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He was right. The moment her over-heated body touched the water, Jordan stiffened and shrieked like a banshee. He dropped her right into the tub, up to her neck in the water and became completely soaked holding her down in it. Paris, on the other side, took the brunt of the splashing. It was no time at all before the entire floor of the antechamber, as well as the occupants, were soaked to the skin.

Jordan screamed and cursed and fought against Paris and William. She was babbling in Gaelic the entire time and they could not understand a word of it, but William kept talking to her, hoping she would become rational enough to understand.

“What is she saying, Jemma?” Paris sputtered as a big splash of water hit him in the mouth.

Jemma shook her head. “Something about demons. She thinks ye are demons come to get her.”

Jordan’s struggling weakened and she began to weep. William wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her fears away, but the cold water was doing her good. The fever had to come down.

The door opened and Byron blew in, glancing at the residents but not uttering a word about the state the room was in. He set down his bag and moved to Jordan, putting his hand on her forehead.

“She’s hot,” he stated the obvious. “I can give her something to take it down. Then I need to get a look at the wound again.”

He administered a potion made from boiled willow bark, a task that was most difficult, considering Jordan would have no part of it. But between Byron and William, they managed to force down a good portion of it.

“There,” Byron said quietly. “That should help the fever. Now let’s get her out of there.”

William lifted her out, water cascading from her all over his leather breeches. Byron wanted her out of the wet shift, so William held her while the maids and Jemma stripped off the see-through fabric and placed a fresh surcoat on her.

At first, Jemma was vehemently opposed to William holding onto her naked cousin, but she had to relent when she realized they needed his strength to help them. Jordan had passed out cold and was total dead weight in his arms.

It took all three of the women to peel off the wet garment, but even as Jemma stripped off the shift, she made sure that she covered Jordan’s private parts with a large piece of linen that also served to dry off her skin. William almost laughed; if Jemma only knew that he had done more than just look at her privates.

Dry and back in the bed, Jordan started coming around. William tensed when he saw her moving again, preparing for another go-around, but her eyes opened and she focused lucidly on him.

“English?” she whispered.

He stood over the bed, trying not to show any more emotion than was absolutely necessary, but it was damn difficult. “Aye, my lady?”

“What…what are ye doing here?” her voice was no more than a baby’s whisper.

“Ye’re sick, Jordan,” Jemma stood next to William. “Ye were delirious. Sir William was the only one who could control ye.”

“What happened to yer lip, Jemma?” Jordan demanded, off the subject. She still wasn’t completely sound of mind.

“Nothing, Jordi,” her cousin replied.

“She cut herself shaving,” Paris quipped from behind William.

Jemma shot him a nasty look, fighting off a smile. Jordan looked thoroughly confused by everything.

“I must get to sleep,” she said. “I am exhausted. Got to go to town tomorrow, ye know. Will ye go with me, Jemma? Or are ye going back to Langton?”

Jemma looked confused but, thankfully, did not think anything of the remark. William had yet to tell her of her fate and had not the desire to get into it with her tonight. Still babbling, Jordan faded off once again.

Lord de Longley came to Jordan’s chambers near noon the next day. His old face was wrought with worry when Deinwald opened the door to admit him, and he pushed directly into Jordan’s bedchamber.

William, Paris, Byron and Jemma were still there in various positions all over the room. William stood by the long windows, gazing out over the courtyard. When he glanced at De Longley he was glad that the man had not come any earlier. He had been beside her bed all night; ’twas the first time he had moved from the chair to catch a breath of air. Somehow being across the room from her made him look a little less concerned, mayhap a little less suspect.

But every time he looked at her his heart was squeezed a little tighter and he was closer than ever to losing his sanity.

De Longley went to the bed, gazing sadly on Jordan’s blond head.

“How does she fare?” he asked no one in particular.

“Her fever rises and falls,” Byron said. “But she weakens.”

De Longley looked at the physician. “Is she dying?”