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Paris came charging back into William’s tent not five minutes after he had left. William was preparing his bed for Jordan and glanced up at his second with concern. But, in faith, he was so damn tired he almost didn’t care. Could not they go for a whole hour this night without something catastrophic happening?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“He is sleeping with her.” Paris said in disbelief.

William looked at him curiously. “Who is sleeping with whom?”

“Kieran is sleeping with Jemma.” he answered, outraged. “By God, she would not sleep with me, but she will sleep with him.”

The corner of William’s mouth twitched. It was very amusing to see Paris so insulted and he wondered what Kieran had said to the little she-devil to soften her bite. True, Kieran was a gentle, chivalrous man, but William had doubts that even that would work on Jemma’s temperament.

“I see,” he muttered, then fought off a chuckle as he read Paris’ face. “My God, Paris, do not take it as a personal insult. You and Lady Jemma do not exactly get along.”

“You should see them,” he raged on. “He is so damn big all, I could see was the top of her head. He is probably smothering her. But they were actually sleeping.”

“Kieran, too?” William wanted to be sure he understood correctly.

“Like a babe.”

William let out a snort of amusement, though he was secretly glad that Kieran’s attention was diverting away from Jordan. He seemed to be becoming a little too attached to her.

“Well… hell,” William mumbled, glancing at his pallet, wishing Jordan were laying there. “I would like to be sleeping, too. Go sleep in Michael and Kieran’s tent, since your pallet is occupied. I have to go get Jordan, anyway.”

Paris pursed his lips together. “Bloody hell, I might as well. I must rise in another hour, anyway.”

William followed him from the tent, watching Paris shake his head as they trudged off across the camp together. Laughing silently at his friend’s injured ego, William could not imagine what else could happen before the sun rose that would surprise him. It had been a night of events, and one hell of a monumental day.

What filled his mind now was the thought of Jordan, her softness against him underneath the furs of his pallet. ’Twould be the last night they would sleep together, he thought regretfully, and he had missed most all of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

William never did get back to sleep. He had gone to Michael’s tent near dawn to retrieve Jordan. She was so sleepy that he ended up carrying her back to his tent. Kieran brought Jemma over about the same time and the two women were able to assist each other as they prepared for the day ahead.

Jemma had slept in her borrowed surcoat and it was a wrinkled, dirty mess. Jordan remarked that it looked as if Jemma had slept in the dirt which, of course, she had, but Jemma would not admit it. Instead, she promised to wash the dress and insisted on borrowing another.

Jemma was too proud to admit that she had not been able to con the English knight out of his bed, and there was furthermore no way on earth she was going to confess to Jordan that she had spent a portion of the night in an English warrior’s arms.

It made her feel silly and warm to think of the massive, gentle Sir Kieran. She had awoken to find him staring at her. He barely said a word, but his expression had been most tender. She had almost hated to leave him when the time had come to dress, much to her confusion.

Such were her muddled thoughts as she and Jordan dressed. They took forever. All of the tents were disassembled with the exception of William’s, standing like a sentinel in the middle of the field while an entire army of men grew restless around it.

Paris and Kieran formed the company in anticipation that any minute the women would appear from the tent, but it did not happen. The sun was rising, as was the temperature and tempers, but still no women.

Finally, Paris rode up to William. “Shall I hurry them along, sire?”

William sighed. “Nay, I shall do it.”

He started to rein his warhorse when the tent flap flew back and Jemma marched out onto the grass. Without even looking, William knew smiles were crossing the faces of his men. She was dressed in a royal blue satin surcoat and her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face, falling in ringlets over her shoulders and down her back. Her white skin was a beautiful contrast to her dark coloring, for the low neckline showed plenty of flesh. She was very well endowed.

She would have looked quite angelic except for the fact that her brow was furrowed angrily for some reason. Kieran spurred his chestnut destrier over to her and the animal kicked up some dirt. Furious, she brushed at her skirt.

“Are ye daft?” she demanded. “Dunna ruin my dress before I get to Northwood.”

Kieran smiled at her. She didn’t even realize it was him until she looked up, shading her eyes from the bright early morning sun. Then, her countenance changed entirely.

“Greetings, sir knight,” she said, her voice honeyed.

The other knights heard her change of tone and snickered among themselves, save Paris and William. Paris rolled his eyes and William found himself waiting eagerly for Jordan to make her appearance.