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Analiese watched the back of William’s head, the longing in her heart painful. She had loved him as long as she could remember. She would always love him, no matter what. No matter if he was in love with her future stepmother. As it was, she was beyond jealousy for she knew she had not a chance for a match with the illustrious Wolf. It was more of a wishful longing for what could never be, a feeling she was learning to bank more with time.

She hoped the queen would take her back to court and she furthermore hoped she would find a suitable husband there. The Wolf, it had taken her a good while to realize, was better left to the wilds of the north. The sooner she forgot about him, the better.

The king’s soldiers were everywhere as they walked. Jordan felt the stares of the men and kept her gaze lowered. Even flanked by her husband and Paris, she felt scrutinized and vulnerable. With every step, her anxiety rose just a little.

In order to enter the chapel from the main doors, the party had to pass through the inner bailey. Outside, it was exceedingly dusty and Jordan balked on the last stair.

“I dunna want dust all over my dress,” she insisted to the puzzled knights.

Paris was closer. He leaned over and swept her into his arms, flashing William a delighted grin. William shook his head warningly, but noticed that Kieran, Michael and Deinwald did the same with the other ladles and the action brought a smile to his lips. Ah, chivalry. With a wiggle of his brows, he followed Paris and his wife.

Aloria, aloft in Deinwald’s muscular arms, eyed him warily. He frowned at her intermittently, but there was no force behind it.

“I could have walked, sir knight,” she said.

He scowled. “You ungrateful wen…woman. I am trying to spare your surcoat and you could be more thankful.”

“And I could have just as easily hoisted my skirts so they would not have draped along the ground.”

He looked her right in the eye. “Are you always so disagreeable?”

“Are you?” she returned with a cocked eyebrow.

“Hell, yes,” he barked, shifting her weight to get a better grip on her. He obviously had no intention of setting her down. “You weigh as much as my horse.”

“I would understand if you are too weak to carry me, then,” she said.

He glared at her. “I shall take my hand to your backside and show you just how weak I am, wen…woman.”

She fought off a grin; he was handsome in a boyish sort of way, and exceptionally strong. She liked the feeling of his arms around her. “My name is Aloria, my lord. You may call me by my name if you wish.”

He grunted and she did smile, then. He was trying hard to avoid her gaze, knowing he would surely smile in return and not wanting to. Well, not much wanting to.

As they crossed the compound, William walked close to Paris, his wife’s head just inches in front of him.

“You push me to the limit, man,” he growled to his second.

Paris laughed. “But don’t you see? This will put suspicion on me and away from you.”

William shot him a menacing glare as Jordan turned around to look at her husband; instantly, his face went sweet.

Paris set her down as they entered the cool, dim chapel. There were soldiers everywhere and inside, Jordan could see a roomful of people waiting their chance to study her. Her nerves were apparent.

But they gave her no time to dwell on her lagging courage. As soon as Father Sutton saw that she was in the church, he advanced to the altar. The earl stood and approached it as well, with Alexander beside him.

With an encouraging wink, although he wished he could have done more, William took his place a foot or so to her left and bade her enter.

Father Sutton spoke Gaelic as if he had been born into it. Although he mispronounced several words, he spoke so convincingly that no one but a Scot would have known he had completely butchered the Gaelic word for ‘Lord.’ And he was swift in his delivery, as if feeling he were committing a deadly sin by performing the ceremony at all. He moved quickly through the mass and prayers, as well as the final benediction. The priests that were assisting him kept looking at him as if he had gone mad.

The knights and ladies formed a cozy little group around the earl and Jordan, nearly sealing them off from the rest of the church. Jordan had lost sight of William and wondered desperately where he was, when in fact he was directly behind her. It would have eased her mind considerably if she had known that.

When it came time for her and the earl to drink from a common chalice, she was able to turn slightly and caught a glimpse of her husband’s face. He was sweating profusely in the humidity, dressed in layers of armor, as they all were, but he managed to give her a nearly imperceptible wink. Her heart soared with the acknowledgement and she nearly smiled, until she caught a figure just inside her line of sight.

Henry, King of England, was staring at her emotionlessly. A bolt of fear surged through her; the man could destroy her life, all of their lives, if he so chose to do so. And why wouldn’t he? They had all lied to him. Her nerves roared to life and she broke into a cold sweat, with uncontrollable horrors rolling through her mind. So many people were in jeopardy because of a wedding she allowed to take place; it would then be her fault if the king were to discover their deception.

William saw her hands start to shake again and he was concerned. Up until this moment, she had handled herself beautifully. He passed a glance at Paris from the corner of his eye, and was met with a puzzled look reflecting his own feelings. He wondered briefly if she were becoming ill with all of the excitement and with the heat.

Jordan was ill, but not for those reasons. The enormity of the situation was weighing heavily on her and she wondered how on earth she was going to get through the rest of the day with Henry and Eleanor bearing down on her. How could she convincingly live a lie? What if she slipped up? What if she inadvertently said something? What if…?