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“Basically,” he said. “I have known most of them since I was a lad. They are good men, sworn to protect and obey.” He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Even you.”

She raised a doubtful brow. “Well, I think that knight of yers, what’s his name? Deinwald? He may have other thoughts about that. He doesna want me around, I can tell.”

William cocked an eyebrow and looked off into the dimness of the tent. “Deinwald knows what is expected of him.”

She suddenly felt as if she had said too much. She did not know Deinwald; how could she know his mind? Quickly, she sought to make amends lest he think she was badmouthing his vassal.

“The other knights have been most gracious,” she said earnestly. “Sir Paris has been exceedingly kind and seems to want to be friendly. We have had a wonderful conversation about Alexander the Great, and….”

He rose abruptly, cutting her off. “I know you are tired,” he said curtly. “I shall leave you momentarily so that you may prepare for bed. But I shall be right outside the tent should you need me.”

He was moving rapidly for the tent flap and she was afraid she had said something terribly to offend him. She did not want to offend the only ally she had.

“Sir knight,” she called softly after him.

William paused by the door flap, stopped by the sweetness of her voice. Taking a moment to compose himself, he turned to her.

“What is it, my lady?” he asked.

She stood from her chair. “Did I say something to offend ye?”

“Nay, my lady, you did not,” he replied after a brief hesitation.

She looked awkward. “Then why are ye leaving so quickly? If I said something, then I apolo….”

He shook his head. “No need, my lady, for you have done nothing,” he assured her. Then he smiled faintly. “Prepare for bed. We will have an early start.”

He left her standing there, half-comforted, half-confused at his abrupt behavior.

Outside, William would have liked nothing better than to punch himself silly. God damn. Why did he react like that when she spoke favorably of Paris? It was as if he was suddenly, overwhelmingly jealous that she spoke of another man. Damnation. He was even sweating over it.

He had to remain in control of himself if he were going to get through all of this. Angrily, he kicked at the ground. He hated feeling this way, so unnerved. The worst of it was that he still could not decide if it was lust or….something else he felt for Lady Jordan. But his reaction to her speaking of Paris was a testimony to itself. Paris had been right; he had to deal with these emotions and stop denying them or they would destroy him.

Inside the tent, he began to hear the faint strains of a song. Intrigued, he listened closely and heard her high, clear, sweet voice singing of Tristan and Isolde. She sang so beautifully that he was captivated for quite some time before he realized what the story was telling him.

Good God. He reeled away from the tent flap with his eyes wide. Was he about to live out that ancient story? Much to his growing horror, he realized he had never been more confused in his life.

*

William returned to the tent an hour later. He had left Paris in charge shortly after his confusion had overwhelmed him, going to check the posts again, trying to sort himself out. It had helped greatly to put his mind on his work again, and he found that he was completely rational again when he returned.

He found Jordan curled up on the furs, her cloak and another heavy fur covering her. The brazier was barely flickering, offering no warmth at all against the cold night. In the dim light, he could see her quivering with the chill in her sleep.

He removed his boots and one hit the floor with a loud noise. He was positive it would wake her but was not really surprised to see that it didn’t. After all the noise she had slept through that afternoon, he doubted that boots falling to the floor would wake her. Fully clothed, he lay on top of the furs that covered her, perhaps a foot or so away. A safe distance, he hoped. He didn’t want to be too far away from her, wanting to be close enough to defend her should it be necessary. After the turmoil he had been going through over the past hour, he wondered if it was even a wise decision to be in the same tent with her. Wise or not, he didn’t want to put anyone else in charge of her.

After several long moments, he dared to turn his head and look at her. Jordan was lying on her side, facing him as she slept the sleep of the dead. Her glorious hair was askew and William found himself staring at her for a very long time. She was quaking with the chill and he wondered if he should cover her with more furs. It would have been quicker and warmer to use his body heat but to hold her against him, which was probably not very smart, so he decided to cover her with another fur. Rising from the pallet, he gathered the last fur he had and laid it gently over her. In the process, he inadvertently touched her soft white hand with his index finger.

Her hand was like ice. True to form, Jordan stirred and her eyes flew open, focusing in on him immediately.

“What is the matter?” she asked sleepily. “Is something amiss?”

He shook his head. “You are freezing,” he whispered as he lay back down. “I was covering you with another fur.”

She nodded, pushing the hair from her eyes. He could see the hand trembling as she did so, so very cold. Watching her struggle with the furs, trying to eek a measure of warmth from them, caused William’s resolve to weaken and something inside him snapped. Almost roughly, he reached out and wrapped the furs tightly about her. Then, he pulled her against him.

Jordan muttered a few protests and briefly tried to resist, but when she felt his delicious warmth, she reconsidered. He was like a furnace.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he commanded softly. “It would not do for you to catch a chill and become ill before we reach Northwood. Lord de Longley will not want a sick bride.”