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“Dance for me, my lady,” he said. “I command it.”

“Truly, sire, I canna in this dress,” she begged off, terrified. “ ’Tis far too long and I would break my neck.”

“But ye can sing?” the musician pushed.

She would have liked to have slugged the man for his persistence and could not ward off the scowl on her face.

“She can sing,” William was casually observing his cup. “I have heard her.”

She looked at William, wondering when he had heard her sing. Before the earl could command her to do it, Analiese rose demurely from her chair.

“I can sing, Father,” she announced mildly. “I shall do it.”

She went to the musicians and told them what to play. Her voice was thin and high-pitched and occasionally she would hit a sour note but, undaunted, Analiese sang four songs for the crowd that was growing quite bored.

Jordan sat attentively, trying to make up for the bad start they’d had earlier. When Analiese had finished, she applauded loudly.

“Now,” the earl turned to her before his daughter had even regained her seat. “You will sing.”

Jordan stood begrudgingly and made her way to the musicians. She had sung before her clan many times, but this English crowd was unfamiliar and she hoped she would not make a fool of herself. After a brief conversation with the minstrels, she turned to face the room half-full of family and soldiers.

William was watching her like a hawk. She was so poised and lovely, standing like an angel the way the dress was swathed about her body. Her luscious hair came over her right shoulder, spilling over her full breasts and hanging in waves to her waist. He should not have been thinking the perfectly seductive things he was thinking, but he could not help himself.

The music began and the room went silent. Jordan’s voice filled the air as rich and pure as a heady spring breeze. She sang a Gaelic song, her lilt sweet and charming and her voice clearly one that was superior to anything anyone in the room had ever experienced. She could manipulate a note so precisely that it left one breathless with delight, waiting for the next phrase with relish in a brief few moments. She had managed to captivate a room of people without any effort at all.

William was astounded. True, he had heard her sing once but it had been nothing like this. It was as if she was singing only to him the way her voice reached out and grabbed his attention, caressing his ears with its soft lilt and bell tones. He found himself leaning forward, propping his elbows on the table and pressing his mouth against folded hands. He could not take his eyes from her and he would have been content to listen to her sing for the rest of his days.

He wasn’t the only one who felt that way. The earl commanded her to sing three more songs, only relenting when she begged to rest. He motioned her back to the table and poured her a sloppy glass of wine himself.

“You lied to me,” he accused gently. “Ye can indeed sing like the blessed virgin herself and do not deny it. You must sing for me every evening.”

She took a sip of wine to ease her strained throat. “My lord is most kind.”

The musicians were joined by two mummers wearing outrageously colored trappings and pointy hats that jingled merrily. As the mummers began to work the room, William leaned slightly in Jordan’s direction.

“You were magnificent,” he said quietly.

She nodded coolly to him, keeping her gaze averted. If he could compliment her, then he could tell her what had become of her cousin. An eternity of silence spread between them as the mummers joked and danced, and Jordan sat back in her chair with her wine in hand.

William’s chair was slightly forward and she could see his strong profile as he watched the crowd. Not the mummers or the musicians, but the crowd. She felt the urge to shock him, purely due to the fact that she was angry with him.

“I am to be punished with Lady Jemma,” she said loud enough for him to hear her.

He turned slowly. “What did you say?”

Their eyes met. “I said, I am to be punished with Lady Jemma. The earl said I gave him little choice in the matter.”

William’s eyes changed color before her, she swore it. One minute they were beautiful hazel-gold, the next they were dark and cloudy. His face held no notable expression as he stared at her a moment. She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next.

It did not take long for him to rise from his chair and go around her, approaching the earl from the opposite side so their conversation would not be for her ears. She did not look at them but her ears were keenly tuned to the hum of their conversation, trying vainly to make out any word at all.

When the conversation was concluded, he returned and seated himself. She looked expectantly, trying not to appear fearful.

“Well?” she demanded quietly. “What will it be? Fifty lashes at dawn with the cat o’ nine tails?”

“Not for you, anyway,” he replied casually.

She sat forward so fast wine sloshed out of her cup. “What does that mean? Do ye mean to say ye will lash Jemma?”