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He put up a hand. “I know you did not, for you are too much of a lady, unlike some women around here.” His point was apparent. “I said that we would not marry until I was ready, but I never said when I would be ready.”

Caladora didn’t know what to say. He stared back into her pale green eyes and took a strand of hair between his fingers.

“I realized last night how much I love you,” he said quietly. “ ’Tis true I have told you that before, but I never realized how much I meant it. I guess I didn’t want to admit that such a lovely creature had control over me. I will love you now as well as fifty years from now and, therefore, there is no longer any reason to wait. I am ready to marry you now.”

Her eyes bulged. “Now?”

He grinned at her shock and put a hand over his heart. “If you will indeed have me, sweet. I am an arrogant, prideful man and I do not expect to change my ways.”

She shook her head, her eyes welling. “I would not have ye change.”

He took that for a positive response to his answer and pulled her into his arms.

*

William placed Patrick gently in his cradle as the wet nurse hovered several feet away. It was overwhelmingly known how protective the earl was with his sons, and mayhap Patrick all the more because of the tough time he had had coming into the world. Although Patrick was a large, healthy boy, William sometimes treated him as if he were suddenly going to disappear.

“English, leave him to sleep,” Jordan admonished him softly from the door to the nursery. “He wunna be able to rest with all of that armor clanging about.”

William kissed his son’s tiny head once more before reluctantly doing as he was asked. Retreating from the nursery and back into the antechamber, Jordan helped her husband remove his armor until he was dressed only in a tunic, linen breeches and boots. Then she threw herself against him.

“I canna believe we are finally going!” she exclaimed. “After all this time, ’tis overwhelming.”

He kissed her before pulling away from her and stripping off his tunic. “For me, as well,” he agreed. “It has been a long time in coming.”

Jordan smiled, plopping happily into the high back chair. “Is our chamber grand?”

He grinned. “As grand as you can imagine, love. As grand as you deserve.”

She flashed her teeth with happy excitement, laying crosswise on the chair so that her knees hung over one arm and her head over the other. “And I want to find a place for a flower garden, English. My mother had one, once, and I should like to have one. And pets, too, a place for George and dogs and rabbits.”

He poured himself a cup of wine. “Aye, there is plenty of room for that.” As he drank, he eyed her supple body as she draped herself over the chair. Lord, the woman looked as if she had never seen a day of pregnancy.

He remembered exactly when the last time occurred that he had made love to her; eight months ago in London and he was nearly dying with the urge to make love to her again. It had been the longest eight months of his life, but well worth the sacrifice. They had waited seven weeks to make love after the twins were born, and it had nearly been that now, but he would not push her. He didn’t want to seem like he was hounding her.

“Is there a lake, English?” she asked him, staring dreamily up at the ceiling.

“Aye, there is,” he regarded her. “A big one. And Michael made a little boat for the boys to ride in.”

She smiled at him. “Did he? How sweet.” She sighed happily and sat straight once again, looking her husband over. “Ye look as if ye could use a bath.”

He looked down at his broad, naked and sweaty chest and shrugged. “Mayhap.”

Jordan stood up. “I can smell ye from over here,” she said. She stuck her head into the hallway and called softly to a serving wench for a bath. Closing the door, she turned back to her husband. “Off with the clothes, English. And I may burn them.”

He grinned, “They are not that bad.”

She wrinkled her nose and went to the large wardrobe where she kept their hygiene products. She brought out a liquid soap made with beer for his hair and a cake of sandalwood-scented soap. Scottish soap, she proudly proclaimed.

He watched her busy herself for his bath, his heart warm and full with her. Every day he fell in love with her anew; when he saw her cooing over the twins, or breastfeeding Patrick, or laughing with her cousins. He knew now as he had known when he met her, had he not married Lady Jordan Scott, he would have shriveled up and died. He could not imagine his life without her, and as much as he loved and worshipped his children, he loved and worshipped her more. She was his all for living.

The serving girl and several soldiers brought in a huge copper tub and began filling it with hot water. William retreated to the bedchamber to remove his clothing as his wife saw to the filling of his bath and called him when it was ready.

He sank to his chest in the tub and watched Jordan as she put on an apron and pulled her luxurious hair to the nape of her neck. She started with his head by pouring a huge pitcher of water over him and lathering his hair until he thought she was washing all the follicles from his head. She chattered endlessly as she scrubbed and scraped and rinsed. She even shaved him, putting a glob of soap on his nose and then laughing loudly when he grabbed her and kissed her, covering her face with lather as well.

He was greatly enjoying the feel of her soft hands on his back, his arms, and his chest. By the time she had him stand so that she could lather his lower regions, he was almost fully aroused and she gave him a reproachful glance.

“English,” she shook her head. “Not now.”