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None was more concerned about her than Paris. He knew she was going regardless of what he said or did, so he marched down to the stables and had the hands retrieve the large traveling carriage that had once been used by de Longley’s wife. It was a little worn from sheer disuse, but Paris put ten men to clean and repair the rig. If Jordan was indeed going, then it would be in the most comfortable possible way.

Christ, he was scared. William, his best friend in the entire world, was dying and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. William had entrusted him with Jordan’s life, a duty that took priority over his obligations at Northwood. Heavy with child, she was his main concern. And now she was hell-bent on travelling to London to be by William’s side in his last hours. Paris felt like a failure.

He felt as if he had no control over anything, as if everything was slipping away from him. What if William did die? What if Jordan had her babe on the road and something terrible happened to one, or both? He would be a worthless human being for failing in his responsibilities. And Paris, like William, was unused to failure.

The carriage was readied in mere hours. With all of the people Paris had put to work on it, he had expected it sooner but was pleased just the same.

Just after dusk he stood in the brightly lit stable yard watching the workmen put the finishing touches on the wheels. He hadn’t even eaten his dinner, yet he was not hungry. He was driven to have everything as perfect as he could possibly prepare it.

Kieran joined him in the stable yard. Paris glanced at the man; he was tired to his very bone, and he began to feel the return of the pain in his heart. Looking at Kieran brought on memories of William and his current condition, but he fought it.

“Well?” He looked at Kieran.

“Well what?”

“Are you a husband yet?”

“Aye, that I am,” Kieran nodded with a grin. “Damn strangest wedding I have ever been to. The bride pregnant and abed, and the groom dirty, smelly, and unshaven. But we are married and that is all that matters.”

“Sorry I could not have attended the happy occasion. And how is your wife faring?” Paris inquired.

“Big as a house, but well,” he replied. “She complains her arse hurts her all the time and she is going to fat.”

“She is highly jealous that Jordan still has permission to roam about freely,” Paris said.

“I know,” Kieran’s smile faded. “And she was insistent that we wait for Jordan to attend our ceremony. I had to tell her about William and she was nearly hysterical. She knows Jordan is going to London and she is adamant that she go with her.”

“Impossible, of course,” Paris’ jaw ticked. “Jordan should not even be going.”

Kieran let out a long, weary sigh. “Yet she is and there is nothing either one of us can do about it.” He crossed his arms and gazed out over the yard with its goats and cats and skinny dogs. “I do not want to deliver William’s child, Paris. The very thought that the lives of his wife and child are in my hands scares the hell out of me.”

“How do you think I feel?” Paris returned softly. “I promised William I would look out for her, yet I am allowing her to make this long journey to London. But I cannot keep her here in good conscience, Kieran. If William does die and she was not there with him, then she will hate me the rest of her life. And I could not deal with that.”

“My feelings exactly,” his friend replied, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, Paris, what if he does die? I know his only concern would be for the welfare of his wife and child. What will become of them?”

“Nothing,” Paris said with grim determination. “I would marry her in that event.”

Kieran looked at him. “You would?”

Paris shrugged. It was well known to his close friends that marriage was on a par with the Black Death. To Paris it was to be avoided at all costs. “I would consider it,” he muttered.

Kieran smiled. “You would do it and kill anyone who stood in your way. Do not lie to me, Paris. If William had not taken an interest in her, then you would have been after her like a hound after a rabbit.”

Paris scowled at him. “And what about you? Thank God Jemma came along or you and William would have eventually come to blows. I saw the way you looked at her.”

“I did no such thing,” Kieran snorted. “You are mad.”

“You think so?” Paris pushed his way into Kieran’s face, his hands on his hips. “You can lie to William, but do not try to deceive me. I know better, Kieran. I know you were falling for Jordan, and falling hard.”

Kieran stepped back, avoiding his gaze. “You are insane, Paris. You must be thinking of Deinwald. Or Michael. Or Marc. Hell, they could not take their eyes off her.”

Paris shook his head hard. “Deinwald would have taken Jemma over Jordan, and all Michael is interested in is another conquest. Marc, however, would be considerable competition.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Did Deinwald tell you that? Does he have an interest in Jemma?”

“Nay, he did not say a word. He fears you too much.” Paris waved him off, then gave him a sort of reproachful look. “I never thought you would lie to me, old friend.”

“I have not,” Kieran met his look steadily.