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Jemma pouted. “Can I kiss Kieran?” she asked hopefully.

Jordan chewed her lip and grinned. “Nay. It must be Paris.”

Jemma looked stricken, as if Jordan had just asked her to kiss a troll. “Oh, very well, ye blood-thirsty wench.”

“In front of everyone,” Jordan insisted.

“I said I would.” Her cousin made an irritable face, disgruntled she was getting the bad end of the bet. “But what about ye? If he doesna do what ye ask, then I will demand a high price.”

“What?” Jordan was very suspicious.

Jemma’s eyes twinkled sinisterly. “I say ye have to kiss the big knight, Sir Michael.”

Jordan winced. “Ooch, Jemma, that is likely to draw the captain’s wrath. I canna do it.”

Jemma made a wry face. “Ye’re probably right on that account. Well, have no doubt, I shall think of something for ye, then.”

Jordan was feeling daring. “Fine, then. The line has been drawn.”

Paris was standing several feet behind her, not looking the least bit happy. She smiled sweetly at him as she walked passed and promptly shoved the flowers she was holding into Michael’s bulky arms.

“I am finished.” she announced.

Grudgingly, the knights bearing the most embarrassing cargo trudged to the back of the column where Jordan’s wagons and maids were. It was grossly humiliating for them to be seen by the entire company laden with flowers. She heard the older ones bellowing at the younger knights, making sure they shouldered their fair share of the disgrace, and the arguments that ensued.

Jordan did not so much as give them a glance as she made her way to where William sat like a centaur atop his destrier, watching the fold of events. His helmet was on and his visor was down and she was suddenly unsure of herself. Sweet Jesu,’ he looked imposing. Mayhap Jemma was right; mayhap he would take her head off.

She had intended to be demanding, but rapidly changed her mind. Timidly, she approached him.

“Sir knight?” she asked sweetly. “Might I speak with ye?”

He was looking down at her. The only way she could tell was because his helmet had tipped in her direction.

“Aye, my lady,” he replied, calm and controlled once more. “What is it?”

She started to speak but her words got twisted. She began to wring her hands, half-hoping he would feel sorry for her because he was making her nervous. She wished he’d get down off his horse, but when he didn’t budge, she went over reluctantly until she stood so close his leg brushed her. She turned her face up to him.

“I dunna want to ride with Paris anymore,” she said softly.

The frightening helmet looked down at her. “Why not?”

His voice was not at all kind as she had hoped it would become. Mayhap this wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he was plenty angry with her; he’d made that clear by ignoring her all morning. And with this latest episode, he was probably ready to throttle her. Frustrated, she shook her head hard and abruptly turned away from him.

Her intention was to make her way over to Paris’ horse as she saw he was preparing to mount. But she heard hooves behind her and felt herself being lifted up, knowing that it was William. As he settled her in front of him, she tried hard not to smile. Mayhap he wasn’t too terribly mad, after all.

Over her shoulder, she knew Jemma was cursing a blue streak. To kiss Paris was not a desirable prospect.

Flowers stowed, the company continued on and William remained silent. Jordan snuggled back against him, simply happy to be sitting with him again. His charger had a smooth gait and she was enjoying the ride, and the weather, tremendously.

As time passed, she began to feel famished and wondered if they would even stop for the nooning meal, considering William wanted to reach Northwood by the afternoon. Probably not, she concluded, letting out a heavy sigh; she would have liked to have stopped at least once more to freshen herself.

The army did indeed stop nearly three hours later. William had decided, in spite of everything, that they would easily make it to Northwood before dusk and therefore he felt there was time to break for a meal. He ordered the bread, cheese, and wine be broken out and sent two riders ahead to notify Lord de Longley of their imminent approach.

He slid off the horse, removing his helmet with a grunt of satisfaction and pulled off his gauntlets. Jordan still sat in the saddle, looking down at him. Even plastered with sweat and with a black shadow of stubble, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

She noticed something else, too, that had never occurred to her before. He had a long, thin scar that ran from his left ear and down his neck. Part of his earlobe was missing. Strange that she had only discovered it now and she wondered how it happened. He looked up at her, jolting her from her train of thought.

“How did that happen to yer ear?” she blurted.