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“Because I could not help myself,” he said. “I do not know why you make me so weak, Jordan. I am not a weak man.”
“I know, English,” she put her small hand up to stroke his cheek and he kissed her palm. “Ye are the strongest man I know. And the most decent. And the most honorable. And the most beautiful.”
“Men are not beautiful,” he snorted. “But I thank you just the same. Considering you are the most perfect woman who has ever lived, I consider your praise quite a compliment.”
She smiled, “Ye are the only person who thinks I am perfect,” she said. “Ye and my Da, of course.”
“Untrue,” he countered softly. “Every man in my command thinks the sun rises and sets on you, which makes you fairly close to perfect in their eyes, too.”
“I dunna care what they think,” she insisted. “I only care what ye think.”
His gaze turned smoky again. His hands came up and cupped her face and he studied her well before gently kissing her forehead, her nose, her chin.
“I think you are perfect,” he said hoarsely. “And I think I am doomed to a life of misery.”
“Why?” she demanded softly, thrilling more than he could imagine at his touch.
“Because you can never be mine,” he replied simply. He dropped his hands as if the statement had spoiled his mood. “We should go to your rooms now. Paris is bound to come looking for us.”
He tucked her hand onto his elbow but she balked.
“English,” she said faintly. “Legally I may never belong to ye, but ye will always have my heart. I swear it.”
He exhaled heavily, with sorrow, and turned to her. “As you will always have mine,” he whispered. It had taken nearly all of his energy to say it.
She knew how hard this must be on the man; it was hard on her, too, although he had far more to lose than she did. She was glad to hear it but at the same time sad for him. Her future was beyond her control; he still controlled his path, yet he had set an awful hurdle in the middle of it.
“English,” she put her hand on his, looking at the contrast in size between the two appendages. “Dunna say that right now. Ye may regret it when ye meet a young lady ye would like to marry.”
He covered her hand with his other. “I already have.”
He led her from the alcove without another word.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bathed and pressed and primped, Jordan watched the flickering torches in the inner bailey three stories below. There were soldiers everywhere, calmly walking the grounds, and somewhere she heard singing.
The night was amazingly warm. A cool breeze blew in over the lush hills and gently caressed her as she stood at the window. She wore a pale yellow satin surcoat that was high in the neck and long of sleeve, clinging to her round breasts and slim waist. A gold link belt studded with rough-cut topaz hung about her hips and the voluminous skirt dragged behind her when she walked. Her freshly washed and dried hair hung in loose curls, but she parted it on the right side and brushed the front of it over so it partially covered the cut on her right temple, just under the hairline.
After the bath and a good dose of wine, she was feeling much better. The castle physician, a tiny bald man named Byron, had been in her room when she had arrived and had taken care of the cut. Then he had given her a potion of boiled willow bark for her splitting headache, which had worked beautifully.
Her mind was clear, normal again, as she gazed out into the lovely night and wondered when she would be retrieved for supper. Moreover, she wondered who would be sent for her and wished on all the stars in the sky that it would be William.
Jemma was in an adjoining room. She could hear her cousin’s irritation at the borrowed clothes, nothing fit, everything was too long or too tight in the bust, nothing was right. She smiled to herself, more in a mood to take on Jemma’s tantrums.
“Jemma, do ye need any more help?” she called.
“Nay.” Jemma bellowed.
Jordan smiled. “Ye should be happy wearing the burgundy silk.”
“I am.” Jemma said as if she didn’t mean a word of it. “But it is too long. I am going to kill myself walking down those stairs.”
Jordan turned away from the window and crossed the room. “We took it up as best we could, considering there wasna proper time,” she reminded her. “Just do yer best and we shall mend it proper tomorrow.”
Jemma huffed and puffed, studying herself in the huge polished bronze mirror. She looked quite lovely in the color. Jordan watched her cousin’s amber eyes, much darker in the firelight.
“Kieran will think ye look lovely,” she remarked.
