The Wolfe Read Free Page A

was indeed the
most handsome man she had ever seen, even if he was English. But she had the
most horrible lurking feeling that he was indeed who she feared he was. It made
her want to run.
    “Luck be with ye,” she said as she
abruptly turned and trudged back up the hill.
    William watched the figure in the
billowing cloak, his pain-clouded mind lingering on the silken hair and
beautiful face. He had never seen such a fine woman. Angel was certainly an apt
term. If she were to be the last person he saw on earth then he would die a
contented man.
    He suspected that she did not
believe his evasive answer but, thankfully, had made no more mention of it. The
thought that she feared and hated him brought a curious tightness in his
stomach that he quickly attributed to his helpless state. He did not want to
admit that it might be regret.
    He was growing weaker with each
breath. His strength was waning as he leaned back against the tree, wondering if
he would again see the light of morning. He closed his eyes for he could not
keep them open, and without realizing it, his mind drifted into unconsciousness,
safe and warm and dark.
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    April, Year of our Lord
1232
    Langton Castle, 17.7km
northwest of the English border
     
     
    “What a lovely day,” Caladora
exclaimed softly. “This is the first day the sun has dared show itself in
months.”
    Jordan eyed her cousin from behind
her tapestry loom. “Bright the day, I shall give ye, but there is still a chill
in my bones.”
    “Yer always cold, Jordan.” The
comment came from another cousin, Jemma.  The brunette-haired lass stabbed at a
pretty piece of embroidery. “Yer hands are like ice even on the warmest days.”
    “Always,” Jordan concurred
regretfully.
    Caladora Scott, daughter of
Nathaniel and Anne Scott, sat back to her needlework. Tall and lovely in a
fragile way, she had the luxurious red hair with highlights of gold, a color
enhanced on her older brothers Robert and Benjamin.
    Jemma Scott, on the other hand, was
as short and dark as Caladora was tall and fair, but she well-proportioned and
busty. She was a very pretty girl and a possessed the true fire of a Scot; with
three older brothers, she had learned to take care of herself. Her father
Matthew was forever chiding his daughter on the true qualities of a lady, lest he
never marry her off, but her mother Lilith had given up lecturing Jemma a long
time ago.
    Jemma would marry in due time, her
mother knew, but her husband would have to possess the patience of Job and the
strength of Samson to handle her. She had been betrothed shortly after birth to
a young lad from the McKean clan; however, the lad had died at five years of
age and Matthew was reluctant to promise her again due to her wild nature.  No
man wanted to tame the wild horse.
    “Isn’t it wonderful that the English
have finally come to their senses and have given us a few months of peace?”
Caladora sighed, distracting the others from their wandering thoughts.
    Jordan shrugged, biting at her lip
in concentration. “We shall see how long it lasts. I dunna trust the English.”
    “And what of the messenger that arrived
yesterday?” Jemma wanted to know. “My father said he came from the English king
himself.”
    Jordan scowled. “Pah. He was
probably sent here to demand our unconditional surrender.”
    “Jordi, ye are a cynical soul,”
Caladora said.
    “‘Tis my right to be cynical,” Jordan
replied. “I have seen war and death by the English for nigh twenty years now. I
canna trust them.”
    There was a knock at the solar door.
A soldier in the green and red Scott tartan entered and bowed deeply.
    “Ladies, Laird Scott requests Lady
Jordan’s presence in his hall immediately,” he said.
    Jordan secured the loom sticks and
brushed her hands against her brown brocade surcoat. “Mayhap me Da wishes me to
chase off the English messenger,” she muttered.
    Caladora and Jemma giggled at