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“Dunna kill him, English,” she whispered.

His brows drew together. “That is for me to decide, my lady.”

She shook her head. “Ye misunderstand,” she said softly. “He is…not right sometimes. Please dunna kill him, I beg ye. No matter what he has done, he is still my kin.”

Momentarily, he was lost in those pale green eyes. He had to tear himself away or he would be done for.

“I shall do what needs to be done,” he said, squeezing her hand briefly before pulling away.

William fixed his attention on Malcolm. The young Scot was still pale but very lucid. He and William gazed at each other with equal hostility.

“What were you doing here, little man?” William delivered the first insult.

Malcolm stiffened. “I was going to take Jordan home.”

“With a knife at her throat?” William countered sternly. “Try again. And no more lies or I swear I will cut out your tongue.”

“I was trying to frighten her into submission.” Malcolm was telling the half-truth. “I wasna going to kill her. She is my kin and she belongs at Langton.”

William looked at him with contempt. “She belongs where her father says she belongs,” he said. “Was it you who led that bloody attack on my forces today?”

Malcolm’s indecision gave him away, even though he delayed for no more than a split second.

“What attack? I came here with my loyal friends to free Jordan. There were only four of us.”

William knew he was lying through his teeth. “I see,” he said. “Strange that you are wearing your tartan in battle dress. In fact, I caught a glimpse of your friends as well and they are all dressed in the same manner. Just like the army we fought this morning.”

Malcolm’s jaw moved and he dropped his eyes. He paused a few moments before continuing. “Then the rumors I heard were true. ’Twas Uncle Thomas ye musta fought this morning. I heard he was planning an attack from the rear, but I dinna want to believe it.”

Jordan snapped out of her stupor. She jumped up from the chair, her pretty face flushed. “That’s a bloody lie and well ye know it,” she said, shaking her fist at him. “My Da would never be so dishonorable.”

“I am sorry to be the one to tell ye, Jordi, but yer Da has been planning the attack since he agreed on the treaty terms,” Malcolm insisted. William noticed how sweat was beading on the man’s brow. “He thought he could take the army by surprise to show yer King Henry just what he thought of his attempts at peace.”

“Ye’re lying.” she shrieked. “I swear I shall cut yer heart out for this blasphemy, Malcolm. Ye’re a dead man.”

William could not think with Jordan so agitated. Quickly, he turned and pulled her against him as he moved for the tent flap. Outside, Michael was standing guard.

“Take her,” William thrust Jordan at him. “Take her to your tent until I come for her.”

Michael nodded and took Jordan’s arm. He led her a few tents away and held back the flap for her. She entered the cold and dark tent, sniffling and shivering. The past two days had been heaven and hell and she was spent emotionally. That, combined with the lack of sleep, was making her daft. Walking woodenly to the center of the tent, she collapsed onto her bottom and hugged her legs for warmth and comfort.

Michael de Bocage gazed at her bowed head. She was certainly having a rough time of it, no matter how hard they were all trying to keep her safe and comfortable. He would have liked to talk to her, maybe to get to know his future mistress a little better, but William was always around her and made it difficult. He knew William was following his orders by keeping her with him at all times, but to Michael, there seemed to be more to it than that. He would never voice his opinion, of course, but that was what he thought. He could not say he blamed the man, though.

Michael was as tall as a tree. William was well over six feet, and Michael was at least two or three inches taller than him. He was as wide as a tree, too, but had a waistline a woman would envy. Even for his size and obvious strength, Jordan had noticed that he did not move as gracefully as some of the other knights. He was a bit clumsy.

He and Kieran seemed to be rather close, as William and Paris were, for she noticed they were always riding together or working in a pair.

Michael went to his brazier and using a flint, tried to breathe some life into it. “Just a m-moment, my lady, and it shall be warm.”

She looked at him, realizing he had a stammer to his speech. But she was so miserable that she had not the strength nor the desire to answer. She watched him as he started the blaze, noticing that the back of his dark hair was shorn very short while the longer front fell like a curtain over his eyes. He kept sweeping it away with his hand. And his eyes, as they reflected the light, were a deep blue. He was a handsome man.

The fire in the brazier began to burn brightly and he smiled happily at her. “There, I told you,” he said. “You m-may go to sleep now if you wish. We will not be ready to leave for another hour at least.”

“Thank ye, my lord,” she said without energy. “But I am not tired.”

She put her head down on her raised knees, merely intending to rest her eyes. In five minutes she was asleep.

*