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It had been a strange experience when William and Paris saw each other for the first time, wearing armor of different crests. It was as if they had passed some sort of milestone and they were both saddened and gladdened at the same time.
Jordan sat with her husband and next to Jemma, enjoying herself immensely at such a happy occasion. Thomas and Matthew were equally pleased with the turn of events because they liked Paris and knew Nathaniel would have, too. It was a wonderful celebration of a way of life that had come full circle, melded, grown. Privately, the elder Scotts never believed they would see the day when they would sit in harmony with so many English.
After stuffing themselves with the numerous courses that had been stylishly presented, the musicians finally kicked in with a jig, signaling the beginning of the dancing. Jordan sat in her chair, as stuffed as a capon, watching people as they took to the floor. Her husband was laughing with Paris about something and she watched him, his strong profile and the way the candlelight caught the highlights in his hair.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had never, ever danced with him. He’d always been too busy, or gone, or had every other excuse. Tonight, she would have her dance.
She sat forward and leaned on his back. “Dance with me, English.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, “Now?”
She stood up and thrust out her hand to him. “Now.”
He stood up, looking warily at her. “Jordan, I do not dance nearly as well as you do. Why do not you ask someone else?”
She stepped close to him, her shining eyes on his face. “We never had a wedding dance, English. In fact, we have never danced at all. Will ye still refuse now?”
He gazed down at her. “Of course not,” his voice was husky. “But I do not want to hear any cries of pain when I land on your feet.”
He didn’t land on her feet. He was a wonderful dancer, as she knew he would be, and they danced song after song until they were sweating rivers. Paris and Caladora were the only couple who could keep up with them. But after an hour or so of endless dancing, the knights began to cut in and William soon found himself watching from the table as his wife danced with every knight in attendance, at least twice. With Deinwald, it was four times, and all of this before midnight.
Jordan and her cousins were nonstop well into the early morning hours. William knew she loved parties and was careful to watch her wine intake. When she had imbibed four cups of wine, he insisted on flavored water from that point on. She complied, reluctantly, already feeling the alcohol in her veins when she told him he was a stick in the mud. He smiled and kissed her before Michael gallantly swung her away again.
William sat with Thomas and Matthew, their conversation very pleasant as they watched the merriment. Jemma came over and yanked her father to the dance floor while her weary husband took the man’s vacated seat. William laughed at Kieran, flushed and sweaty, knowing how he felt.
Paris and Caladora retired to their chambers shortly before dawn to a host of whistles and cries and promises that the guests would insist on inspecting the linen. Horrified, Caladora looked at her new husband, who simply smiled and told her through clenched teeth that everything would be fine. She trusted his word.
The dancing resumed and William was once again engaged with Thomas and Kieran. He didn’t know how long it was before he realized his wife was not on the dance floor. Puzzled, he glanced about the room.
“Kieran, where is your wife?” he asked.
Kieran looked about the hall and shook his head. “I do not know. Where is yours?”
William stood up. “I have no idea.”
Thomas noticed the concern he saw in both men, even over a matter as small as this. It was a constant amazement to him that two small, sometimes flighty women could exert such control over two huge, powerful men.
“Let’s go find them,” William said with a sigh. “They are probably harassing the hell out of Paris and Caladora.”
“Aye,” Kieran agreed. “Your wife has one hell of a mischievous streak in her.”
William frowned at him as they walked away. “As if your wife does not?”
Thomas grinned, turning his attention back to the party in front of him and savoring the good French wine.
But Jordan and Jemma were not harassing the newlyweds. A search of both couples’ apartments turned up nothing. Perplexed, William and Kieran checked the hall again but the women were nowhere to be found. Yet they were not worried, at least not yet. If a search of the entire castle didn’t turn them up, then they would find the time to worry.
A search of the castle, however, proved to be unnecessary. They were passing down a corridor just outside of the hall when they heard familiar giggles. More relieved than they would admit, they followed the sounds until they came to a closed door from which the noises emanated.
The men paused a moment, listening to the giggling with amused curiosity. Whatever they were laughing at was certainly funny and the men hesitated a moment to break up the party, after all, ’twas only two women laughing about…something. They were probably laughing about Paris and Caladora, mayhap something to do with sabotaging the bridal suite. William motioned Kieran to follow him back into the hall when they heard another, deeper sound; a male giggle chiming in with the others.
The door shattered in a million splinters within a second.
Jordan sat, wide-eyed, on the top of the earl’s desk. Jemma was standing in the middle of the room, her hair hanging wildly over her face as if she had just righted herself from an upside-down position. Both women were staring at the two huge, huffing men standing in the doorjamb, looking at them as if they were quite mad.
Adam de Longley, Earl of Teviot, was sitting in a chair behind the massive desk that had belonged to his father, the bottle of alcohol in his hand frozen on the way to his mouth. He, too, stared in surprise at the men in the doorway.
“You broke my door!” he exclaimed.
