The Wolfe by Kathryn Le Veque Read Free Book Online Page B

him. “I know. ‘Tis why
I am here.”
    He found himself studying her face,
ingraining her features into his brain for future reference when he needed
something pleasant to think on. He hoped he had not offended her by his last
remark.
    “You seem to know a bit about
knights, my lady,” he commented.
    She smiled shyly and looked away. “Just
what my Da tells me. He used to be a good soldier when he was younger. Now he
is content to command from afar.” She suddenly became distant. “He keeps his
armor, his mail and plates, everything, hung in a closet. His manservant still
polishes it regularly, as if someday he will be called into service again. But
it just sits, alongside his mighty sword.”
    His brow furrowed slightly. “I was
under the impression that your father was an active commander in battles.”
    “He is active, but he doesna lead
his men as he should,” she said. “He lets Uncle Nathaniel and Uncle Matthew do
that. He commands the entire battle from the rear.”
    William had fought the man many
times and hadn’t known that. “Why?” he found himself asking.
    “‘Twas a promise he made to my
mother on her deathbed.” She looked at him, her eyes soft. “He promised her he
would never again lead an army into battle so I would have less of a chance of
becoming an orphan. I was their only child, ye see. It nearly killed my Da to
make that promise, but he did to please my mother. My uncles said he was the
best swordsman they had ever seen.”
    William didn’t reply, puzzled and
strangely touched by the story Jordan seemed distant a moment longer before
suddenly smiling, as if forcing herself from the subject.
    “I am glad ye did not acknowledge ye
knew me in front of my kin,” she said. “My Da would have become suspicious and
run me through for sure.”
    “For what?” he demanded.
    “For consorting with the enemy.” she
insisted. “If my Da even suspected that I had ever tended an English wounded,
then he would brand me traitor and kill me.”
    William pulled his gauntlets on. “Nay,
he would not have,” he said. “I have pledged my life to protect you, Lady
Jordan, be it at Langton or at Northwood. Your father would not have laid a
hand on you.”
    The chivalrous declaration flattered
her. When he extended a gloved hand to her, she accepted and he pulled her
effortlessly to her feet. Their eyes locked and Jordan felt volcanic emotions
swirling between them. The feelings were so intense that her arms tingled
painfully in response and she had no idea what she was feeling or why her whole
body ached when he had simply touched her hand. It was disarming but not at all
unpleasant, and she wondered if he had felt it, too.
    She was embarrassed for feeling that
way from the touch of an English knight. She should be insulting him, cursing
him at the very least for being her enemy, but instead she was letting him
touch her… and she was liking it. What an unworthy Scot she was.
    Once again, she mounted the gigantic
horse and tried to get comfortable with her sore bottom. William bellowed for
his squire and began dropping pieces of armor faster than the boy could pick
them up. Jordan watched him curiously. When he was finished, he was armorless
from the waist up, wearing only a padded linen tunic.
    He glanced up at her, rolling up the
sleeves. She detected no warmth, no friendliness in his gaze and wondered what
she had done that had made his behavior change so abruptly since leaving the
stream. He seemed cold and distant again, as he had back at Langton.
    He mounted the horse behind her and
she closed her eyes for a brief moment at the sensual shock of being pulled up
against his massive chest. Without the armor, he was infinitely more
comfortable but to have him so intimately close flustered her. She should
demand that he put his armor back on, but she just could not seem to form the
words.
    “I thought you might be more
comfortable without all of that armor crowding you,” he said quietly into