The Wolfe Read Online Free PDF

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 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 await 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 Scott, her
brunette hair in unbound curls down her back.  She came bearing a wrap of
sorts, 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