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“Of course, but what is he going to do with her?” Jason was taking delight in his perverse thoughts. “He is fifty years old. She will surely kill him with her vigor.”

William glanced impassively at his young subordinate. Jason was usually mildly amusing, but not today. He sighed and looked away.

“I have no time for this, Jason,” he said shortly. “Send Paris to me.”

Jason, puzzled at William’s curt reply, nonetheless went obediently to find Paris.

Paris de Norville was William’s right hand. Tall, well-built, with a sensuous face and a crown of well-kept blond hair, he was immediately at his captain’s side. He also knew William better than anyone and could not recall ever seeing such an expression on the man’s face. As he reined his horse close, he scrutinized William.

“My lord is taking a personal interest in this treasure?” He nodded his head in Jordan’s direction.

He ignored the comment. “How is it with the men?”

Paris looked off into the spring-green countryside. “Rumbles, grumbles, and innuendos. All that sort, but for the most part they do not seem to care much about her.”

William nodded, absorbing the information. “Just the same, Paris, if I am not with her, you will be. I will take no chances with her welfare.”

Paris nodded. “Agreed, my lord,” he replied, looking over at the figure sleeping beneath the cloak. “She is damn beautiful for a Scot, is she not? No wonder her father was so protective.”

William did not dare look at his friend; Paris knew him far too well and he was afraid that the man would read the mass confusion he was feeling. Already, he could feel the man staring at him.

“Aye,” he said simply.

The army continued until just after dusk when William ordered a halt. Tents were pitched and fires started. They were just inside the English border now and he was feeling a bit easier. His mood was lighter as well. Tonight the men would dine on roast mutton.

Jordan awoke with a start when the horse stopped. She hadn’t awoken the whole time William was barking orders and he smiled at the humor of it.

“What’s wrong?” she gasped. “Where am I?”

He held her tightly to keep her from thrashing her way right off of the horse. “We are making camp, my lady, unless you care to sleep on a moving horse all night,” he said.

She looked at him as recognition dawned, realizing where she was. She ran a shaky hand across her brow.

“Nay, my lord, I wunna,” she murmured. “I am quite anxious to get off this swaying beast.”

William dismounted the destrier and held his arms up for her. Gratefully, wearily, she slid into them and he lowered her gently to the ground. Their eyes met and Jordan experienced a painful, unfamiliar jolt of excitement. She was positive he could read it on her face. Embarrassed, she turned away.

If William noticed, he didn’t say so. While he personally saw to the settling of his men, Paris and three other knights sat with Jordan and the two Scottish maids she had brought with her. Paris politely built a fire, smiling openly at her, but Jordan stared at the ground. Without William to protect her, she was terrified of the strange knight.

The other three knights seemed to be interested in anything other than her. Every so often they would glance over at her, a sort of appraising glance, and then look away as if mulling over their findings. When they looked away, Jordan would spy at them to see if she could tell what they were thinking. She knew they hated her, just as she despised them. She wondered darkly if they wanted to throw her into the flames of the fire and say it was an accident.

One knight, a young, massively built blond with untamed curls, had the surliest expression she had ever seen. She was decidedly afraid of him, whereas the other two, a handsome dark-blond man with massive neck and shoulders, and an extremely tall dark-haired knight seemed to be looking at her with curiosity.

She recognized the man with the thick neck; he had ridden into Langton with William, as had the tall blond. He seemed to have a naturally gentle expression, one that was difficult to put into words, and looking at the pure size of the man, she found it difficult to believe he was gentle in any way. His eyes were inquisitive on her, honest, and she actually met his gaze for a moment.

It was an odd standoff game, everyone staring at everyone else and no one saying a word. Jordan was feeling vastly uncomfortable.

Paris stood back from the fire, watching her intently. Educated and charming, he was an arrogant rogue who had more ladies than he knew what to do with. Women seemed to love his cocky manner and charisma. Looking over at his lord’s bride, he could see why William had kept her so close to his vest. She was terribly exquisite.

“Tell me, Lady Jordan, have you traveled from Langton before?” he asked pleasantly.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Nay, my lord.”

“I see,” Paris replied. “Then you have never been to Edinburgh?”

“Nay, my lord,” she repeated, then added. “But my mother was born in Edinburgh. We have kin there.”

Ah, so she can speak in a delightful honeyed voice, he thought to himself. Her burr was distinct but not too heavy.