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Her husband’s gauntleted hand found its way to her rounded belly. “How fares my daughter?”

She smiled, putting her hand atop his. “Daughter, is it?”

“Aye,” he replied firmly. “I have two sons. ’Tis time for a daughter.”

“Is that so?” she said. “And what will we call this female, for I have only chosen male names.”

“Catherine,” he replied softly. “We will call her Catherine.”

Jordan grinned. “As ye say. I will name the boys and ye can name the girls.”

“Done,” he said with finality. “Now answer me. Is the babe well?”

“Aye, the babe is,” she said, leaning against him. “Considering the brainlessness of her mother, she is unscathed.”

“Thank God for that,” he said sincerely. “I am eager to see my beautiful daughter. I can only hope she is not as willful a wench as her mother.”

Jordan patted his hand, although he could not feel it through the armor. “If the babe is a boy, I will call him Patrick,” she announced.

He laughed all the way back to the wagons.

*

With his wife safe and McKenna Keep burning to the ground, William called a retreat. His army had done great damage to the Scot forces as it was, and since Jordan had been rescued unharmed, William found his resolve weakening in his desire to kill every Scot that still lived. He simply wanted to return her home and be done with this episode.

But his wife had other plans.

“English, ye canna leave now,” she insisted.

She was standing on the ground, her arm around her father’s waist, looking up at him with those bottomless green eyes.

“And why not, may I ask?” he did not like being ordered about, especially in battle, and especially by his wife.

“Because our kin are still in the dungeons!” she told him. “Ye must save them before they burn.”

Thomas obviously did not know this; they had done nothing but hug for the past several minutes with virtually no exchange of words.

“Who’s alive, Jordan?” he demanded.

“Uncle Matthew, Cord and Ian,” she said. “Malcolm said they were in the dungeons.”

Jemma jumped from the wagon next to where they were standing, her amber eyes bright. “My Da is alive, Jordi?” she exclaimed, then looked to her husband, astride his animal next to his liege. “Oh, Kieran, please!”

William knew at that moment the choice was made for him. There was no way Kieran was going to deny his wife’s request, especially since it was her father. And William would not deny her, either.

Reining his horse sharply, he turned to his wife a split second before he dashed off. “Stay to the wagons,” he ordered. “I shall be back.”

He and Kieran commandeered Michael, Deinwald, Roan and Marc, as they fought their way back through the dispersing crowd. William sent Corin and Adam back to organize the wounded and to get the wagons, while leaving Ranulf and Paris to finish the withdrawal on the battlefield.

“We’ll need a guide,” William told Kieran. “Find me a prisoner.”

’Twas not a difficult task. Kieran and Michael plunged into the sea of retreating soldiers and came back several minutes later with a burly Scot in a torn and bloodied plaid. Michael had the big man by the hair.

William guided his horse over to the captive. “Are you familiar with this keep?”

The man looked up at him. The anger and hatred in his eyes were evident. “Rot in hell, ye bloody bastard.”

William unsheathed his sword and pressed the tip against the man’s neck. When the soldier didn’t move, he pushed harder until a trickle of blood seeped down the man’s neck. He continued to apply pressure, pushing the blade deeper and deeper into the man’s throat.