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William went visibly cool. “I would have prevented you from kissing them in the first place,” he said. “ ’Tis my job to keep you safe and pure for your wedding. And I know my knights would have never allowed such a transgression to occur.”

She was still looking at him. “It occurred with ye. Are ye somehow above suspicion?”

His steely demeanor faltered. “It should not have happened and I apologize for my conduct, my lady. It shall not happen again.”

Her face fell. “Why not?”

God, she was making this so hard. “Because you are to be the earl’s virgin bride, Jordan,” he spelled out the obvious. “You know that. I should not have touched you and I will never forgive myself for my weakness.”

“But I wanted ye to, English,” her voice was a whisper. “I wanted ye to kiss me. You said ye liked it. Did I not please ye?”

He was losing ground fast. He felt like he was drowning. “Jordan, what I feel is of no matter. You are to be the earl’s bride.”

“Ye said that,” she reminded him. “And it does matter to me what ye feel. But I know ye are an honorable man and I will not make a nuisance of myself. If ye wish to pretend that it dinna happen, then I will, too.”

She turned back around and the conversation stopped. He was still trying to get a grip on himself. He did not want to forget the magical moment they shared and he did not want her to, either. But there could be no more moments. They both had to understand that.

His gloved hand found her small one. Slowly, tenderly, he enveloped her fingers and held them tight.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Malcolm had avoided the flying fist but Abner didn’t. It hit the man square on the jaw, knocking him off balance. Had he not grabbed hold of a table, he would have fallen. He rubbed at his face, spitting out blood onto the stone floor, but he spoke no words of anger. He deserved worse.

“Dunbar, be reasonable,” Malcolm pleaded. “ ’Twas The Wolf. I was lucky to leave with my life as it was.”

“You miserable whelp!” Dunbar raged, his huge feet stomping as he paced the room like a caged animal. “I trusted ye with a battle, and ye disappointed me to the core. Not only did ye fight like Englishwomen, but ye failed at a second stupid attempt to kill yer cousin.”

The men hung their heads, rebuked and miserable. Dunbar kicked over his writing table, smashing it into kindling. “I ought to take yer bloody heads off myself.”

“I tried to convince The Wolf that ’twas Uncle Thomas who staged the battle, Dunbar,” Malcolm said as calmly as he could. “I stuck to my story, too, even when he tortured me. With any luck he has already reported that fact to his laird.”

Dunbar eyed Malcolm. The lad did indeed bear severe bruises, concurring with his story. Mayhap all wasn’t lost, after all. But he was bitterly disappointed in the outcome of the battle and subsequent raid.

Mayhap it was of no matter. As Malcolm said, he planted the seed of doubt directly into the mind of The Wolf. If The Wolf believed it, then quite possibly he would turn and attack Langton in retaliation. Then, Thomas Scott would be forced to send for his allies. Dunbar smiled. And he would be first to heed the call. Aye, indeed he would shed blood along with Thomas to prove his loyalty. Then, when he proposed his ambitions, Thomas could do naught but comply.

Dunbar visibly calmed, sitting slowly in his heavy chair. Malcolm and Abner watched him warily, waiting for the man to withdraw a dirk and throw it at them. He was calming unnaturally fast, in their opinion.

“Laddies,” he said after a moment. “I believe, for all of yer failure, that mayhap ye have done good after all. Mayhap if The Wolf indeed thinks Thomas staged the battle, then he will return Jordan without any further prodding from us.”

“Do…do ye think so?” Malcolm asked hesitantly. “I tried my best to convince him.”

“And so ye did,” Dunbar agreed. “Mayhap all is not lost. The next few days will tell us.”

The young men nodded, weary and worn. They escaped from being tied to the tree only by pure perseverance, wearing the rope thin with the edge of Abner’s ring. They had spent a night in hell and simply wanted to eat and rest. They were relieved that they were apparently not going to be spending the next week in the dungeons.

Dunbar saw their fatigue and bade them go, eager to continue his plotting. When the lads left, he sat back, his eyes glazing over thoughtfully. If his hopes were confirmed and the English turned on Laird Scott, then his next step was to call on his closest ally and, with shrewdness the devil himself would be proud of, lay out the ground work for his plot. He need to begin pulling together pieces to his puzzle, and the first stage would be to call on Oliver Barr.

He smiled again. Dimwitted, hot-tempered Barr would see the logic to his plan. Aye; he would make him see the logic. Mayhap things would go better that he had anticipated.

*

They rode well into the late afternoon. William and Jordan were alone for only a short time before they were joined by the other knights; one by one. There was very little conversation, and Jordan was pleased to see that Jemma looked peaceful riding before Kieran.

The sway of the horse was making her drowsy again. She’d had very little sleep the night before and fell fast asleep against William’s armored chest. It was becoming a routine; he felt her go limp and smiled to himself as he shifted to make her more comfortable. He felt a strange sense of peace when she slept in his arms. When she looked like she did now, peaceful and lovely, he found it difficult to keep his vow that he would never kiss her again.

Deinwald rode up beside him, slapping his dapple-grey destrier when it snapped its teeth in William’s direction.

“Goddamn animal,” Deinwald muttered. “His father was not like this.”