Page 7
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to ease its ache. A fine mess the king had handed him. As he was contemplating his cloudy future, there was a knock on his heavy oak door.
“Come,” he bade.
The door opened, spilling forth a figure dressed entirely in black leather and gleaming armor. The room immediately filled with the heady scent of power – complete and utter power.
The knight was exceedingly tall and muscular, and moved with the grace of a stalking cat. Thigh-high boots echoed loudly against the stone floor as he approached, fairly shaking the room. De Longley had long ago ceased to react to the presence of his captain, although lesser men had actually fainted from the sight of him. There was not a man in England or Scotland who could not feel the presence of The Wolf when he entered a room.
The knight stopped next to his liege’s chair, waiting silently like a huge and imposing sentinel. At well over six feet and dark as the devil, he stood like stone, larger than life and by far more terrifying. It was a few moments, however, before the earl glanced up at him.
“Ah,” de Longley mumbled. “You have come.”
“My lord,” the man greeted in a deep, husky voice, like the voice of the devil.
“Sit, William, sit,” de Longley said and pointed to the adjacent chair.
Sir William de Wolfe sat opposite his master, his hazel-gold eyes focused intently on the man. He had served the earl for twenty years and was concerned to see him so distressed. As captain of the earl’s eleven-hundred man force, it was his job to serve his master in every possible way. He could see now that the earl had an important reason for summoning him by the expression of his face.
“William, our magnificent King Henry has burdened me with an awesome responsibility,” de Longley said with muted sarcasm. “It seems that at my age I am to be a bridegroom.”
“A bridegroom, my lord?” William repeated with surprise.
“Indeed,” the earl continued, acknowledging his captain’s astonishment. “What’s more, ’tis a Scot bride I am to take, a peace offering from those barbarians for an absence of hostility along the border.”
William let out a low whistle and Lord de Longley chuckled. “My feelings exactly, lad,” he said. “Therefore, it will be your duty to retrieve this woman from her home and return her to me. It will furthermore be your duty to protect this woman from any and all harm. ’Twould not be a good thing to have an accident befall her, as I would not only have the Scots breaking down my door, but Henry breathing down my neck as well.”
William nodded solemnly, belying the disbelief he felt. A Scot bride here at Northwood? Lord, the men would be at her like termites on wood, he thought grimly. She would be lucky if she survived the week. The hatred and animosity ran long and deep.
De Longley broke in to his thoughts. “On the morrow, you will take as many men as you deem necessary and proceed to Langton Castle, a little less than a day’s hard ride into Scotland near the Bog Forest,” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. When William didn’t reply, he eyed his silent captain. “William, I need not stress how important this mission is.”
William was as concerned as his lord over this crisis, but he offered the expected answer. “I will protect this woman with my life, my lord.”
“See that you do,” the earl said, knowing it was an unnecessary statement. He paused, studying William’s preoccupied face inquisitively. “You are lost to me, lad. What are you thinking?”
William’s features were steady for a moment before washing with an oddly gentle expression, entirely out of character for him. His mouth worked for a moment, as if searching for the words to explain. After a frustrated attempt, he cleared his throat and tried again.
“My lord, do you remember when I was wounded a year past; the wound that nearly claimed me?” When the earl nodded, he continued with some hesitation. “I had crawled away from the battlefield into a group of trees to await death when a Scot lass came upon me. I expected her to disembowel me, but she did not. Instead, she tended my wound and saved my life.”
De Longley listened intently. “I asked you who sewed your wound, William, and you simply told me an angel,” he said, remembering the day his captain had returned from the dead. It had been a dark day when William had not returned with the army and they were convinced he was lost until a search party located him days later. “So it was a Scottish lass that saved you?”
“Aye,” William replied softly. “Strange; I have been fighting the Scots for most of my life and viewed them all as barbaric vermin. I have seen too many good men cut down by these primitive dogs. But this woman… she was not like that at all. She was so… different.”
“So my William grows soft on Scottish lasses?” Lord de Longley teased gently.
“Not at all, my lord,” William grinned with embarrassment, looking down at his gauntleted hands.
The earl was very amused at this show of emotion from serious William. The man was pure perfection – no weaknesses, no faults, and little emotion. The earl had known him for twenty years and had never seen this side to him. He swore the man was actually blushing. He could not resist the opportunity to spur him.
“Was she beautiful, this lass?” he asked, drinking from his pewter cup.
William fixed the earl with a look that amazed him, an expression of tremendous sincerity and depth. It was unusual for the emotionless man.
“My lord, no one is greater an admirer of English women than I,” he said, “but in all honesty I have never seen an Englishwoman that could compare in beauty to this Scot. When I said she was an angel, I meant it literally.”
“Truly?” the earl raised his eyebrows. “William, this is not at all like you to expose your fondness for a woman. Pity, I shall never meet this lass who has branded you.”
William smiled wryly. He had not thought of the fair Jordan in a long time. The months following his wound she had permeated his mind like a soft wind, gentle, yet unmistakable. For the sake of his promise to her, he truly wished to return to Scotland someday on a peaceable mission to reward her for her kindness.
He had convinced himself that the only feelings he held for her were those of thanks and appreciation, and nothing more. Yet every time he thought of that beautiful face, he felt a tug at his gut like none he had ever known. Every time he smelled lavender he was catapulted back to the damp spot on the dark Scot earth while Jordan’s delicate hands ministered to him.
