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“Actually, yes,” William replied and she heard Paris chortle. “Quite a few.”

She turned and scowled at him in disgust. “And ye have the nerve to call the Scots barbaric?”

Before he could answer, Jordan felt a sharp pain to her temple that rocked her so hard she would have fallen from the horse had William not caught her. Her hand flew to her head and came away sticky with warm blood. Wildly, she thought she had been shot in the head with an arrow or a thrown dirk but felt nothing protrude, just lots of blood. Stars danced before her eyes.

A scream went up as Paris, Ranulf and Deinwald dove into the crowd of terrorized peasants, yelling and knocking people out of the way. Jordan’s hand was back on her head as if she could press away the throbbing pain. She still didn’t know what happened and wondered briefly if she were dying.

“What happ…?” she tried to say.

William cut her off. “To the bailey.” he shouted. “Bring the offender to me.”

His yelling hurt her already aching head. William started to dig his spurs into his horse when a woman ran up to him holding out a huge square of linen. Jordan glance over at her; she was holding out an apron.

“Put this on her head, Sir William,” the woman instructed sternly. “Stop the blood before she bleeds all over that surcoat.”

William snatched the cloth from her without a word and pressed it to Jordan’s head even as he spurred his destrier into a canter. Jordan opened her mouth to thank the woman but suddenly they were rushing madly through the gates and into the outer bailey.

“English, slow down.” she snapped. “Yer making my head throb worse than it already does. What hit me?”

He did not say anything until he slowed his horse as they passed through another set of gates leading into the inner bailey.

“Someone threw a rock, Jordan,” his voice sounded quite angry. He pulled the horse to a halt. “Let me have a look.”

She pulled the linen away. Her flower wreath was smashed and bloodied on the left side of her head and her beautiful hair was matted. He tore off his gauntlets and carefully picked her hair apart until the cut was revealed.

It was a decent nick, about an inch or so long. It was still oozing but beginning to clot. He let out a ragged breath.

“Thank God, it’s not deep,” he gently replaced the linen. “I am so sorry, love.”

The other knights were surrounding them and William’s attention was diverted. Kieran reined his destrier immediately next to them because Jemma was near hysterics. She demanded that she be allowed to tend Jordan’s wound and insisted William remove her cousin from his horse before she passed out from sheer pain. True, Jordan’s head was reeling from pain and shock, but also from quite another reason.

He had called her love.

Sweet Jesu,’ it almost made her pain worth it just to hear him say that. She wondered if he had even realized he had said it. The bailey was thick with people rushing forward to assist them. William was barking orders faster than she could keep up, but she gathered that her wound would be tended to before she met the earl.

He sounded authoritative and controlled. He wasn’t even talking about her anymore. It occurred to her that now that they had arrived at Northwood, she would be another’s charge. He had fulfilled his duty and kept her safe for the duration of the journey and now the duty would be turned over to someone else.

In addition to being in pain she was also depressed. She didn’t want to be separated from him, not even for a moment.

Paris came thundering into the inner bailey with a youth held out in his big arm; Deinwald and Ranulf were flanking him. The lad, no more than fourteen, banged against the side of the destrier as the animal came to a stop.

Paris let go and the boy tumbled heavily to the dirt as dust swirled in the air about him. Even though he was released, there was nowhere to go. Knights were surrounding him.

“The perpetrator, my lord,” Paris said, then his voice dulled. “ ’Tis John Winebald’s boy.”

Behind her, Jordan heard William’s visor go up. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Aye, we have witnesses,” Paris nodded grimly.

It had gone eerily quiet. Jordan, puzzled, perked up, curious about the lad who had pelted her. She already knew why he had done it. Yet she wondered why the knights had grown solemn upon discovering this lad was the criminal.

In the distance she heard a male voice, higher pitched, speaking quite rapidly. The voice grew closer and William vaulted from his horse. Jordan noticed how all of the knights stood a little taller and she turned to see what had piqued their attention.

A fat man with graying reddish hair approached them, followed by several well-dressed people. He was talking with great animation, waving his hands and gesturing. William was moving to meet him.

Jordan knew it was the earl without even being told. She stared at him quite curiously without any real reaction at all. She had no idea what to expect and, therefore, was not disappointed.

However, she was conscious of her appearance. She knew she had blood in her hair and imagined she looked terrible. She wished to God she had been allowed the opportunity to clean herself before being introduced to her betrothed. There was nothing to do now but make up with manners what she lacked in appearance.