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Thomas could not lose control of the situation now; he was struggling not to feel pity for her. He had to let her know that there was no room for discussion.

“What I have done to seal a peace is certainly nothing new in the trials of history, Jordan,” he said. “Yer new husband, I am sure, is just as distraught over this arrangement as ye are. If ye will show him a quiet and obedient wife, then I am sure that he will treat ye accordingly. The messenger has already been sent on his way with a reply to King Henry, and I am sure we will hear from the man within the month. Ye had better prepare yerself.”

It was done. Jordan hung her head miserably and Thomas swore that his heart would break if he had to look at her another minute. But he was not beyond showing compassion for what he had done to her. Moving to his daughter, he gently touched her honey-blond head.

“Jordi-girl, I love you more than anything in this world,” he said softly, feeling her pain along with his own. “I dinna want to do this, but I must think of the entire clan’s future. Ye are our best hope for peace. Would ye rather that I had pledged Jemma or Caladora in yer stead?”

She sighed in defeat. “Of course not,” she murmured. “ ’Tis my duty as daughter of Laird Scott and I wunna let ye delegate the duty to anyone else simply because I am a-feared to go. But what if my new husband is a horrible man and locks me in the tower to rot? What if he beats me or sends me to whore? What if he doesna honor the treaty at all?”

Thomas stroked her hair. “We will have to trust the English, Jordan. I know it is difficult, but we must show faith.”

She shook her head slowly. “You ask much,” she said. “After all of the pain the English have caused, ye ask a great deal.”

Thomas sighed faintly. “That’s why I am making the greatest sacrifice of all,” he whispered. “I am sending my own flesh into the enemy camp as a show of good faith and I expect the same from them.”

She watched her father’s expression and began to forget her own fear and anger. At that moment, she started down the path to understanding the extent of her father’s love for her.

Jordan had been selfish, of course, for she had only thought of her own feelings as if she were the only one who had any. Thomas was hurting, too. He’d had to make the most difficult decision of his life and she was making it far more difficult by arguing with him. If there had been another way, she knew he would have done it. As much as she loathed the idea of marrying an English lord, she would if her father wanted her to.

“Oh, Dada,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I am afraid. I am so afraid. To live out my life with people who hate the very sight of me is a horrible sentence to bear.”

Thomas’ insides were aching for her. “I know, my sweet lass,” he muttered. “It is killing me to know that. But….there was nothing else I could have done. I can only hope that someday ye will find it in yer heart to forgive me.”

Her head came up. “For what? For doing as ye must?” she asked. “There is nothing to forgive. I can only hope now that the English king selects a suitable husband for me. At least someone I could grow to tolerate over the years.”

Her father cracked a smile. “And someone who can tolerate yer endless singing and fondness for clothes.”

She smiled back in feigned outrage. “My singing is not endless and there is nothing wrong with liking pretty things.”

He gave her a wry smirk. “You have a coat for every day of the year.”

The mood was lightening as he teased her and Jordan rose to the taunt. “Mayhap if I make my new husband go broke, he will send me home,” she teased lightly, watching him roll his eyes in agreement. She watched his tired face, glad to see he was smiling somewhat, as she sobered. “I wunna disappoint ye da. I shall be the very model of a Scot lady.”

Thomas smiled bravely and hugged her fiercely, drawing strength from her. “I know,” he said softly. There was nothing more he could say.

The time would be upon them before they knew it.

CHAPTER THREE

July, Year of our Lord 1232

Norham Castle (also known as Northwood Castle – the local name)

Ground Zero on the Scotland Border, England side

The messenger returned to the English court with the joyous news of peace from the Scottish border. The powerful feudal earl, Thomas Scott, had pledged his only daughter as an offering of peace to help calm the border wars. Henry was pleased.

Because the bride was offered for peace in the long and bloody border disputes, it stood to reason that the groom should also be a border lord. It was not a difficult selection, for the English lord Thomas Scott had the most animosity with was a widower named John de Longley, Earl of Teviot and brother to the current Bishop of Durham. Norham belonged to the bishopric of Durham and de Longley maintained the garrison with the best fighting force on the border. At fifty years old and with three grown children, de Longley was informed by royal missive of his chosen destiny.

At Northwood Fortress, high above the ramparts in his lavish bower, Lord de Longley sat in front of his hearth staring grimly into the flames. He could scarcely believe what the king had decided for him. A bride, at his age. And a Scot bride at that. Lord, he was too old for this nonsense. It was not enough that the border wars he had struggled with for years were finally calming, now the king wanted to throw a porcupine into their bed by saddling him with a she-devil.

John ran his hand through his thin, graying red hair; he was not a handsome man and he had absolutely no interest in anything about his Scottish bride. Yet, he would marry her, as was demanded of him, and he would be honor-bound to keep peace on the border. Providing, of course, that her father was honorable as well. Lord de Longley would not take the offensive, but he would defend what was his.

The earl took a healthy swig of his mulled wine, contemplating a future he was not looking forward to with particular glee. His two eldest children, Analiese and Alexander, had been furious at the directive. They did not want a stepmother, and particularly not a Scot invading their home. Adam, his youngest son and newly arrived home from his fostering at Beverley Castle, was more concerned with his upcoming knighting ceremony to care much about it. He had been gone from home since he was a young boy and was therefore not accustomed to the routine of things as his older siblings had become comfortable with. The Scot bride was of little interest to him; she was simply another stranger to become familiar with.

But the issue was complicated. John’s wife, the mother of his children, had been killed by a marauding band of Scots years ago, enough to ease the ache but not enough to quell the anger. He had to keep reminding himself that this girl had nothing to do with Helena’s death, hoping his offspring would take the same fact into consideration when dealing with the lass. But to say he was satisfied with the arrangement was a lie.

Lord de Longley wondered darkly what he was going to do with the wild young lass. Not only did he not want her at Northwood, but he would have to protect her from his men. They had all lost friends and relatives in the border wars, and this bride would be a living symbol of all they had lost. She would only bring trouble to his home.