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Behind his helmet, he smiled. “Be brave. You do not believe I would lead you into the lion’s den, do you?”

She shook her head. “Nay, sir knight, I dunna,” she said quietly. “But it smells of the lion’s den. Why dunna ye clean the moat?”

“Because, my lady, ’tis very simple,” he said. “What soldier would not think twice before charging headlong into a moat filled with misery? Were I to clean it up, ’twould be most inviting.”

“I should think the walls would be deterrent enough,” she remarked.

“Not against the Scots, my lady,” Deinwald said from their other side. “Not even the moat, such as it is, is much of a deterrent. Why, I have seen those bloody bastards…”

He abruptly stopped as a host of helmeted heads turned in his direction and he suddenly realized with whom he was speaking.

Jemma was glaring at him but, remarkably, said nothing. Only Jordan was not focused on him. She seemed entranced by the fortress.

“Continue, Deinwald,” she said most mildly. “For whatever it is ye have seen the Scots do, I can match ye with a story of equally bad taste. Ye see, my father insisted that I be at every battle he commanded since I was a lass of eight years old. I have been tending Scot wounded for that long, as well as dispatching English wounded I happened to come across,” she turned her head to him and he was shocked to see such blatant disgust in her eyes. “Ye canna shock or impress me with yer battle stories, Deinwald, so do remember not to try in the future. I am not interested. I know what the Scots, as well as the English, are capable of.”

Deinwald was actually rather depressed after that speech and somewhat embarrassed, though he would never admit to such. He turned his attention back to Northwood with a somewhat better insight into lovely Lady Jordan.

The entire column of men, wagons and knights made their way to the massive gates of Northwood. Jordan heard shouting up on the wall and, suddenly, a host of male voices began to chant. Curious, she looked up to see hundreds of soldiers looking down upon them and she stiffened; it was an awesome sight. The only time she had ever seen that many English soldiers were when they were attacking her kin. No matter that she was shrouded in William’s arms, she felt distinctly at risk.

It sounded as if the soldiers were jeering her, a queer sort of chant that began to grow louder as more men-at-arms picked it up. Within seconds, every soldier at Northwood had taken the hymn and was calling it resonantly.

It frightened her. It was so loud it was nearly deafening and she fought the urge to bury herself in William’s protective embrace.

“What are they saying?” she asked apprehensively.

Paris, riding next to them, answered. “Listen. What do you hear?”

She shook her head fearfully. “They dunna want me here. They are trying to scare me away.”

“Nay, my lady, they are not calling to you,” Paris assured her. He could see her fear. “They are calling to William. They are saying ‘Wolf’.”

She listened and realized that indeed the very haunting chant sounded like ‘Wolf’. She was relieved and strangely proud at the same time. She smiled timidly at Paris when she realized she was not the object of their attention.

“He is better than God to them,” Paris boasted softly, tipping his head in William’s direction.

The column came over the crest of a small hill and Jordan could see that the gates of the castle were open and thousands of people were lining the narrowing road. She could hear them picking up the chant from the soldiers on the wall. They were waving and cheering and Jordan was overwhelmed by the sheer number of excited inhabitants. She also discovered that she was hounded by an entirely new set of fears with the appearance of all of the people.

Sweet Jesu,’ she thought, she was in an enemy land and all of these people she was facing were literally her enemy.

She remembered when William had ridden into Langton to retrieve her and the open hostility he was given. She would now be the recipient of the same but knew she would not bear it with the same dignity he had. She wished with all of her heart that she could turn and run like hell.

They were passing between the assembled throng of screaming peasants. Much to her surprise, women were throwing flowers and children rushed forward to touch her dress. She kept waiting for someone to rush forward with a dagger and slice her to bits, but strangely, she sensed no hatred of any kind. In fact, the population of Northwood seemed very excited to see her. She was puzzled but warily pleased.

The flowers and words of welcome shouted from the populace eased her fears somewhat and she found she was actually able to smile a little. Yet she knew that the majority of the excitement was for the soldiers and knights of Northwood and she was pleased to see that they were so obviously loved and respected.

Mayhap someday if she worked hard enough she would have the love and the respect of the people, too. Mayhap, eventually, they would forget she was Scot. It was almost too good to hope for.

With renewed determination, she thrust up her chin and began to meet the eyes of Northwood’s population, smiling benevolently and trying to show them just exactly what they were receiving as a new countess.

But, Sweet Jesu,’ was she worthy to be countess over all of this? She was a simple earl’s daughter. A new crop of worries began to flood her mind and dampened the lighter feelings she had so recently experienced. She was so young and unworldly to come into this realm of English court and law. Her newly found confidence sank a little and she once again felt like hiding. She felt as if she were going daft.

They were approaching the open gates and the crowd was thick with people welcoming them home. Flowers were pelting them like rain. Jordan turned her attention to the interior of the bailey she was now able to catch a glimpse of and tried to ignore the stench in her nostrils of that horrible moat.

She put her fingers to her nose. “Bloody hell, that is awful.”

She felt William chuckle. “One gets used to it.”

“Never,” she said emphatically. “What do ye have in there? Rotting bodies?”