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She blinked at the insult, dropping her head. “ ’Twas not stupid if ye consider why I thought it worth the risk,” she said softly. “I had to see for myself if my father had betrayed his word. Moreover, from the moment the army attacked, the marriage contract was void. I ceased to become a valuable commodity and instead became a prisoner. Dying in battle would be preferable to rotting away in the tower.”

He stopped mid-rage and looked at the top of her lowered head. “There you go with that tower nonsense again,” he said, the fire out of his tone. “Furthermore, ’tis Lord de Longley’s decision whether you would still become his bride or whether you would become a prisoner. You do not seem to realize that you no longer control your destiny.”

She lifted her head and his heart constricted to see tears in her eyes. Yelling at her was like yelling at a helpless pup; he felt like an ogre.

“If I controlled my own destiny, do ye think for one moment that I would be here sitting in front of an English knight?” she returned softly. “But I do apologize for being stupid. I shouldna have distracted ye on the battlefield like I did. But I was scared and sickened by all of it, and when that giant man attacked ye I thought….”

She dissolved into faint sniffles and he relented. He felt like a sadistic fiend for reprimanding her, even though she deserved worse.

With a sigh of defeat, he knelt beside the chair and wondered why in the hell this woman’s tears affected him so. Paris was right, he thought grimly. This woman had the power to turn him to putty.

“My lady,” he said softly.

She ignored him, sniffling into her hand. He tried again.

“Jordan,” he said, more firmly, and put a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. Her sobs nearly broke his heart. “You are not stupid and I am sorry I called you that. I did not mean it. But you must trust that I know what is best for you and your safety. I have promised my life to protect you – remember?”

When she nodded, he smiled gently at her. “And as for that giant on the battlefield, he could not kill me. I have fought him before and I know his weaknesses. ’Twas simply a matter of time before he made a mistake I could take advantage of, which I did.”

“But I thought he had cut off yer head,” she wept.

She began to sob again and he chuckled softly, pulling her head down against his neck. He should not have done it, but he could not help himself. Her concern was touching.

“There is not a sword made yet that can destroy me,” he whispered into her hair. “Do not fear, my lady.”

Much to his astonishment, both arms went around his neck and she continued to cry her heart out. Before he even realized he was doing it, his instincts took charge and his arms enfolded her protectively. He was seized by a tremendous urge to defend and guard her, for always. The feeling gripped him like an iron vise and he knew that all the rationalizing in the world would not chase it away. He was overwhelmed with it, and with her. He was more than infatuated and nearly ill with the prospect.

“My lady,” he cleared his throat softly. “Stop your tears. You will make yourself ill.”

Jordan pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “I am sorry, sir knight,” she said, then glanced timidly at him. “But I saw ye fight. Ye were magnificent. ’Twas almost worth the scare to be able to watch ye in action.”

He smiled faintly, gazing into that lovely face. “I have been a soldier for many years, my lady. I should hope that I would be proficient at it by now,” he said modestly.

“Proficient?” she repeated. “Sweet Jesu,’ ye were a sight to behold. I have never seen anyone fight as ye did, and I have seen a good many battles. Now I know why they call ye The Wolf. Ye were positively fearsome.”

He didn’t know what to say. Her praise made him feel terribly self-conscious and he lowered his gaze.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said simply.

Jordan could see what affect her words were having on him. She could swear the man was actually blushing. From what she knew of William, she did not believe it was possible and could not resist the urge to needle him. Tears forgotten, she tilted her head so she could look at his lowered face.

“Why on earth are ye shy about it?” she asked, grinning. “Yer the greatest knight I have ever seen, even if ye are English. Why, ye are better than…than good king Arthur. Or Galahad. Or even Cuchulain.”

He looked at her. “What do you know of Cuchulain?”

She was smiling impishly, seeing that he was surprised she had knowledge of the man.

“I know that he is the greatest Celt warrior that Ireland ever had,” she said, then jabbed a finger at him. “Mayhap someday ye shall be called the greatest English warrior the empire has ever known. All hail the tale of the magnificent Sir William de Wolfe, guardian of peace and vanquisher of evil. Sworn to protect silly, mindless Scot maidens.” She was full of her tale, her enchantment full-blown. “How does that sound so far? A proper tale?”

He smiled lopsidedly; she was certainly a bundle of charm when she wasn’t being so darn sensitive. It was a side of her he had not seen yet but rapidly discovered that it could disarm him over all else.

“Well and good, but do not forget that I am also perfect in every way,” he said with mock-seriousness.

“Of course ye are,” she feigned dismay at her forgetfulness. “Perfect in every way. Perfectly boastful. Perfectly tyrannical. Perfectly arrogant. Perfectly….”

He put up his hands. “Enough already; I understand the message.”

They smiled at each other warmly a moment before his eyes narrowed. “Perfectly tyrannical, am I?” he asked.