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He cocked an eyebrow at her. “ ’Tis I who will judge what is needed, my lady, when it comes to the discipline of my men.”
Her initial shock was becoming irritation. “I am not challenging yer authority, simply the action taken. Ye hurt him far worse that he hurt me.”
He brushed past her into the tent. “That is not the point, Lady Jordan, as I am not in the habit of explaining my actions to anyone.”
He had fairly cut her off with that statement. She watched him for a moment, angry that he had told her to keep out of the affair when she had been the cause of it. She followed him back into the tent, pausing at the door. She knew he thought she was a tremendous agitator, disobeying his orders and then making him punish his own men. She hung her head and kicked at the ground. He was most likely wishing he had never known her.
William was trying to ignore her for all it was worth, but he was having a difficult time of it. When she hung her head and dug her toe into the earth, he almost relented but he fought it. He had to remain in control and not show her how he truly felt. It frightened him to know that she could control his emotions so easily when he had always taken great lengths to preserve himself.
He poured himself more wine and drank deeply. Bloody hell, if she hadn’t been standing there he would have ripped young Jason apart limb from limb; his anger had been so great. He fought off an urge to laugh at himself. He never thought his natural instinct to protect the weaker sex would make him a madman.
But it wasn’t just any woman he was protecting. It was Jordan. The woman who saved his life. The woman who was to be his lord’s wife.
He caught her movement from the corner of his eye, she was looking beyond the tent opening.
“May I at least tend his wound, my lord?” she asked, then turned to catch him in her gaze with deadly accuracy. “As I once tended yers?”
She had called him clever once, but there was no mistaking her own slyness. He met her gaze evenly before taking another drink.
“Nay,” he replied.
She glared at him. “Why not?” she demanded. “Ye probably crushed the man’s nose and he probably lays swallowing his own blood as we speak.”
William gazed at her impassively. “He deserved far worse than what he got.”
She could not believe what she was hearing. “I canna believe ye are so… uncompassionate.”
“But I am compassionate, my lady, to those deserving,” he peered strangely at her. “Why do you defend a man who treated you less than kindly?”
“I am not,” she replied quickly in frustration. “ ’Tis just that…that I hate violence. I havena the stomach for it, I never had.”
He regarded her. “But your father is a warlord.”
“That dunna mean that I like it,” she insisted. “I have seen too many young men die and I have come to abhor violence of any kind.”
He was silent a moment. “Then I apologize for forcing you to watch while I dispensed justice,” he said.
She smiled ruefully. “ ’Tis better that I watched, I think. Had I not, ye might have run him through.”
He smiled faintly at her and she felt flushed at his attention. Sweet Jesu,’ this man could make her feel so strange with a mere glance. She was coming to like it.
“Come and sit,” he said. “Drink some wine. It will help warm you.”
She obeyed slowly, accepting the wine from him. “Ye still will not allow me to tend him, my lord?” she asked.
He looked down at her, hands on his hips. “You are not going to let this rest, are you?”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
He wiggled his brows in resignation. “Mayhap later.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile that made him grow weak in the knees. “Thanks to ye, my lord.”
They sipped their wine in silence, he standing and she sitting. He stood slightly behind her and found himself stealing glances at her. Even disheveled and dirty, she was flawlessly lovely.
“Are you still cold?” he asked.
She lifted her shoulders. “I am always cold. The wine helps.”
