Page 114

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 remembered 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 de 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.”