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“Nay, my lady, I did indeed survive,” he replied, “but I am sure I would not have had you not come to my aid. I owe you my life.”

She shook her head nervously. “All I did was stitch ye up and leave ye there to die. I dinna do much at all.”

“ ’Twas enough,” he said. “And I shall be forever grateful to you. Thank you.”

She was blushing furiously by now, much to her horror. Sweet Jesu,’ what an effect this man had on her. Never in her life had she met anyone who could make her feel like melting with a word or a glance. Her fear was abating quickly.

“Ye lied to me,” she blurted after a moment, shifting the subject away from her.

He looked concerned. “When did I do this disgraceful thing?”

“Back on the battlefield after I sewed yer wound,” she said. “I asked ye if ye were The Wolf and ye told me no.”

He looked thoughtful. “As I recall, I told you my name was de Wolfe, not The Wolf. I never actually lied.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “A technicality, sir knight. Ye should never lie to a lady.”

He nodded his head as if admitting his error. “There was no point in frightening you even more than you already were. I saw no harm in evading your question.”

She had to admit she agreed with his reasoning. Lowering her lashes, she glanced down at the stream again. “When did ye recognize me?” she asked.

He rose to his full height. “When I first laid eyes on you,” he said. “There is no mistaking your face, my lady. ’Tis the most beautiful face in all Scotland and England.”

She smiled and looked away, embarrassed to the hilt. To be truthful, William was embarrassed, too. He was gushing like a smitten boy, not at all within his character.

“I am being too bold, my lady,” he said softly. “Forgive me.”

She simply nodded, not knowing how to respond to him. His manner made her feel extremely comfortable and her terror was gone, although it was replaced by a new sort of nervousness that made her cheeks grow warm. In a struggle to change the subject, she again took note of the armor that had so impressed her.

“Does yer sword have a name, sir knight?” she asked. “I have heard that all Sassenach knights name their swords.”

He glanced at his blade, strapped to his waist and thigh. “I gave it a name, once, in my youth. I called it mighty Jupiter. But I have not used that name in years. Now I simply call it Friend.”

She nodded, repressing an urge to comment about The Wolf’s reputation for swordsmanship. “My Da has read to us the story of the Anglos and the Saxons,” she said. “I know that Charlemagne’s sword was named Joyosa and that good king Arthur bore Excalibur.”

He inclined his head. “That is correct. I am surprised your father saw it fit to read to you the legends of the English. Up ahead, at Carter Bar, is where the line is drawn between the Celts and the Norman-Angles.”

She looked at him. “I know. ’Tis why I am here.”

He found himself studying her face, ingraining her features into his brain for future reference when he needed something pleasant to think on. He hoped he had not offended her by his last remark.

“You seem to know a bit about knights, my lady,” he commented.

She smiled shyly and looked away. “Just what my Da tells me. He used to be a good soldier when he was younger. Now he is content to command from afar.” She suddenly became distant. “He keeps his armor, his mail and plates, everything, hung in a closet. His manservant still polishes it regularly, as if someday he will be called into service again. But it just sits alongside his mighty sword.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I was under the impression that your father was an active commander in battles.”

“He is active, but he doesna lead his men as he should,” she said. “He lets Uncle Nathaniel and Uncle Matthew do that. He commands the entire battle from the rear.”

William had fought the man many times and hadn’t known that. “Why?” he found himself asking.

“ ’Twas a promise he made to my mother on her deathbed.” She looked at him, her eyes soft. “He promised her he would never again lead an army into battle so I would have less of a chance of becoming an orphan. I was their only child, ye see. It nearly killed my Da to make that promise, but he did to please my mother. My uncles said he was the best swordsman they had ever seen.”

William didn’t reply, puzzled and strangely touched by the story Jordan seemed distant a moment longer before suddenly smiling, as if forcing herself from the subject.

“I am glad ye did not acknowledge ye knew me in front of my kin,” she said. “My Da would have become suspicious and run me through for sure.”

“For what?” he demanded.