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Jemma was waiting for her in the stables. “What took ye so long?” she hissed, then shut up as the stable master brought out the two long-legged thoroughbreds the ladies were fond of riding.

Jordan’s horse was a magnificent rich brown animal that she had ridden on several occasions. It had previously belonged to the dead earl. She mounted up, securing the bag to the saddle and covered it inconspicuously with her skirt. Jemma mounted a smaller, faster chestnut horse.

“Are you sure you ladies do not wish an escort?” the stable master asked urgently. “ ’Twill be no trouble at all to…”

Jemma cut him off. “Nay, good sir. We wish to ride alone, although we willna stray far. We will keep the castle in view at all times.”

The old man looked at her doubtfully. He didn’t think it was a good idea for the two women to ride alone, but he did not argue.

“As you please, ladies,” he said politely. “Have a good ride.”

They trotted from the stables and through the outer bailey, running headlong into William, Adam and Deinwald. Jordan’s heart sank, for she knew her husband would not approve of riding without an escort. She was hoping to avoid running into him, although she had not seen him all day. She was positive he would be able to read her mind.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a smile, going to stand alongside her.

She swallowed. “Out for a ride with my cousin,” she replied, hoping her voice wasn’t quaky.

“Alone? I think not,” he said with a cock of the brow.

Jordan exploded. “Sweet Jesu, English, we’re not riding out into the waiting arms of the enemy. Jemma and I have not ridden alone for ages and we simply want to spend time to ourselves. With everything that has happened, is that too much to ask?”

He did not appreciate the tone but he let it slide. After all, she was expecting and he knew women in her condition were prone to emotional outbursts. And according to Paris, Jordan was prone with the best of them.

“Would you allow one of my knights to go with you if he promises to stay silent and out of the way?” he asked nicely, not waiting for her to fall into fits of anger.

“Nay,” she insisted hotly. “I dunna want anyone along but Jemma.”

“Not even me?” he asked quietly.

That tone always soothed her, melted her. She gazed down into his loving face and felt her anger fade.

“Usually, aye,” she replied more calmly. “But just Jemma and I, please? We have a lot to talk about; silly, feminine, maternal things. Please, English? We willna go too far.”

He didn’t want to let her; damn, he didn’t want to. But she was pleading with him and he was weak. Oh, what harm could come to them, he thought with exasperation. He would have his sentries keep their eyes alert.

“Very well, love,” he said after a moment. “But keep the fortress in your sight at all times.”

“We will,” she lied.

“Good girl,” he reached up to her. “Give me a kiss.”

She bent down and gave him the sweetest, softest kiss she could ever remember giving him. Even he looked pleasantly surprised when he pulled back.

“Not too long,” he warned.

“I wunna,” she avoided his gaze, kicking the thoroughbred.

She felt so damn guilty that tears stung her eyes. He would never again trust her after this, but it was something she felt in her heart she had to do. Mayhap someday he would forgive her, knowing how much he loved her.

Soon they were pounding from the gates. Jemma took the lead, taking them down the road a way before darting off the path and into a clump of brown foliage. For the next half hour they scampered about, jumping small logs, making sure that the soldiers up on the wall could see them every so often as they dodged in and out of the dead trees.

Jemma knew that when they finally disappeared from view completely, the soldiers would not sound the alarm as they waited for them to reappear. Then, it was too late. By then, they would be on their way to Scotland.

Sticking to the trees, they ripped off their riding dresses, revealing the clothing they had stolen. With the dresses hastily buried under rotting leaves, they rode from the sight of Northwood. The thoroughbreds were bred for speed, and raced like the wind through the cover of the trees until Jemma guided her mount to the road again several miles north, with Jordan following. Jordan felt as if she were running from the devil, which is exactly what her husband would become if provoked. Her mount could easily outrun his destrier, but it lacked the stamina of the massive animal. She would have to rest him before long at this pace.

The miles distancing them between Northwood stretched out. With each hoof-fall, she came closer to Langton and closer to her da, and closer to heart-wrenching answers. But her heart ached that she had deceived William, and she missed her bairns already.

No matter now; they were going home.