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The earl looked at her, passing a glance at Jemma as William firmly escorted her from the room. He found himself utterly entranced by the most beautiful face, he was sure, in all of England.

“My lady,” he said after a moment. “I cannot allow such an infraction to go unpunished. You will forgive me if I cannot grant your request.”

Jordan sat back heavily in her chair when he turned away, struggling to maintain her composure. She was shocked and angered by the seeming coldness of the earl and absolutely terrified for Jemma.

“My lord,” she said lowly but firmly enough to make him turn to her. “I insulted your daughter, too. Whatever punishment ye choose for Jemma, ye must administer it to me as well. She was only defending me.”

“Are you responsible for her actions as well?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Aye,” she nodded with a faint, ironic smile. “I am. I brought her here.”

He regarded her. “She is not of your station, Lady Jordan, and whereas I may oversight your remarks, I cannot oversight hers.”

Jordan’s chin went up. “ ’Twere ye to punish her, ye must punish me also, sire. We are blood cousins and, therefore, indeed of the same station. I am not the countess; yet.”

The earl did not look pleased. He tried to match her gaze but could not, instead, looking off into the room.

“You leave me with little choice in the matter,” he replied, then gestured to her trencher. “Please eat. This meal has been prepared especially for you.”

She obeyed and tried not to vomit as the food slid into her trembling stomach. Dinner progressed quietly from that point on. Analiese and Alexander talked quietly between themselves, the only conversation. Four minstrels in the corner filled the hall with soft music and the smell of smoke from the massive hearth was sharp.

Jordan, with no one to talk to, ate quietly and glanced about the room with interest. She was disturbed to see that Kieran, sitting several feet away, was dark and brooding. She wished she could speak to him but dare not try.

“Is the beef to your liking?” Paris asked.

She turned to look at him, having completely forgotten he was a chair away. He smiled warmly at her. She smiled back.

“Aye,” she replied. “ ’Tis most tender.”

“ ’Tis our very own beef, raised by the earl himself.”

Someone sat between them. She looked up to see William reseating himself and he reached out to take his wine cup.

She stared at him, watching every move he made but not saying a word. She waited for him to tell her about Jemma until she was near exploding with anxiety. He had yet to even look at her.

“Finish your dinner, my lady,” he told her, still averting his eyes.

She did not reply. Instead, she sat back in the chair and looked away from him. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

When dinner was over, the minstrels sang several ballads for the group. They were Scot musicians and Jordan was suddenly very homesick again. When they sang a sweet Scot lullaby, she dissolved in quiet tears. Under the table, she felt William squeeze her knee gently and it nearly did her in.

He had been so distant the entire meal that she feared he’d had enough of her and her loud-mouth cousin, and the acknowledgement was exactly what she needed. She wanted to look at him but was afraid to.

The musicians, knowing she was Scot, suddenly appeared before her. The leader, a ruddy man with thick legs, beckoned eagerly to her.

“Aye, wha’ a bonnie lass we hae here!” he exclaimed. “Can ye sing, lass?”

Jordan’s face went red. “Aye…a bit.”

The musician laughed. “Then can ye dance?”

She lowered her head, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “Like the devil, but not in front of the whole bloody room.”

That drew a laugh from the earl and Adam, as well as the earl’s steward sitting at the far side of the table.

“Come on, then,” the musician would not be discouraged. “We’ll get ye the swords, lass. ’Tis been a long time since we hae seen a lass as pretty as ye.”

Jordan was mortified at their request. But the earl liked it.