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A small bell went off inside of Jordan’s head when the knight revealed his name. Had she heard that name before? It occurred to her that it sounded distantly familiar, though she could not imagine where on earth she had ever heard it. Still, it tugged at her and she waited for the warrior to remove his helmet.

Thomas’ face grew dark, his calm facade vanishing. He glared at the helmeted warrior who stood at least two heads taller than he did. Jordan saw the open hatred in her father’s eyes and wondered what had made him lose his carefully controlled manner.

“Take off yer helmet,” Thomas growled.

The knight didn’t hesitate. He pulled it off with his smooth grace and tucked it beneath his arm in one gesture. His hazel-gold eyes focused with arrogance on the Scot.

“God’s Bloody Rood.” Thomas spat with amazement. “ ’Tis ye after all, ye English devil. By God, The Wolf in our very midst.”

The two other knights accompanying The Wolf also pulled off their helmets, their faces like stone, one very blond and one dark-blond. But Jordan was not looking at them; she was reeling with the shock of her life.

It was as if some unseen force had kicked her in the stomach. Her head swam and she could not breathe and she was afraid she was going to become sick in front of God and two countries. Of all of the knights in England, it was him.

The knight she had tended those weeks back in Bog Wood had come back to haunt her. Jordan closed her eyes hard and opened them again, only to be confronted by the most handsome face she had ever beheld. It wasn’t possible. How did he survive? Her knees threatened to collapse; somehow, God was punishing her. Her blood rushed to her head and began gushing wildly in her ears, but she fought the urge to faint. She could not embarrass herself, not here. She had to fight it. Her world was reeling and she fought desperately for control.

In hindsight, perhaps she should not have been shocked that she had saved the life of the infamous border Wolf. He had given her his name and she had chosen to believe he wasn’t the man known to be the scourge of her people. But she had. The man had been menacing her people for several years and she had tended him as she would have any other soldier. Her shame and horror was unbelievable.

As she reeled, more horror gripped her; if her father found out, there would be hell to pay. Would The Wolfe even recognize her? Would he thank her publicly, in front of her kin? Terror shot through her when she remembered his promise to thank her for her kindness. If he were planning on doing it now, her life would not be worth the ground she stood upon. She must have faltered because someone put a hand on her back to steady her. Jordan could not even summon the will to thank them.

“So my daughter is to marry yer lord?” Thomas’ angry words broke into her turbulent thoughts. “And ye are to take her to him, are ye?”

“I am,” William replied evenly. “Will you surrender her to me?”

Thomas looked terribly indecisive but he had to show faith or Jordan would be terrified. He stepped close to the English captain so that only he would hear his words.

“I will tell ye that I hate yer bloody guts, ye bastard,” Thomas rumbled. “For all of the pain and misery ye have caused my kin, I would gladly run ye through right now. But I canna, for I have pledged something even greater than my hatred – my honor. My daughter is to be Laird de Longley’s bride. Ye take her, Wolf, and treat her with the respect of a countess or so help me, I will gut ye myself and take great delight in yer pain.”

William held the same expression he had since he took off his helmet. He wasn’t the least bit offended or frightened by the earl’s words, but the more he stood in the bailey of the enemy castle the more uncomfortable he became. It would only take one man, from either side, to start something and then there would be no end to the melee. Better to get the wench and get the hell out of there.

“Understood, my lord,” he replied quietly. “If you will direct me to your daughter, I will be grateful.”

Thomas held the man’s gaze a moment longer before turning on his heel and the two of them headed towards the keep. Jordan, from her position at the keep entry, saw her father and the knight swiftly approach and her panic began to bloom; mayhap the knight would not even remember her; it had been dark that night and he had been horribly ill. She silently beseeched God for help, praying that the knight would not remember her and that she had been wiped from his memory.

He arrived sooner than she had prepared for and suddenly, their eyes locked. His gaze was shocking, piercing, yet she could read no emotion, no flicker of recognition, and she was slammed with relief. So many emotions were swirling though her brain that she felt as if she were a weak, quivering mass of flesh. She simply could not think rationally any longer as she averted her gaze and stared at her feet.

“This is my daughter, Lady Jordan Scott.” Thomas was completely unaware of his daughter’s turmoil and wondered why she was looking at the ground. “Jordan, this is yer new husband’s captain. Greet the man.”

Jordan curtsied a bit too deep because her knees were shaking so. “Sir knight.” William acknowledged her silently. Truth be known, he didn’t trust himself to speak; he would have sounded winded because he had not taken a breath since he first lay eyes on Jordan’s beautiful face, looking pale and fearful. He simply could not believe what he was seeing.

The more he gazed at her lowered head the more disbelieving he became. Good God, it is her. His angel of mercy in the flesh. He never truly believed he would ever see her again and to have her standing before him, as his charge no less, was too incredible to comprehend. He almost laughed aloud at the stroke of fortune, or misfortune, considering this woman was to be his lord’s bride.

There was no mistaking her incredible beauty and he wondered if she would even remember him. Turning abruptly to her father, he spoke.

“My orders are to return her immediately to Northwood,” he snapped forcefully. “I assume she is ready to leave?”

Thomas’ eyes narrowed at the hostility in the man’s voice. “Of course she is.”

“Very well,” William said authoritatively and spun on his heel, bellowing as he went. “Bring forth the wagons.”

The bailey deteriorated into a rolling mass of running, shouting people. Jordan’s father grabbed her arm and the two of them hurried after the knight.

William reached his destrier and plopped his helmet back on his head, much too forcefully. His shock at seeing Jordan was getting the better of him. He held his hand out to her.

“The lady will ride with me,” he said.

Jordan balked. “I can well ride, sir knight, I have my own palfrey.”

He grasped the destrier’s reins. “You will ride with me.”