The Wolfe Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 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 Scots 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 of 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.
    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