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Paris was the first one to find his voice. “And you, my lady, look quite…lovely.”

She curtsied graciously, a coy smile on her lips. “Ye’re too kind, sir knight.”

Paris may have spoken first but Deinwald was the first one at her side. He extended an armored elbow. “Your guests await, my lady.”

She took his arm, oblivious that behind her the other three knights were vying for her other arm. Paris, silently threatening the other two with a stern face and gloved fist, took her hand and put it upon the crook of his arm. He smiled warmly at her as they left her sanctuary for the wilds awaiting them below.

In the grand hall the party was in full swing. Mounds of food and barrels of ale kept the merriment constant. Servants scurried everywhere attending guests, and Jordan was a little stunned to see a great many soldiers in unfamiliar suits lining the corridor. She leaned close to Paris.

“Who are these Sassenachs?” she whispered uncertainly.

Paris smiled; it was the first time he had ever heard her use the Gaelic term for English, the term Scots branded to be an insult.

“Soldiers from various houses,” he explained. “With this many guests, you can understand that security is important.”

She nodded, noticing each English face as she passed by. These soldiers were strange and threatening to her, and she was comforted by the four knights as if they were her brothers or kin.

She could barely remember the first time she had been in the presence of the knights of Northwood, and that she’d had the same initial fears of them. She almost smiled at the thought of English knights bringing her comfort; these men who would die before allowing her to come to harm. In a peculiar way, she felt closer to them than she ever did to her male cousins or relatives, an unexplainable bond.

They were approaching the doorway that led into the grand hall. She made eye contact with the crier and when he signaled the herald trumpets, her stomach did a wild dive. She knew she was going to have to do this alone, as she had done the very first time, but she found she was no more prepared. But there had been one difference; William had been there.

“Where’s William?” she whispered to Paris.

He leaned down. “Concerning himself with every detail the earl failed to wind up,” he said. “He will be along. He would not leave you alone in this.”

She looked up at him. Though she had never told him anything, and she had no knowledge if William had ever told him anything, simply by the tone of his voice she knew that he knew everything about them. Curious that the thought would occur to her just now.

The trumpets blared and she jumped, feeling Deinwald pat her hand comfortingly. He must have done it before he realized what he was doing, she mused, an attempt at humor to get her mind off her nerves. The crier elegantly announced her and the room grew quiet, waiting for the bride to make her appearance.

Jordan did not have to be told when to move. She entered the room with a straight back and a great deal of forced courage, making her way to where her bridegroom and his family awaited by the dais. She noticed through her haze of terror that the earl was smiling broadly at her, and that Alexander and Analiese were staring at her as if she was a creature from another world.

The earl reached out and pulled her to him, turning her to face the crowd. His hands were gripping her arms too tightly and she fought the urge to pull away from him.

“My friends and allies,” he said loudly. “I know you are all eager for the opportunity to meet my future wife, as you should be. We would be pleased for you to approach the table and extend your wishes.”

A low hum came from the crowd and they began to move into what appeared to be a long, single line starting at the dais and extending out of Jordan’s view. The earl placed her beside him; Analiese on her other side, Alexander and Adam on his other side. Jordan was so nervous that she was barely aware that she stood next to her future step-daughter.

The music picked up again softly as the first of the guest offered their congratulations. Jordan was gracious and unerringly polite as she said and did all of the correct things. Analiese was perfectly mannered as well and the two women soon began sounding alike.

Jordan glanced over at Analiese for the first time, trying to bring up the nerve to speak to her. The simplest word could start a war.

“Yer dress is lovely, Analiese,” she said nicely, hoping Analiese would not read an insult into it.

Analiese snorted. “That may be, but it is not me the men are looking at.”

Jordan immediately went on the defensive. “I am sorry, I dunna know what ye mean.”

Analiese looked at her. “I mean that your breasts are hanging out and you look like a whore.”

All of Jordan’s resolve to be nice fled. “At least I have breasts, which is more that I can say for ye, and if ye’ll notice, all of the ladies from London are showing considerably more flesh than I am, so shut yer yap.”

Analiese opened her mouth angrily but Adam was thrusting himself between them, not missing a beat as he greeted guests. He elbowed his sister roughly to remind her of her manners when a well-dressed woman spoke to her and extended her hand. When the woman had passed by Jordan, Analiese snaked her neck behind her brother.

“You are not even English, so why should you care what the ladies from London wear?” she hissed. “They look fashionable; you look like a Scottish slut trying to imitate them.”

Adam reached over and grabbed his sister firmly, still not saying a word except to the guests. Jordan greeted another partygoer before returning Analiese’s barb.

“Slut or not, at least I have a husband,” she retaliated. “All the money yer father has canna buy a man willing to bed yer skinny arse.”