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“My lady,” he greeted with a bow. “How may I serve you today?”

Jordan smiled at the young man. “Are ye to be my sitter today?”

“Aye, my lady,” Adam had a nice, soothing voice. “I have the pleasure.”

“Good,” she said. “We wish to go for a walk and see Northwood.”

A shadow of a doubt crossed his face. “I must make sure it will be all right with Sir William,” he said politely.

Jordan put her hands on her hips. “It will be, and I am going at this very moment. You may wait here in the hall and guard an empty room as ye wait for a reply, or you may come with me now.”

He could see her determination and was not quite sure how to handle her bullying. But, as a gracious knight, he bowed to her wishes and within minutes Jordan and Jemma were out in the morning sunshine, followed closely by Adam and the three soldiers.

The day was bright and warm and wonderful and Jordan’s mood was light and happy. Jemma kept up a steady stream of chatter, but Jordan could see that she was preoccupied. It did not take a genius to figure out that she was looking for Kieran. Jordan listened to her loosely, keeping her own eyes open for William.

The last time she had seen him was after he had made love to her and she wondered with a nervous stomach if he had regretted the action after he’d had time to think over it. She was divided between being thrilled to see him and apprehensive of the same. Would he still feel the same? She did, with all her heart. She hoped he would, too.

They met up with Deinwald and Michael. As they were exchanging pleasantries with the knights, Kieran snuck up behind Jemma, poked her in the arm, and nearly scared the wits from her. He smiled broadly as she called him every name she could think of.

“Ah, so I see that a night in the cellar has done nothing to subdue your wild tongue,” Deinwald commented with a scowl. “What will it take, banshee? A few days on the rack or in the cold room?”

Jemma’s mouth opened into an outraged ‘O.’ “Who asked ye, Deinwald? I dunna recall even speaking to ye, so keep out of my conversations.”

“Aye, Deinwald, do shut up,” Kieran agreed. “I was enjoying the tongue-lashing.”

Michael and Deinwald exchanged meaningful glances, definitely reading a sexual connotation into Kieran’s statement. Kieran saw their looks and narrowed his eyes warningly, slugging Michael full on in the chest with the back of his hand to emphasize the threat. Fortunately, Jemma and Jordan were oblivious to the plausible sexual innuendo.

With the knights in a semi slug-fest, Jordan ignored them and pushed on with her cousin. Jemma again picked up the conversation where they had left off and Jordan continued to listen absently. It took her a moment to realize that Kieran, Michael and Deinwald had joined Adam and the soldiers, turning their little group into quite a procession. She had to smile; they certainly were hell-bent on protecting her.

They passed the tanner’s shed and Jordan engaged the man in a conversation. At first, the ruddy man was hesitant to talk to her, especially with four huge knights standing directly behind her, but he loosened considerably when she began to praise the quality of his work. Jordan knew little of tanning and asked the man many intelligent questions until he was eagerly taking charge of the conversation, showing her his wares and explaining techniques. The dialogue ended with him promising to make her a fine pair of boots and she thanked him graciously.

The group moved on. They passed the blacksmith and the carpenter. Deinwald himself gave her the tour of the blacksmith’s shack, his arrogant manner causing the stocky blacksmith to shake his head in irritation. The more Deinwald talked, the more the man would shoot him sardonic glances. Deinwald glanced over his shoulder at him once or twice in response to Jemma’s giggles, eventually realizing what went on. As they left the shed, Deinwald retaliated by pinching the great draft horse the man was shoeing in the arse and the horse nearly bolted through the wall.

Jordan was making a deliberate point of stopping and speaking to the workers, commenting on their labor and asking thoughtful, keen questions. It wasn’t long before they responded to her openly, as if she did not speak with a thick burr. There were a few that were less friendly than others, but no one was openly hostile and that relieved her greatly. She realized that it was because her escorts were silently threatening each and every one of them behind her back, but she didn’t care. As long as it gave her a chance to talk to them, she figured she could do the rest on her own.

She wanted them to see the woman, not hate the Scot. Even if she knew nothing about their trade, she was intent on learning. She was bent on making acquaintance with these people, to let them see their future countess and to allow them to see that she was not their enemy.

They wound their way around to the rear of the fortress where the kitchens were. Children dashed about, chasing each other and playing games Jordan smiled. She liked children and she hoped they would give her a chance to be their friend, too.

A group of small ones passed too close to Deinwald and he barked angrily at them. They scattered like rabbits, save one little girl who fell down in her panic. She sat on the ground whimpering as she nursed a scraped knee, her big blue eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Deinwald. Jordan rushed to her, dropping to her knees beside the little girl.

“There, there, lass,” she said soothingly. “Let me see it.”

Sniffling, the little girl let her see the scrape and Jordan smiled reassuringly. “Is that all?” She drew out her handkerchief and brushed away the dirt and dabbed at the little bit of blood there was. “All better. See?”

The girl looked at the small wound, letting Jordan’s gentle touch ease the sting. Once, she stole a glance at the beautiful lady, thinking that her dress was prettier than an angel’s and she smelled good, too. She felt special that the lady was paying attention to her. She wasn’t quite so scared of the knights with the lady protecting her. When Jordan smiled at her, she returned it.

“What’s yer name?” Jordan smoothed away a stray lock of dark hair.

“Mary Alys,” the little girl replied with a heavy lisp.

“How old are ye, Mary Alys?” she asked.

“I shall be five years next week,” the girl replied. “How old are you?”

Jordan smiled broadly. “I am twenty years. Old, is it not?”

The little girl shrugged and they both giggled. Then Jordan rose and pulled the child to her feet, brushing off her simple and rather dirty dress.