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The six knights barreled out of Northwood and raced down the road that skirted the small village, headed towards Father Sutton’s church.

He was damn well furious, but he was also scared. He was always scared when he was unable to protect Jordan. Yet he was also fearful that she would be unable to forgive him, even though he had not carried out his threat. She was so bloody sensitive and caring that he was afraid his actions had somehow scarred their relationship.

With renewed determination, he spurred his destrier faster.

Father Sutton’s church was rather well-appointed for a religious order that swore a vow to poverty. And with the generous contribution the earl had made on William and Jordan’s behalf, it promised to become even more lavish. The knights reined their steeds to a halt in front of the church and dismounted in a racket of noisy armor, moving toward the entry of the holy structure.

“William, if she had indeed sought sanctuary, then you cannot violate the church,” Paris said quietly as they approached.

“I can at least speak to her,” William said firmly.

“Not if she doesn’t want to speak to you. You know that,” Paris reminded him. “The priests won’t let you in.”

“She will speak to me,” William said in a low, threatening voice. “Or I shall tear the bloody building down brick by brick.”

Paris muttered a curse. “You cannot,” he hissed. “Let me do the talking, would you? You are likely to go off at the slightest provocation and the monks will slam the door in your face.”

“Nay, Paris, I will do the talking,” William said as they reached the huge front door. “I am quite calm.”

Paris snorted his refusal as William rang the bell.

A small monk with shorn hair and dirty robes answered the door. William and the other knights removed their helmets respectfully.

“Father, we are seeking Lady Jordan Scott,” he said.

He priest nodded eagerly. “From Northwood? She is here. She is with Father Sutton,” he stood back to allow the men entrance. “Come in, good knights, but leave your weapons at the door.”

William’s sword, in its scabbard, and five others landed in a pile next to the door. So did the helmets.

The interior was dark and smelled strongly of incense as the knights followed the monk into the chapel. Huge banks of expensive tallow candles burned brightly from all corners and furnishings were abundant. But the chapel was void of any living person, and William looked questioningly at the monk.

“She is upstairs,” he explained. “Wait here and I will tell her you are here.”

William put out a hand to stop him. “Would it be possible for me to announce myself?”

He didn’t want to give her the chance to refuse to see him. Fortunately, the monk agreed and beckoned him to follow. William was given a bit of hope in this action, for if Jordan truly didn’t wish to see him then she would have left word. Yet he motioned for the rest of the knights to follow. If his wife and her cousin were going to act up, then he wanted reinforcements.

The small brother led the men up a narrow spiral staircase that proved difficult for William and Michael to maneuver because of their height. Kieran, too, had difficulty simply because of his sheer mass. It widened at the top and opened into a narrow corridor.

“Down here,” the monk motioned, moving quickly to the very end of the hall.

“Hell of a staircase,” Kieran muttered behind Paris, who shushed him.

The little priest reached a rather well-made oak door and rapped softly. Father Sutton opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight of the knights. He pushed himself through the door quickly and out into the hall, closing the panel behind him softly.

“Captain!” he exclaimed softly.

William forgot about his pledge to remain calm. “Why did you bring my wife here?” he demanded. “It was foolish.”

The fastest way to go to hell was to be harsh with a priest, Paris thought dryly. But Father Sutton held his ground, unruffled.

“A moment, sire, please,” the priest begged. “Let me speak with you for one moment before you take her back to Northwood.”

“No,” William said coldly, moving past the priest.

Father Sutton grabbed his arm. “Captain, I implore you. I only ask a moment of your time on your wife’s behalf.”

Paris had hold of William’s other arm, silently pleading with him to grant the priest’s request. William caught the look in his friend’s eye and, reluctantly, removed his hand from the door latch.