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William intercepted the earl and they spoke for a couple of minutes. Jordan could see the earl’s face redden with what he was being told. Then, they were coming toward her and she braced herself, but they passed right by her. They went directly to the young boy who had hit her with a rock.

The earl looked grimly at the youth. “Well, lad,” he demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

The boy was ashen but he looked at the earl bravely. “Nothing, sire, except it was the first time I have ever missed my target. My aim is usually flawless, like my father’s. I was aiming for her forehead.”

The earl’s face rippled with anger. “Do you have any idea what you have done? That woman you were trying to kill is a bride from the king.”

“She is a Scot.” Spittle sprayed from the boy’s mouth. “Her people killed my father, one of the best knights who ever served you. I want her dead.”

The earl was still red, but he was cooling. “Do not remind me who your father was. He was a friend and I know that he would be ashamed of you for what you have done.” He turned to William. He almost looked regretful for what he was going to say. “Twenty-five lashes and turn him out. I do not want to see him again.”

Atop William’s horse, Jordan gasped. The sentence was far too harsh for the crime but she dared not interfere. Yet her heart ached for the boy who had lost his father. Had she stood in the lad’s shoes she would have felt the same.

Was all English justice this severe? The earl had issued the orders without as much as a moment of thought. Dark trepidation swept over her. What would the earl do to her for any mere transgression she might cause? Would William be ordered to lash her as well?

William did not hesitate in carrying out the orders but his heart was breaking for the young man, the only child of a former knight and his wife. He knew the boy took care of his mother and they lived in a small hut in the village. If the boy went, the mother would go and he was not sure how they would survive. But he could not let his emotions interfere with his duty.

“Strip him,” he ordered.

The knights began to move purposefully. Deinwald and Michael stripped the boy from his tunic while Ranulf fetched the whip with the cat-o-nine tails. It was an evil-looking device with a tassel on the end of it with tiny metal balls attached. William, meanwhile, had taken off all of his armor from the waist up. He accepted the whip as if accepting a cup of wine, casually and without a word.

Jordan was literally sick to her stomach. She would have liked nothing better than to vomit but the earl and his cronies were watching from several feet away and she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her weakness.

She could not even look at the man; she did not even know if he had given her a second glance and she did not care. She already hated him and she hated Northwood.

Deinwald and Michael had dragged the lad over to two poles that were set a few feet apart. There were leather ties secured to the sides of the poles and they tied the young man’s arms, one to each pole. His white broad back, pure as the driven snow, was blatantly displayed, awaiting permanent disfiguration from the torturous whip.

Jordan began to breathe as if a weight was sitting on her chest. When she saw the youthful skin on the adolescent’s back she felt bile rise in her throat and fought with all her might to control it. It was most difficult with her pounding head and dry mouth. Oh, God, wasn’t there some way to stop this insanity? She knew the boy had his reasons; not to say she agreed with his actions, but everyone’s emotions had been running high. Being so young, he had yet learned to control his.

William approached the lad. The boy had not so much as twitched a muscle. Jordan saw what was about to occur and wished she could hang her head, but she would not. She would not display anything other than indifference even though she was a quivering wreck inside. She glanced over her right shoulder at Jemma, who was sitting quite stoically in Kieran’s saddle. Kieran stood on the ground beside her.

She’s enjoying this, Jordan thought with disgust. A harsh retort sprang to her lips but she bit it off, instead, turning back around to face the scene before her. She was heartsick.

The twenty-five lashes went by agonizingly slow. With every crack she tried not to flinch, looking at the scene but not seeing it. Instead, she was focusing on the green hills of Langton, her favorite loch, the pet rabbit she left behind. Anything but the blood and violence before her. Her mind was flying far from Northwood even though her body was in a vicious struggle for her attention with its pain and discomfort.

A hawk circled overhead. She heard it, wishing it was she in the bird’s body; free to soar away from all of this and live a life of grace and dignity. The life that had been chosen for her sickened her.

Before she realized it, William was handing the whip over to Ranulf and moving back in her direction. She noticed as he approached that he had not even worked up a sweat. She could not look at the boy anymore, her last glance had shown her a swollen bloodied back and she could not stomach another glimpse. She was not surprised that she felt a distaste for William as well.

Her head was killing her and she was feeling nauseous. William reached her side but she would not look at him. She thought he was going to lead her away on the destrier but instead she felt his hands on her sides.

“Come, my lady,” he sounded dull. “ ’Tis time to meet your bridegroom.”

Jordan’s legs felt as if they could not have supported the weight of a baby. She gripped William’s forearms with a death grip trying to steady her shaking, spinning head. They were on the opposite side of the animal, hiding them from the eyes of nearly everyone. She was trying so hard to be strong so she pushed him away. She prematurely waved off William’s support, only to find herself slumped against his chest a half second later.

“You are not well,” his voice was soft, husky. “Let me carry you into the castle. You can greet the earl when you are feeling better.”

“Nay,” she insisted stiffly. “I will walk and I will greet him now.”

“The earl will understand. You will do as I say.” He waved Paris over to them, placing her in his second’s capable arms. “I shall be right back,” he told them.

Even as she leaned into Paris she felt her strength returning just a bit. Paris, she noticed, was gently patting her on the back and it almost made her smile. But not quite. At this moment she did not even like him for not halting what had just occurred.

“What will become of the lad?” she asked softly.

“He will make his living elsewhere,” Paris replied simply.

She sighed, trying to stand on her own. “What happened to him…was barbaric,” she said. “I would have been satisfied by other less severe means.”