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“They are English!” Jemma said, back to fighting with her and completely forgetting her promise to William. “They have no heart, no soul, and no conscience. I wonder just how many of our kin the Northwood knights have personally killed?”

“And I wonder how many of our kin have killed their family and friends?” Jordan fired back. “It goes on both sides of the wall, Jemma. We are not the only ones who have suffered.”

Jemma was red. “By God, how can ye defend these bastards? Is it possible that they have infected yer thinking with sweet words and kindness to make ye forget who they are?”

Jordan was shaking with fury. “Shut up, Jemma. Ye are a stupid, vicious person and I will not speak to ye anymore of it.”

Jordan turned away and Jemma threw down the brush, hitting the tub with a resounding clang. “Ye’re a damn traitor, ’tis what ye are,” she snarled. “Ye like it here, don’t ye?”

Jordan whirled on her cousin with lightning speed, her hands forming claws as she moved for her. She was mad enough to kill because Jemma was voicing the same thoughts she herself was having. But she had to deny it to her death, even if it meant getting the living daylights beat out of her by her smaller-but-stronger cousin. She would die denying the kind feelings she felt for the English knights, and for William.

Fortunately for her, William had heard the screeching and chose to enter the tent just as Jordan was moving for Jemma. Quick as a flash he grabbed Jordan, pulling her away and calling for Paris.

Paris was right behind him. Not surprised they were fighting again, he firmly took Jemma’s arm and pulled her to the tent flap. But William stopped him before he could leave with her.

“Put Lady Jemma on the back of Corin’s destrier and send him to Langton,” he said in a commanding tone. “I warned you, Lady Jemma. I will not tolerate a troublemaker.”

Jordan was so mad she started to cry. He thought she was crying because he was sending Jemma back. He immediately wished he had not issued the order, but he would not back down.

“Get her out of here,” he told Paris.

“No. Wait.” Jordan sobbed. “ ’Twas my fault, my lord. I… I antagonized her. If ye will notice, ’twas me who was advancing on her, not the other way around. Ye may send me back if ye wish, but Jemma… she did not start anything.”

William was mightily torn. He did not want to back down on an order, especially not in front of the women. He was a man who kept his word, and he would. But mayhap not tonight. Mayhap he would let them all sleep on it. Much to his dismay, he realized he was about to rescind a direct order.

Angry, he jerked his head at Paris. “Out of my sight. I will deal with her on the morrow.”

“Aye, my lord,” Paris pulled Jemma from the tent.

Jordan was sobbing softly in his arms, her back to his chest. He should have let her go but he did not want to. She needed comfort and he meant to give it.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She nodded her head and pulled away from him, wiping her hands at her face. “Jemma has the power to drive me to tears sometimes,” she said lamely. “She can drive one quite mad.”

She was lying. She was crying because Jemma had called her a traitor and she was right.

He smiled at her. “It seems she has that effect on Paris as well, though I have yet to see him in tears.”

She sniffed and smiled at him, wiping her eyes daintily. “Wait until morning.”

He grinned, showing his even teeth. He was pleased that she was calming and hoped that now they could get to bed. The thought of sleeping next to her tonight left him warm and eager. But it would seem that Jordan had other plans.

“Where is Sir Jason so that I might tend him?” she asked.

William’s jaw dropped a little but he recovered. He had forgotten all about her earlier request and hoped she had, too.

Right now he was not sure if it was a good idea for her to see Jason in her agitated state. She and Jemma were near ready to kill each other and now she wanted to go and see a man that could have easily killed her.

Still, he had promised. Reluctantly, he indicated for her to follow him.

Jordan picked up her skirts and began to pick her way through the muck because of her clean slippers. At that rate it would take her all night. Muttering to himself, William bent down and swept her into his arms.

“Sir knight, I am quite capable of walking,” she said primly.

He ignored her. Pouting, she nonetheless put her arms around his neck as he trudged off around the compound.

Jason lay on a fur pallet in a tent lit by a fish oil lamp. Someone had fixed him some sort of poultice to hold over his face and he was unaware when William and Jordan entered.