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As time passed and the border wars continued on, he knew the impossibility of seeing her again and reluctantly pushed her from his mind. But he would find her someday to thank her; he felt strongly that his honor was at stake. But her smile, the last gesture she gave him, stayed with him.

He forced himself to push her aside again; it was getting a little easier with time to forget about her.

“If that is all, my lord, then I shall go and inform my officers,” he stood on his long, long legs. “We have preparations to make.”

“Aye, prepare them.” The humor was gone from the earl. “And, William, I want only the officers carrying daggers; none of the men-at-arms. Swords and spears only.”

William eyed him disapprovingly. “My lord is sending us into enemy territory,” he pointed out. “Why would you insist…?”

The earl put up a curt hand. “No daggers,” he repeated. “It will be much more difficult for one of the men to kill the lass with a sword or a spear than it would be with a dagger. I want only the officers to carry daggers. Am I understood?”

“Completely, my lord,” William answered formally.

He left the chamber without another word. Out in the dim and cold corridor, he paused a moment to collect himself. A Scot bride. Damn the king for bringing this element into Northwood. Life was hard enough this far from London without having the fear of the enemy from within.

He knew how the men were going to react and he did not blame them. But he was not God; he could not be everywhere at once, watching everyone to make sure they were not contemplating murder. But he could be with one person all the time; the woman. He would have to be with her every hour of the day and night until he felt the threat had passed, if indeed it ever did.

If she were the vile sort, then he might just take a dagger to her himself. He fervently hoped that it would not come to that.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jordan had not slept the entire night. Well before dawn she had carefully dressed in a green woolen surcoat with a square neckline that displayed her torso and round breasts very nicely. The front of her hair was pulled off her face and secured with a strip of ribbon, allowing the rest of her hair to flow in soft silken curls to her waist.

She looked extraordinarily beautiful, but felt like a lamb to the slaughter. No amount of mental encouragement could bring about the bravery she so desperately sought. She spent weeks working up to this moment, frightened to her very bones, afraid of the unknown horrors awaiting her. Ever since she had been a child, she had been taught that the clans south of the border were her enemy. Now she was to live in the heart of them.

Down in the bailey of Langton stood three large wagons laden with goods for her dowry. Bolts of Scottish wool, barrels of whisky and finely milled soaps sat alongside her personal possessions. Everything in the world of any value to Jordan was loaded into the carts which now waited in the damp early dawn for transport to Northwood Fortress. They were a silent testament to the future that awaited her, silently taunting her that there was no turning back.

The sun rose steadily, no matter how Jordan prayed that it would never rise again, and the day promised to be bright and beautiful. Outside on the castle grounds, the village was coming alive, preparing for the important day ahead. She could hear shouts and voices and squeaking wheels as the courtyard rose to a steady hum of activity. Jordan gazed out over the scene, a lump in her throat as she realized this would be the last time she would ever hear those comforting, familiar sounds.

Behind her the chamber door opened, and Caladora and Jemma entered. While Caladora sat quietly, Jemma moved for Jordan. The dark little lass was dressed in the red and green of Clan Scott, her brunette hair in unbound curls down her back. She came in bearing a wrap of sorts. It was a shawl intended for her cousin to wear when the English came to retrieve her. But with that wrap came a small, bejeweled dagger. She silently exposed it to her cousin so the woman would get the message. Jemma wasn’t about to send Jordan off without some measure of personal protection.

Jordan eyed the weapon without enthusiasm. “This isna a war, Jemma,” she said, her voice sounding oddly weak. “ ’Tis to be a wedding.”

Jemma’s jaw set hard. “ ’Tis always a war with the English, Jordi, and well ye know it.”

Jordan’s eyes strayed to the open window, envisioning the scene below. “It will be what I make of it,” she said, echoing her father’s words. “If I fight them, they will fight me. I canna live the rest of my life fighting my husband like a she-cat.”

“But ye canna give in to them,” Jemma insisted. “One good thrust to yer husband on the wedding night and there will be no husband at ’tall.”

“I willna do it,” Jordan returned forcefully. “But there be other ways to win a war, Jemma, not just the physical ones. Yer cousin will make ye proud, have no doubt. I shall show them what Scot pride is.”

Caladora was far removed from the conversation, sitting on a small stool nervously. Jemma eyed her younger cousin for a moment before moving closer to Jordan.

“Take me with ye, Jordan,” she whispered. “Caladora would be so much baggage to ye, but I would make a fine lady. Take me.”

Jordan shook her head vehemently. “I shall not place ye in any danger. Caladora needs ye here. What would she do if we were both to leave her?”

Jemma cocked a dark brow irritably. “Probably wither away,” she said dryly. “Jordi, she will have my mother and Aunt Anne. You will have no one.”

“Untrue. I am taking Maggie and Elspeth with me,” Jordan replied.

“Pah.” Jemma spat. “Maids. Servants. Ye might as well be taking two trained dogs for all of the good those two will do ye. Ye need me.”

Jemma was stubborn. Jordan was more stubborn. She stared her cousin down firmly.

“Nay, Jemma, I shall not be taking ye,” she repeated.

Jordan turned away from her cousin, a gesture that infuriated Jemma. Her bright amber eyes narrowed as she followed her cousin back to the window.