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“Very well,” he said, looking up to the ramparts as they passed through the gate. “I will see what I can do.”

She beamed. “Thank ye, English. What would I do without ye?”

“Fortunately, madam, you will never have to find out,” he replied quietly. There were ears about.

The outer bailey was jammed with peasants going about their tasks. Jordan watched as a man with a cart loaded with bundles of fabric passed before her and she clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh, I must look at that!” she exclaimed, running to the man to stop him as William followed close behind.

He divided his attention between watching her happily inspect the goods and keeping his eyes roving about the bailey, watching for anything threatening. ’Twas a habit he had long had. He looked up and caught Paris looking down on him from the top of the inner wall. They did nothing more than nod at each other, but he knew Paris was also vigilantly searching the crowd for any hostility on Jordan’s behalf.

Jordan. He looked at her as she inspected a pile of topaz-colored silk as if it were a prize stallion. Every movement was fluid, every expression filled with a thousand words. The more he watched her, the more he realized that Normandy was indeed a fine place to live. As much as he loved Northwood, he loved her more. He’d always loved her, from the moment he had first seen her. There was never any doubt in his mind.

He was amazed that this small, delicate woman had the power to make him forget everything that was important to him until he realized that the only thing of true importance was her. He had been a soldier all of his life. He had an auspicious reputation that he had obtained through the sheer act of doing, not because he had set out to earn a name for himself. Although he was proud of his reputation and everything he had achieved in his lifetime, it was empty and meaningless without Jordan to share it with.

He sighed, bracing his legs apart and crossing his arms over his chest. He was the epitome of strength and power, of perfect knightly skill. He had not one flaw in the world except her. He had feared that his love for her would make him weak when, in fact, he felt omnipotent.

“Sir William.” her voice snapped him out of his train of thought. When he looked at her she smiled and pointed to two bolts of material. “Will ye see that these are taken to my rooms?”

“Aye, my lady,” he looked over his shoulder and, seeing two of his soldiers nearby, let out a shrill whistle from his teeth and motioned them over.

With the material en route to her chambers, they resumed their walk back to the inner bailey. Ahead of them, they saw Deinwald; his tunic-less torso gleaming magnificently under the late morning sun. He was leading William’s destrier to the blacksmith’s lean-to. He did not see William or Jordan as they walked behind him.

Jordan watched the back of his shaggy blond head. “Ooch, he’s the worst,” she said. “He will probably punch me in the nose for getting him in trouble.”

William watched Deinwald, knowing the man’s thoughts on Lady Jordan far better than she did, and punching her in the nose was the last thing on his mind. He ignored her statement because she knew full well his knights brought their punishment on themselves, as he had told her before.

“His backside and my destrier’s look quite alike, don’t you think?” he remarked.

She burst into giggles and playfully slapped his arm. He tried to maintain a stoic face, but in faith, he liked to hear her laugh.

“They sway the same way, too.” His right hand mimicked the sashay of the animal.

“Stop!” she snickered. “Poor Deinwald, being compared to a horse.”

“Just a moment ago he was going to punch you in the nose and now you defend him,” he shook his head. “Are you always such a paradox, my lady?”

She shrugged lightly and smiled at the ground. Then she stopped.

“Oh, look,” she said, and bent down and picked a small purple flower that was growing wild amidst all of the dust and muck. “A violet,” she stood and half turned to him, holding it up. “My Aunt Lilith says that…”

A high-pitched whistling interrupted her statement a split second later than William did. He knew the sound all too well but only had time to put his hands on her arms before she was hit in the shoulder by a force so violent that she slammed into him, knocking him off-balance. At the first horrified glance, William thought the arrow had hit her in the back of the neck.

Jordan honestly wasn’t sure what had happened. All she knew was that the pain was unbelievable, radiating from her shoulder down her back and into her arms. She tried to stand up straight, tried to talk to him, but his arms were around her and he was yelling orders louder than she ever thought it possible for a man to yell.

Her shoulder and arm felt wet and warm and she realized it must be her own blood she felt. Her last coherent thought before blissful darkness claimed her was, Sweet Jesu,’ another Sassenach throwing boulders…?

William had Jordan up in his arms before she even had a chance to go limp. Paris had practically jumped off the wall and was at his side, along with Deinwald and nearly every other knight save Kieran and Marc. But they were coming, William knew, for they had heard the battle cry.

Paris held out his arms. “Give her to me.” he demanded. “Let me take her into the castle.”

“No, damnation!” William snarled. “I will do it.”

Paris had taken care of quite a few more battle wounds than William and was quite competent. He sent Corin for Byron and tried again.

“William, she needs that arrow removed immediately,” he said with controlled urgency. He did not like the look in William’s eye. “Give her to me now. Please.”

William looked at him, and Paris was almost physically impacted by the pain he read in the depths. William was struggling with fear such as he had never known. He was terrified that if he let go of Jordan he would never see her alive again. But the terror lasted only a few short moments until his years of training took over.