Page 37 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

A ll of the women were in the chamber.

As well as one very big, very black dog snoring on the bed.

Seated on a comfortable chair next to the hearth in the chamber of Lady Cambria de Royans, the dowager Countess of Warenton, Jordan de Wolfe, was trying hard not to pay heed to the farting, snoring dog, but it was impossible not to.

He was on his back, his legs in the air, a very big set of hairy testicles on full display as women stood in front of an enormous wardrobe and discussed the best garments for the weather in the north.

It was all Jordan could do not to roll her eyes at the ridiculous dog.

Cambria had admitted the animal because he belonged to her betrothed, and she evidently had a fondness for dogs because, as Jordan had learned, she raised puppies of the same type of dog.

She had a love for animals, which was commendable and sweet, but Jordan didn’t think the dirty dog had any place in a young lady’s room.

Cambria didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

She was too busy enjoying her new friends.

Jordan had traveled all the way from Castle Questing with Caria and Avrielle, who were in front of the wardrobe with Cambria’s mother, a woman with the strange name of Fair Lydia, and Liam’s mother, Annaleigh.

Scott was at Folkingham representing his father, the late William de Wolfe, at the marriage of Liam Herringthorpe and Cambria de Royans, a betrothal that William had brokered.

And Jordan knew why.

She may have been old, but she wasn’t so old that she didn’t have all of her faculties.

She remembered everything, including the secret her husband had divulged to her about Cambria’s origins.

There were a few people in life that William had trusted as much as his wife, because she could keep a secret with the best of them.

She was a woman of honor.

Back when William had told her about the death of their son in Wales and the subsequent scheme to punish everyone from Edward to the Welsh who’d had a hand in his death, Jordan hadn’t cared much for his sense of vengeance.

As she had told him, it didn’t bring their son back, but William wouldn’t listen.

He was a man of action, and as a man of action, he felt that he had to do something.

He hadn’t been able to save their son, as much as he had tried, so in a sense, cheating Edward out of a royal captive was taking action in the only way he could.

In truth, Jordan hadn’t given much thought to the betrothal in the nineteen years since she’d been told about it.

For her, life went on, and for several years after the events in Wales, it had gone on without one of her sons.

Parents lost children all the time, but somehow, James’ death seemed to hit her and William harder than most. She mourned for her boy every day, with every breath she took, but she kept the pain to herself.

Not even William knew how much his death had affected her, and she wanted to keep it that way because he was dealing with grief of his own.

The years passed and the grief faded, but it never went away completely.

Then, when their son had returned from Wales—a different man, but he returned nonetheless—all she focused on was the son she had to get to know all over again.

The betrothal made it in vengeance over his death was a memory that had simply slipped away.

Until now.

Her eldest son, Scott, was now the Earl of Warrenton and had been for the past six years.

He was the keeper of not only his father’s title but his father’s secrets.

When they received the announcement that the marriage between Liam and Cambria was going to take place, Jordan had been surprised.

She thought that, perhaps, the whole thing had been dissolved at some point.

But evidently not. Within days, they’d found themselves bundled up and on the road south to Lincolnshire.

Now, she watched her daughter-in-law and her adopted daughter as they helped Cambria and her mother pack her trousseau.

The plan was for Cambria to travel north with her husband, where they would begin their life together.

There was no mention of vengeance or death, or of kings or the Welsh, and to Jordan it seemed as if Cambria were just a normal young lady excited for her wedding.

There was no hint that this betrothal had been started by a man grieving his son.

No hint that the betrothal had been started by a death.

And that was a good thing.

What was even more interesting was watching Cambria interact with Caria.

Jordan was probably the only person, other than Scott, that knew she was looking at two Welsh princesses.

Her husband had seemed to have a penchant for finding these young women who needed protection.

Caria had come to them as a newborn in need of being hidden from King Edward, and Cambria was much in the same situation.

They were even nearly the same age. But in appearance, they were quite different.

