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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.

On what should be the greatest day of his life, he was plagued with worry. He tried to push it aside, if only for Jordan’s sake. Being as intuitive as she was, she would pick up on his mood.

The earl entered the room in a bluster of deep green silk, practically dragging Father Sutton by the arm. The priest, who had supervised Adam’s knighting ceremony, was a young thin man with an infectious smile. He had been initially overwhelmed at the subterfuge the earl was suggesting, but in the goodness of true love, he had graciously accepted a large donation on behalf of the church and swore on the Bible to keep silent.

He greeted William when the earl shoved the men together, and smiled at the captain, who known as The Wolf.

“I never thought I would see the day when one of Northwood’s finest would approach the altar in marriage,” he said truthfully. “And if that occasion came, I certainly did not expect it to be you.”

William started to reply when the earl cut him off. “Shush.” he said nervously. “The bride is coming.”

William barely had time to glance to the door when Jordan was through it, filling the room with her radiant beauty. He looked at her; they all did, so captured by her beauty that the room had gone stone cold silent.

Jordan heard the conversation cease when she entered, and she stopped, smiling self-consciously at William where he stood several feet away. She wore a dress of pale ivory satin, which was embroidered with gold thread around the cuff of the sleeves and on the hem of the full skirt. The neckline hung off her exquisite shoulders. The long sleeves clung to her arms, and the bodice hugged her torso. Her hair was free and flowing to her waist. William had never seen anything more beautiful in his whole life.

Jemma was behind her, dressed in royal blue brocade. She held two huge bouquets of dried spring flowers, smiling her pretty curvy smile in compliment to her cousin. It was as if time was standing still, for just a brief span, reveling in the moment that might never have come.

The earl broke the spell. He shoved the priest to the front of the room. “Come now, everyone, there is no time to lose.”

Jordan dashed to William, who reached out his hand and clasped her small one in it, reverently, taking just a fleeting instant to kiss her palm softly before tucking it into the crook of his arm. She smiled lovingly at him as they took their positions in front of the priest. Jemma stood to her left, handing her one of the bouquets of flowers.

“Where did you get these?” he asked. “Surely there are enough fresh flowers in the vicinity.”

“Aye, there are,” she said. “Ye dunna recognize these? I picked these on the road from Langton; the day of our very first kiss.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in remembrance of that day. “I suppose they are to remind me of the humility I suffered, and that you expect such blind obedience from me in the future?”

“Nay, English,” she said softly. “They are to remind me of the first time I realized I loved ye.”

He smiled, patting her hand on his arm as the earl shushed them again and the priest began to recite the marriage mass.

The knights circled around the couple; their armor reflecting the light of a hundred candles. Jordan didn’t notice until she turned to William to recite her vows that each knight had his sword drawn, laying across the breast plate from right hip to left shoulder. She was touched by the show of support and loyalty. William would tell her later that the gesture meant a pledge to the death; they would die for her as their lord’s wife. It was a needless gesture; all would have died for her the day they met her.