The Wolfe by Kathryn Le Veque

the same
comfortable manner, nearly unaware of it and completely relishing the feel of
her.
    Content, they fell asleep together
in the cold stillness of the night.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    The army was disassembled and moving
before dawn. Hot breath hung in the air from man and beast alike, mingling with
the blanket of fog that had settled over the land. The smell of wet foliage was
heavy in Jordan’s nostrils, and she had spent a good deal of the morning sneezing
off the effects.
    Jordan was dressed in a heavy linen surcoat
with the thick matching cloak, yet she was still freezing. Ever since William had
left their bed to tend to his duties she had been freezing. Mornings like this
were soaking wet and she kept her hood on to keep the wet off her face. It
seemed a gloomy, depressing day.
    She was standing with Paris and Marc
and her maids by the wagons, waiting patiently for William to retrieve her. The
caravan was preparing to move and she became concerned that he had not yet come
for her, yet neither Paris nor the other knight seemed to pay much attention to
her. They were staring off down the road, as if they could see something she
could not.
    Shortly, William’s squire rode up to
Paris and, after a brief conversation, dashed off again.
    Paris turned to Jordan. “My lady
will ride with me this morn.”
    Without a word, Jordan mounted his
big roan and the two of them rode towards the front of the column. She wondered
if William was angry with her after her outburst last night and had chosen
Paris to bear her burden. She was angry at herself for being hurt by his
actions, as if they had formed any sort of relationship whatsoever.
    There were times, however, when she
caught something so intense in his eyes that it left her breathless. As
beautiful as she was, she’d had no experience with men whatsoever because her
father kept them well away from her. She knew nothing about them, their
thoughts, or their ways. But she knew without a doubt that Sir William could
not possibly be interested in her personally and was simply showing her
kindness.  She was to be his liege’s wife, and that was that.
    Jordan and Paris rode at the head of
the army for nearly an hour. William and most of the other knights were nowhere
to be seen and she fought off the desire to ask Paris where they all were. She
was somber, pouting and not even realizing it. Paris knew, however. He could
feel it in the rigid way she was riding.
    Suddenly, they heard a host of
pounding hooves riding up behind them and Jordan had to hold on for dear life
while Paris’ destrier did a wild, excited dance. There was some shouting going
on but she could not make out a word of it.
    William appeared beside them,
dressed in full battle armor. He threw up the visor on his helmet and looked
directly at Paris as if Jordan didn’t even exist.
    “Give her to Jason,” he ordered. “I
need you with me.”
    Jordan was immediately and unceremoniously
passed over to the strong young knight. She was a little concerned to notice
that all of the knights were in full armor, shield slung over their left knees
for quick access. She had been around enough battles to sense the tension in
the air. She knew something was very wrong.
    Even with the tension in the air, it
was William who held her attention. To actually see The Wolf in action was
something few Scots had lived to see and tell about. The pure power and command
presence radiating from the man was awe-inspiring, even to a woman. Without
seeing him swing a sword, she could see that there was basis for every rumor
she had ever heard about him.
    Paris slapped on his helmet and
quickly latched it to the lip extending from his breast plate. Behind them, the
other knights began screaming orders and she could see the column begin to
dissolve and head for the surrounding wooded areas.
    Her infatuation with William
dissolved as fear shot through her. Sweet Jesu’ , she had been so caught
up with the captain that she