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Jemma picked up her tone. “As do I,” she agreed quickly. “Especially Michael; God must have been paying close attention to his work the day that man was molded.”

“Agreed,” Jordan returned. “Do ye suppose he knows what kind of effect he has on women? If he keeps that up, we shall have maidens swooning all over the compound.”

“Kieran, I suddenly feel quite inferior,” William said casually. “And you?”

Kieran nodded gravely. “As well, my lord. Personally, I am much better defined than Michael. And you are much better shaped. I cannot fathom the interest.”

“I concur,” William replied. “For the sake of the maidens of Northwood, I will order the man to keep his tunic on from now on.”

“Ye will do no such thing,” Jordan said over her shoulder. “ ’Tis a rare and agreeable sight to behold. I hope my waistline is as fine as his someday.”

William cocked a brow. “Madam, your waistline is exquisite, and well you know it.”

She smiled coyly at her husband, her lashes sweeping her cheeks. William grinned back at her.

“Not me,” Jemma put in. “My waist has gone to fat.”

“Nay, it has not,” Kieran countered firmly. “It is perfect, as is the rest of you.”

They continued into the outer bailey and Jordan was relieved to see that the blacksmiths’ shop was semi-operational. The man looked up and waved enthusiastically at her.

“My lady!” he called. “ ’Tis good to see you have returned. And I see you have born our dear earl twins. How joyous!”

Jordan’s smile faded. She had forgotten that the population still believed her to be the dead earl’s wife. She suddenly felt very depressed and saddened.

William was between her and Kieran, putting Scott into Kieran’s arms. “I will escort my wife now,” he told him quietly, his gaze on the blacksmith.

He steered her away from the lean-to and they proceeded along the perimeter of the wall, observing the various stages of repairs and building going on. Jordan tried to focus on the construction, attempting to forget the inadvertent words of the blacksmith.

When the group rounded the corner that led to the kitchens, Jordan suddenly saw a tiny figure dash across the yard and disappear behind some burnt-out shacks. The certainty of what she saw forced her to release her hold on her husband’s arm and run after the child.

She ran to the spot where the little form had disappeared. William came up behind her curiously.

“What?”

“Shhh,” she put her finger to her lips and knelt down, peering inside the crevice. It was dark, burnt and smelled of soot.

“Mary Alys?” she called out softly. “Mary Alys, ’tis me. Lady Jordan. Are ye in there? Please come out.”

They waited for a few seconds when they heard some rustling inside the darkness. Something banged and fell down, and a dirty little face appeared in the light.

“Lady?” Came a tiny voice.

Jordan smiled. “Aye, Mary Alys, ’tis me.”

The little girl stepped closer, within arm’s length. “You came back?”

“I did,” Jordan replied gently. “What are ye doing hiding in here? ’Tis dangerous for ye.”

She glanced behind her as if the concept was not thought of. “I live here, lady.”

Jordan looked astonished. “You do?”

Mary Alys stepped out of the shelter, eyeing William with frightened eyes. “My mum wath kilt in the big fight,” she said. “My houth burnt down, too. I live here now.”

“Ridiculous.” Jordan insisted. “Ye will do no such thing. I am yer friend, Mary Alys, and I say that ye will come into the castle and live with me.”

Mary Alys’ pretty gray eyes widened, “Inside the cathle?”