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Malcolm nodded. “Well and good. But what of Jordan? Do we, in fact, rescue her?”

Dunbar shrugged. “She would recognize that the men baring Scott tartan were not Scott soldiers. She should be killed.”

Malcolm balked. “I shall not take part in murderin’ my own kin. And I might remind ye that Jordan was not happy about the arrangement. She’s not a willing bride.”

“But she’s doing it, is she not?” Dunbar shot back. “Aye, Malcolm, she’s as guilty as sin. Even if she is not happy, as ye say, she’s still doing it.”

Malcolm was torn with indecision. Dunbar had been more of a father to him than his own and he wanted to please him, but he wasn’t sure about murdering Jordan.

Dunbar could see the dilemma and stood up. “Now, lad, ye’ll inform me when the army is to arrive so that we can begin making preparations. And I shall be needing that tartan as soon as ye can get yer hands on it,” he clapped Malcolm on one shoulder. “Yer a fine, loyal Scot, lad. We canna have an English ally so close to us, can we? Aye, nor can we have a weak Scot ally. Thomas Scott is not fit to be laird. But ye are.”

Malcolm looked up at him with puzzlement. Dunbar smiled.

“Think on it, lad,” he said. “With Thomas Scott gone, it would only be a matter of time before Nathaniel and Matthew followed him in death. Then that would leave Benjamin, Donald and Cord between ye and being laird of Clan Scott. Ye could easily take care of those three foolish young lads.”

“Kill them myself?” Malcolm echoed.

“Aye, but kill is such an ugly word,” Dunbar said. “I prefer ‘eliminate’ myself. Or, if ye hasna the stomach for it, then I am sure we could arrange to help ye out. Anything for an ally.”

Malcolm’s head was spinning. What Dunbar was suggesting was incredible. Slowly, he stood, only to be embraced by the stinking man. Dunbar, in faith, was quite pleased with himself for throwing young Malcolm a bone to chew on without revealing his true plans.

“Be gone wi’ ye, lad,” he told him firmly.

Malcolm did go, still reeling, still uncertain.

*

It was later that night. The camp fires glowed softly into the chill night, the faint crackling of wood and the smell of smoke filling the air.

William liked this time of night, when most of the camp was asleep save for the sentries and a few servants. He found he did his best thinking at night.

And think this night he did until his mind was a muddy bog. All he could see and hear was Lady Jordan. Lady Jordan sleeping in his arms, Lady Jordan smiling at the creek, Lady Jordan telling him flatly that she did not wish to eat. He thought of her until she overwhelmed him, running his hands over his eyes as if he could wipe her from his sight. Why did this woman infatuate him so?

A body sat next to him over the fallen log he was using as a chair, startling him from his thoughts. Just by the movements he knew it to be Paris.

“Posts are set for the night, my lord,” Paris said.

“I know,” William replied. “I checked them myself a half hour ago.”

“Then pardon my incompetence,” Paris said dryly. “I should have realized that The Wolf had already been on the prowl.”

“Cease your jibes, Paris, I have no patience this night,” William said, talking into his folded hands.

Paris regarded his captain with a faint smile on his lips. He knew exactly what the problem was. It had been obvious all day.

“What has that woman done to you?” he asked with a slow shake of the head.

William’s head came up and he looked sharply at his friend. Paris fully expected to be reamed up one side and down the other, but instead William let out a sharp exhale and faced back to the fire.

“Shut your mouth,” he said simply.

Paris pursed his lips. “I do not know how,” he said. “Tell me, William….what are you thinking?”

William breathed deeply, not answering for a moment. He seemed hypnotized by the flames of the bonfire in front of him. Paris didn’t think he was going to answer him until finally, quiet words began to come forth.

“When I was injured in the border clash last year…do you remember?” he spoke hesitantly. “Do you recall that you found me a few days later…?”

Paris cut in with a nod of his head. “Aye, I do. You were walking deliriously, with your leg nearly cut off. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I thought we had lost you.”