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“Take me or I will follow ye,” she threatened coolly. “Ye know that I will. I can do it.”
Jordan hadn’t thought of that. Jemma was indeed quite capable of tracking her back to Northwood. She turned back to her cousin, scowling.
“I forbid ye, Jemma Scott,” she said staunchly. “If ye so much as….”
Her demands were cut off by a loud rapping at the door, followed by the door swinging open and crashing in against the wall. The girls startled at the noise, only to see Jemma’s brothers, Donald and Cord, standing in the archway. Both young men were quite breathless with excitement.
“Uncle Thomas wants ye in the bailey now, Jordan,” Cord demanded.
After a split second of terror-filled hesitation, Jordan forced herself to gather her wits and complied. There was no longer any time for anxiety-filled thoughts or for wild wonderment. The time was upon her and she obeyed.
Without a hind glance, she gathered her skirts and disappeared through the open archway. The two young men followed her, slamming the door loudly in their wake.
Jemma and Caladora were left staring wide-eyed at the closed door, agog at the rapid chain of events. Jordan had been here, only a moment ago, and now she was gone. Like a frightened doe, Caladora turned to her cousin as if Jemma could do something, anything at all, to ease their minds and make the situation all right.
“Will we ever see her again?” Caladora whispered fearfully.
Jemma’s amber eyes flashed. “Aye,” she said confidently. “That I will.”
Caladora was not as naive or as ignorant as Jemma and Jordan gave her credit for. Her anxiety for Jordan was now compounded by Jemma’s shielded thoughts, thoughts Caladora knew instinctively were not good. She grasped Jemma’s arm.
“What are ye planning, ye little devil?” she asked. “Jordan told ye to stay put.”
Jemma looked surprised that Caladora knew exactly what she was thinking, but recovered quickly.
“I know what she said,” she snapped, turning for the door. “Mind yer own business, Caladora Scott, or I shall tell Gray Kinkaid that ye have a heart for him.”
Caladora’s jaw dropped. “Ye wouldna dare. And where are ye going?”
Jemma opened the door. “To watch Jordan’s departure from a better place.”
The door slammed. Caladora knew she was lying through her teeth.
*
Jordan had been standing on the great stones steps of Langton’s keep for some time, watching as the castle prepared itself for the necessary intruders. Her father and Uncle Matthew, Jemma’s father, were at the gates while her Uncle Nathaniel, Caladora’s father, settled the men-at-arms and bellowed at the servants to vacate. She was absolutely sick with fear, so terrified that the English soldiers would do terrible things to her once she left the safety of Langton.
The horn from the sentries sounded again and she startled, her heart pounding in her ears. The envoys from the army were at the gate, and laboriously, the massive wood slabs began to swing open. Her breathing quickened and her palms began to sweat. She was so caught up in the opening gates that she failed to notice her aunts and male relatives taking up positions around her like a protective ring.
The chaos of the bailey was rapidly dissipating as servants and peasants vanished into safe hiding and cubbies from which to watch the exchange. Most had never seen the English this close before and it was as if demons from hell were entering their sanctuary; in their minds, there was little difference between the two.
Uncle Nathaniel whooped and Jordan’s wagons were brought forth out into the open. She paid little heed, for her attention was entirely focused on the gates that were now almost completely open. Two rows of honor guard had taken position on either side of the gate, effectively creating a gauntlet that led directly to her.
Jordan prayed at that moment that she would not do anything to embarrass herself or her kin. She knew that if she opened her mouth she would vomit or if she closed her eyes she would faint, so she simply stood frozen like stone and prayed to God to give her strength to face what she must. The anticipation of actually seeing English soldiers within the confines of Langton was overpowering. A strange tingling filled her limbs.
A silence settled over the crowd as three English knights rode beneath the gatehouse and into the outer bailey. All three were perfectly attired, huge and ethereal, and the hostility in the air of the compound was tangible. The massive destriers that they rode danced and snorted their way into enemy territory, and Jordan wondered if indeed the horses could sense the hate around them. There was no way to miss it.
As the knights approached, Jordan found herself oddly entranced with them. Their gleaming armor was flawless and she could see the well-kept chain mail covering them from head to toe beneath the plate armor. They rode their animals as if they were a physical part of them, not even moving so much as an inch as the nervous destriers bucked and kicked. They wore intimidating helmets with the faceplates down, and she found that she was disturbed by the fact that she could not see their faces. She wondered if they were even real men; they looked to be statues.
She also noticed the spurs. She had heard that true English knights wear spurs of pure gold, a symbol of their rank. All three men wore smooth, shining gold spurs.
Jordan’s father and uncles stood several feet away from her at the bottom of the great stone steps. The three knights stopped a good distance from them and dismounted in perfect synchronization. One knight, the man riding in the middle, handed his reins to one of the others and deliberately approached the awaiting Scots.
“Who is Laird Thomas Scott?” The knight’s voice was husky, rich, and deep.
“I am,” Thomas replied. “Who are ye?”
“Sir William de Wolfe, Captain of Northwood Castle,” the man replied. “I have come on behalf of John de Longley, Earl of Teviot, to retrieve his bride, by order of our illustrious King Henry. Will you surrender her peacefully?”
