Page 5

There was a knock at the solar door. A soldier in the green and red Scott tartan entered and bowed deeply.

“Ladies, Laird Scott requests Lady Jordan’s presence in his hall immediately,” he said.

Jordan secured the loom sticks and brushed her hands against her brown brocade surcoat. “Mayhap me Da wishes me to chase off the English messenger,” she muttered.

Caladora and Jemma giggled at their cousin’s jest and returned to their sewing when the door slammed shut.

Jordan found her father alone in the cavernous great hall of Langton Castle that smelled of smoke and rushes. Generations of Scotts had walked these floors, had spoken within these walls, and it reeked of family and war and the passion that was in every Scotsman. Thomas sat in his large oak chair, his graying brow furrowed. He watched his beautiful daughter sweep gracefully into the room, her surcoat swirling and her long hair flowing.

His heart was breaking. For the sake of his clan, his family and peasants alike, he was being forced into a precarious position and Jordan was to become the sacrificial lamb. He dreaded telling her that her future was to be irrevocably changed. His stomach was twisting in knots of anxiety so much that he wished he could die rather than have to tell her what was to come.

His sweet Jordan Mary Joseph, the only child he and his beloved Elinor had been blessed with. With Elinor gone, Jordan had been his life and his salvation, and now he would lose that, too. He wondered if his grief would kill him.

“Greetings, Da,” she kissed him.

Thomas forced a smile and grasped her hand. “Sit wi’ me, Jordan.” He moved to the side and allowed her a corner of the huge chair. “Give the old man a hug.”

He put his arms about his daughter and held her tightly for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Jordan could sense something in his manner and she was puzzled. He was usually loud and supremely confident, but not today. He seemed pensive and subdued. She didn’t like it.

“What’s amiss?” she asked.

Thomas looked at her, memorizing each feature. He knew he had to tell her before he lost his courage. He’d already put it off as long as he could and if he delayed further, he might never tell her at all. With every breath he took, his bravery was waning.

“Yesterday a messenger arrived from King Henry,” he began.

“I know, I saw him,” she replied.

“He brought a missive,” Thomas replied, trying to keep his manner calm and even. Jordan was sharp and would pick up on any apprehension. “Apparently the man is as weary as we are of the border wars and wishes to seal a peace.”

Jordan’s eyes darkened. “Dunna trust him,” she said. “He will strike when yer guard is down.”

“I think not,” her father said patiently. “We will both be sacrificing a great deal for this peace and neither would do anything to jeopardize it.”

His words didn’t make much sense but she knew she didn’t like them. She was suspicious and forced her father to look at her.

“What sacrifice?” she demanded. “What are the demons demanding from ye? Our land? Money? What then?”

Thomas was riveted to her green eyes, intensely so. He dreaded bringing forth the words but he had to. “Ye,” he finally murmured. “ ’Tis ye he is demanding, lass.”

Jordan stared at him as the news set in. Then her eyes widened enormously until they threatened to pop from their sockets. Thomas tried to anticipate her reaction, wanting so badly to beg forgiveness and plead understanding.

He could not bear it if she hated him forever. He wanted to explain everything to her, to make her understand that he made the best decision he felt he could. He prayed she would grasp his battle-weary reasons. He was so very tired of fighting and dying for a bloody bit of land.

“What?” she gasped, then louder. “He what?”

Steady, man, Thomas told himself. Be strong. “I promised ye in marriage to a noble of the king’s choosing to cement a peace alliance,” he said evenly. “This will be a great honor for ye, Jordan. You will be the instrument of peace for our clan and for the generations yet to come. Do ye not understand that, lass?”

“Nay.” She shot up from the chair. “I dunna want to marry an Englishman. They are our enemy, men who have killed our kin and our friends. How can ye ask me this?”

Thomas remained strong in the face of her frightened and furious barrage. “I am not asking ye, I am telling ye, and ye will do as I say,” he said, somewhat coldly. “Jordan, I am Laird of Clan Scott. Ye are my only daughter. ’Tis yer duty to do what is asked of ye, whether or not it is agreeable. Do you think that if I had any other options that I wunna take them? I am not doing this to punish ye, lass. I have no choice.”

Jordan just stared at him. Then, she had to sit down or fall down. From fury to despondency, her manner swiftly changed as realization settled deep. It was sickening as well as terrifying. All of the dreams and hopes she had ever held for her future had been dashed in a series of brief, brutal statements. She was reeling.

“Do ye realize what ye are asking of me?” she finally whispered. “Ye are asking me to bed with our enemy, to bear his children, to be loyal to his house and hold. That is not a punishment, Da; it is a death sentence.”

He approached her. “It will be what ye make of it.”

She glared at him. “It will be what my husband makes of it.”