,” he agreed. “Mayhap your military prowess has rubbed off on her.”
“Aye, she planned this,” Kieran wrestled with his chestnut destrier. “She is not so foolish, after all.”
Ranulf gave William the high-sign that the troops were battle-ready and William raised his arm in response.
“Come, then,” he slammed his visor down. “Let us rescue my foolish, brilliant wife and then we can all take a turn spanking her lovely white bottom.”
Paris closed his visor, covering his wolfish grin. “With pleasure.”
Using hand signals, the army moved forward into the shelter of the trees, silently pacing themselves toward the distant keep. William had the men in three rows of three hundred men each, creating a wide band of men that would be impossible to escape around. They were establishing an effective sweep; driving everything in their path into the battle arena for annihilation.
William was not concerned that they be silent, for at this point it was too late for the enemy to escape them anyway. He almost wanted the Scots to hear him coming; to know that The Wolf was stalking them. He was ready for this, perhaps more prepared than he had ever been for any battle in his life.
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