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“Do you also recall that my leg was tended, stitched up, and you asked me who did it?” William continued. “What did I tell you?”

Paris cocked an eyebrow. “You told me an angel had come to save your life,” he said. “ ’Twas all I could get out of you.”

William stared into the flames for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned to look Paris in the eye.

“That woman in my tent; that Scot,” he said quietly. “She was the angel. That was the woman who saved my leg and my life.”

Paris’ eyes widened. “What? Her?”

William didn’t say anymore. He continued to stare into the fire, his mind a hundred miles away. Paris sat with him, wanting to pepper him with questions but, for once, not following through with his desires. It was clear that William was troubled by the situation, but Paris could not honestly figure out why. Did William not want this woman to marry their lord because she was a Scot or because…possibly because William himself wanted her?

God only knew, she was beautiful. Too beautiful for their ancient lord, although the earl was a decent man. But so was William. Paris had never known a more brave or moral man. The thought that powerful and perfect William had possibly fallen for a woman brought a smile to Paris’ lips. He never knew he had it in him.

Then mayhap it would help his captain to talk about his feelings. William was as closed-mouthed as they come, but mayhap he would unload to Paris. He had done it before. And, besides, Paris was damn curious. He weighed the consequences and decided it was worth the probe even if William slugged him.

“My lord is troubled,” he began nicely enough. “Can I help?”

“Nay,” William replied.

Undaunted, Paris pressed on. “Try me. Mayhap I can. Do you not trust me with your private thoughts?”

William looked over at him and Paris inwardly braced himself for a blow. But it did not come. Instead, William merely shook his head.

“I do not even know my private thoughts,” he said quietly. “How can I give them to you?”

A dead end. Paris was about to give up when William suddenly stood up as if agitated. “Paris, have you ever known me to be a fool for woman?” he demanded.

Paris shook his head. “I have never known you to be a fool.”

William clenched and unclenched his huge hands. “This woman affects me like no one has ever affected me. I say yea, she says nay, and I bow to her wishes without a fight. She makes a request and with every fiber of my being I am moving to grant it.” He was pacing. “It is possible that the debt that I feel to her makes me weak, that I would cut off my own arm if she wished it simply because I am indebted to her for saving my life? Is that possible?”

“It is possible,” Paris concurred, shocked to see the power of emotions within his friend. “But is it not also possible that you feel something other than being indebted to her?”

William stopped pacing and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Paris cast him a long look. “Evaluate the situation for what it is, William,” he said softly. “She is a beautiful, desirable woman and you are a virile, powerful man. Is it not possible that you are attracted to her as a woman, that you may lust for her, and that thought is making you daft?”

“Nay,” William snapped. “Oh, hell… I do not know. But I do know one thing – she is to be de Longley’s bride, no matter what I feel.”

“Mayhap not,” Paris said. “But you had better deal with your emotions now and sort them out or you will be living for the rest of your life in a castle with a woman who turns you to putty with a glance.”

“She does not,” he said indignantly.

Paris was surprised to see that his usually calm captain was raging like a bull. He could not remember when he had ever seen William this passionate about anything. His captain’s nickname, The Wolf, was bestowed upon him because he was as cool, vicious, and cunning as his namesake. On the battlefield, he was feared and admired for his skill and sheer strength, and Paris in all of his travels had never seen a better soldier. Perhaps that is why he pledged his loyalty to William; he had finally found a man who could best him in a fight.

To see him like this, pacing and disturbed, amused him greatly for he truly believed nothing could upset this man. He had not obtained his auspicious reputation by being an emotional bundle.

“My lord,” he began in a tone that made William stop and look at him. “Could it be that you have found the woman of your dreams and you are destitute because she cannot belong to you?”

Instead of becoming incensed, as Paris expected him to, William actually seemed to grow sedate. He looked away from Paris, the muscles in his jaw ticking beneath the stubbled skin.

“Impossible,” he replied hoarsely. “There is no woman of my dreams.”

A direct hit. Paris knew it and was gladdened and saddened at the same time. William longed for a woman he could not have, yet a woman he would spend his entire lifetime serving.

He stood up and went to his captain, thousands of words of comfort and encouragement tumbling in his mind, but he could not sort them. Words seemed inadequate. He no longer felt the need to tease William but to offer him some sort of solace.

“Yes, there is, and her name is Jordan,” he said with understanding. “There is no shame in admitting she infatuates you. But, pray, admit it to yourself and deal with it now or it will eat you up.”