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“I did not say otherwise,” he said mildly, cutting off her tirade. “I simply asked what sort of man he was, as you asked of Lord de Longley.”

She was instantly still. He could feel her breathing hard against him and wondered what else she was plotting to say. To his surprise, she chuckled softly.

“Ye are as sly as a fox, sir knight,” she muttered.

He smiled to himself and felt her relax against him once again. He had to resist the urge to caress her back; he found that his hands fairly ached to touch her. Jordan was just drifting off to sleep when she heard his voice again.

“Of what were you and Paris talking when I interrupted earlier this eve?”

William had no idea why he should blurt out this question now, but he had been wondering what the conversation had been about. When he had returned to them at the fire, Paris and Jordan had been smiling at one another quite companionably. He began to think that perhaps his jealousy had started at that moment.

Jordan was so sleepy she could not quite remember. When earlier? Ah, he must mean when he left Sir Paris and sat me with the other knights. Now, what had we been talking about?

“Conspiring, my lord,” she teased him; she was too tired to think on it.

Now he was damn curious. Was she being evasive in a taunting sort of way? He would find out now or she would never get to sleep.

“I see,” he said evenly. “What about?”

She was nearly asleep, her face half buried in his shoulder.

“We plan to run away together,” she whispered.

“Is that so?” he replied. “I wonder what the king would have to say to that.”

She stirred, bringing up her head. Her sleepy face was an inch from his own, her heavy-lidded eyes looking at him.

“I was jesting, my lord,” she said. “I believe we were speaking of Greek poetry and Alexander the Great. I did not mean to infer that Sir Paris was traitorous.”

“You did not,” he said. “I know Paris well enough, I think. But I hope he did not bore you with such talk.”

“Nay, my lord, ’tis I who was speaking of it,” she replied. “My Da is a devotee of Alexander.”

“I see,” William said, satisfied to know the conversation’s contents. “Paris is a great admirer of the Romans and the Greeks. He would talk you into your grave on the subject.”

“Hardly, my lord,” she grinned sleepily. “Have ye not heard of the Scotsman’s gift for gab?”

“Aye,” he replied. “And I see you have it. Go to sleep now.”

“Aye,” she sighed, cuddling to him once again as if she had been doing it all her life. He responded in the same comfortable manner, nearly unaware of it and completely relishing the feel of her.

Content, they fell asleep together in the cold stillness of the night.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The army was disassembled and moving before dawn. Hot breath hung in the air from man and beast alike, mingling with the blanket of fog that had settled over the land. The smell of wet foliage was heavy in Jordan’s nostrils, and she had spent a good deal of the morning sneezing off the effects.

Jordan was dressed in a heavy linen surcoat with the thick matching cloak, yet she was still freezing. Ever since William had left their bed to tend to his duties she had been freezing. Mornings like this were soaking wet and she kept her hood on to keep the wet off her face. It seemed a gloomy, depressing day.

She was standing with Paris and Marc and her maids by the wagons, waiting patiently for William to retrieve her. The caravan was preparing to move and she became concerned that he had not yet come for her, yet neither Paris nor the other knight seemed to pay much attention to her. They were staring off down the road, as if they could see something she could not.

Shortly, William’s squire rode up to Paris and, after a brief conversation, dashed off again.

Paris turned to Jordan. “My lady will ride with me this morn.”

Without a word, Jordan mounted his big roan and the two of them rode towards the front of the column. She wondered if William was angry with her after her outburst last night and had chosen Paris to bear her burden. She was angry at herself for being hurt by his actions, as if they had formed any sort of relationship whatsoever.

There were times, however, when she caught something so intense in his eyes that it left her breathless. As beautiful as she was, she’d had no experience with men whatsoever because her father kept them well away from her. She knew nothing about them, their thoughts, or their ways. But she knew without a doubt that Sir William could not possibly be interested in her personally and was simply showing her kindness. She was to be his liege’s wife, and that was that.