Page 15

“And what sorts of entertainment do you enjoy at Langton?” he asked, making conversation. She seemed dreadfully ill at ease.

She met his eye then. “We dance and sing a good deal,” she said timidly. “And my Da reads aloud to us on occasion, though I dunna understand much of Greek poetry.”

“Greek poetry,” the surly young knight scoffed. “God, I had no idea Scots could even read.”

Paris shot him a deadly look. “I do not believe you have been invited into this conversation, Deinwald.”

Deinwald continued to smirk. Jordan, startled by his loud declaration, suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry. It was the hatred she had only felt before, now spoken aloud. The lines were established.

“Do you have a favorite prose, my lady?” Paris asked, warming to the conversation and ignoring the loud mouth knight.

Her lower lip quivered. He had inadvertently reminded her of something her father had said to her in private the night before. He had been drunk, trying to drown his guilt in whisky, and had sought her out. He had held her, reciting the story of Danae and Perseus, and of Zeus who had abandoned them reluctantly. ’Twas not her favorite prose he spoke, but it was the one that stuck with her.

“Last night my father recalled a song of the Greek Simonides, something he found particularly appropriate,” she said quietly and with feeling. “ ’Twas a long prose, but I remember the words he emphasized to me, the words Zeus spoke expressing his pain at having to send Danae and Perseus away:

‘If this danger were danger to ye,

yer small ear would attend my words.

But I tell ye sleep, my baby, and let the sea sleep,

let our trouble sleep; let some change appear

Zeus, father from ye.

This bold word and beyond justice

I speak, I pray ye, forgive it me.’”

The fire crackled in the center of the small group, the only sound heard. Paris was stunned into silence with the beauty of the words and the meaning he saw in them. The other three knights seemed equally sedate. Jordan glanced up from her trance, smiling weakly at him.

“I think he was telling me not to fear my future, and to forgive him his decision,” she said softly.

Paris managed a nod. “Aye,” his voice was strangely quiet. “My assumption as well.”

Paris was a great admirer of the Romans and the Greeks, and was amazed at this woman’s intelligence. The words she spoke had been flawless; he knew the passage. He was suddenly seized with determination to know everything about her.

“What else did your father read of?” he asked.

She blinked thoughtfully. “He read to us the story of Jason and the Argonauts. And he is a great admirer of Alexander the Great.”

“Holy Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Deinwald muttered and shook his head. “A laird who would be emperor.”

The hostile young knight made her uncomfortable again, breaking the pleasant spell. Paris didn’t look at him; his eyes were fixed on Jordan’s sad face.

“One more comment, Deinwald, and I cut your tongue out,” he said icily. “ ’Tis Lord de Longley’s future father-in-law you speak of. Bank your mouth, although I know how difficult it is for you.”

Jordan felt a little better with the blond knight defending her against Deinwald. They sat together a few moments in silence, with Jordan staring at her hands and reluctant to say anymore. Paris could see how nervous she was and having Deinwald airing his views did not make her feel better. He felt a stab of pity for his lord’s beautiful new bride. Better to keep her talking and relieve her, he decided.

“My lady, allow me to introduce you to three of Northwood’s finest.” He indicated the other knights, the dark blond and then the brunette. “That bear of a man is Sir Kieran Hage, and that tall tree is Sir Michael de Bocage.”

Jordan turned out of politeness to greet the knights and was not surprised when they both smiled openly and bowed gallantly. She could only manage a slight nod of her head in their direction, mostly looking at the man with the thick neck; Sir Kieran. Her instincts told her that he was a man with character such as William, although she knew not why.

“And that,” Paris cocked an eyebrow at petulant young knight with the curly locks, “is Sir Deinwald Ellsrod. Now that you have been properly introduced, please feel free to insult him as harshly as you can muster. ’Tis become a sport with us.”

Deinwald glared at her before turning away and looking back over the camp. Paris would have liked nothing better than to slug him. He brought his gaze back around to see Jordan looking at him.

“You have not told me your name, sir knight,” she said.