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Her answer was to slither off the horse before he could grab her. Suddenly, she was running like a rabbit, tearing down the road with her skirts hiked up around her knees. Before any of the men could recover their shock, Jemma was down and racing after her.

The destriers, startled by the sudden movement and the squeals began to dance about in anticipation of what was to come. With their riders tensing above them, they sensed a battle.

William knew they could not possibly be attempting to escape but found himself thoroughly confused by their irrational behavior.

“What in the hell….?” he finished his sentence by spurring his horse after them.

Paris, Jason, Kieran and Michael followed him, leaving Ranulf and Deinwald shouting the column to a halt. William was nearly on top of Jordan when she suddenly veered off the road and plunged down a small incline, feet first into waist-high flowers. With a cry of delight, she began yanking every bloom within her reach.

He bound off his horse and stood there, hands on his hips and watching with disbelief. He pushed his helmet up so that the chin guard was resting on his forehead and scowled as rivulets of sweat ran down his face.

“Of all of the…,” he muttered irritably. “Flowers?”

Jordan swung around to him, her arms loaded with flowers and her face broke into a radiant smile. She was ecstatic.

“Are they not beautiful?” she demanded. “I must have all that I can gather.”

She ran at him and thrust the flowers against his chest. He instinctively slapped a hand over them to keep them from falling to the ground yet at the same time realizing he must look like a complete fool. He opened his mouth to harshly reprimand her when she bound away from him once again, darting off like a nymph and filling her arms with more flowers.

How could he be stern with her when she was so damn happy? He could not, and found himself even angrier, but now with himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his knights shaking with laughter. Paris had his head turned, but he could see his shoulders convulsing. Well, he would not be alone in his humiliation.

“Paris.” he boomed. “Do not just stand there like a dolt, help her.”

Paris’ head snapped to him, the mirth draining from his face. “Why me?”

“Do not argue with me,” William snapped, marching by him and shoving his burden into the arms of his second. “You, Kieran. Get the hell off that animal and help Lady Jemma. By damn, hurry up and we shall be done with this nonsense.”

Paris turned to yell at William as he walked away. “I am a knight of the realm,” he said staunchly. “I do not pick posies.”

William turned around and jabbed a big finger at him. “You’ll goddamn wear a dress if I wish it. Now, go and help her.”

Behind the huge bouquet she held, Jordan smiled broadly. She could hear William barking orders at his knights to give the ladies a hand, muttering angrily as he made his way back to his destrier. She inhaled the blooms deeply; ah, the sweet smell of humiliation.

Jemma was beside her, her face and torso nearly obscured by all of the flowers she held. She continued to pick, grinning wickedly.

“He is as angry as sin,” she whispered delightedly.

“Aye,” Jordan agreed, fighting off the giggles. “Do ye remember that bet I made with ye last night?”

Jemma nodded vehemently. “Aye, I do, and ye have won it. Ye were right when ye said he would do anything ye asked.”

Jordan picked a huge yellow flower. “I intend to ask him one more thing.”

Now Jemma looked at her cousin. “As mad as he is? He will take yer head off.”

Jordan wiggled her eyebrows. “He will not.”

“What will ye bet?” Jemma asked. “I have nothing more to wager, ye already demanded that I be nice to Paris.”

Jordan was grinning mischievously. “If I win my bet, then ye have to ride with Paris for the remainder of the journey.”

“Nay.” Jemma looked thoroughly disappointed. “I want to ride with Kieran.”

“All right, then,” Jordan knew Jemma like Kieran. He was all she could speak of when they were dressing earlier. “Then…then ye have to give Paris a big, sloppy kiss.”

Jemma’s mouth opened into a big “O” of astonishment. “I would rather kiss a horse.” she declared.

Jordan was firm. She went back to her flowers. “That is the price.”