While Caria had bronze-brown hair and hazel eyes nearly the same color of her hair, Cambria had dramatically black hair and bright blue eyes.

She also had a dusting of freckles over her nose, which Jordan found utterly charming.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was also the heiress to the principality of Wales, and while Caria was not the heiress to the Kingdom of Anglesey, she was the niece of the hereditary king.

Jordan found herself watching two young women with more royal blood in them than perhaps anyone in the entire country.

But a casual observer would have never guessed.

They looked like ordinary, normal young women.

As she sat and reflected on that very thing, Cambria and Caria were getting along famously.

No sooner were they introduced than they began to feel comfortable with one another.

Now, they were inspecting a silk garment that had silver thread embroidered on it and a thick lining underneath, trying to determine if it would survive snow and cold weather.

Over at the other wardrobe, Avrielle and Fair Lydia had the wedding dress hung up, with Annaleigh looking at part of the hem on the bottom.

“Jordan?” she said, looking up from the material. “Will ye come and look at this? I see a tear in the silk that needs tae be fixed, I think.”

Since Annaleigh was Jordan’s cousin, they were on a first-name basis.

Wearily, Jordan stood up from the chair, leaning on a cane she used from time to time, and made her way over to the dress.

Annaleigh held up the end for all to see, and Jordan, as well as Avrielle and Fair Lydia, noted the small tear.

“I have red silk thread that can be used to repair that,” Fair Lydia said. “I swear that Bria has tried this dress on twice daily for the past month, ever since the seamstress finished with it. I am not surprised there is a bit of damage.”

“She is excited,” Avrielle said, smiling. “I understand that completely.”

“I can hear you, Mama,” Cambria said from her position in front of the wardrobe. “Do not talk about me as if I am not here.”

Fair Lydia didn’t look at her daughter, but she did fight off a grin. “Not only has she tried this dress on twice daily, but she has spent the rest of the time writing a love sonnet to read during the wedding feast,” she said. “She is learning to play the harp, too.”

“Mama!” Cambria gasped. “You are not supposed to tell anyone!”

Fair Lydia’s smile broke through. “Why not?” she said. “I think it is very endearing. Liam will be thrilled.”

“But I am not any good,” Cambria lamented. “Please do not tell him any of that!”

She was pleading to the women in the chamber, all of whom were grinning to varying degrees. It was Jordan who broke away from the other women and went over to where Cambria and Caria were sitting on the floor, a pile of clothing between them.

“Not tae worry, lass,” she said. “He’ll love anything ye do. Why do ye worry so?”

Cambria looked up at the woman, so elderly, but somehow so timeless.

Her hair was pale silver on the top, with shades of darker blonde at the nape of her neck so that when she twisted her hair into a bun, it had many colors to it.

Her skin had aged somewhat, but not too terribly.

Not enough to hide the beauty that she had.

Cambria had heard from her father how devoted William de Wolfe had been to his wife, and she could see that the woman had an ethereal quality to her.

She seemed gentle and kind, but there was still fire behind those pale green eyes.

Almost as much as her husband, she was a legend.

“I suppose I do not want to be embarrassed,” Cambria said. “I want him to think I am perfect, and my harp playing is definitely not perfect.”

Jordan smiled faintly, pulling the old shawl around her shoulders just a bit tighter because she was always cold. Even in a room with a blazing hearth. She lowered herself onto the end of the bed.

“But ye’ll always be perfect in his eyes, lass,” she said softly. “He’ll be touched by any gesture ye make at yer wedding because it shows yer love for him. That’s all a man wants—tae know he’s loved.”

“Believe her,” Caria said, looking up from the scarf she had in her hand. “Matha knows everything there is to know about men and women and love. She and Poppy had the greatest love of all for many years. If she could keep William de Wolfe from straying, she’s worth listening to.”

Cambria giggled as Jordan frowned. “Dunna say such things about Poppy,” she scolded. “The man never strayed a day in his life when he was with me.”

“He was scared of you,” Caria quipped.