could read it on
her face. Embarrassed, she turned away.
If William noticed, he didn’t say
so. While he personally saw to the settling of his men, Paris and three other
knights sat with Jordan and the two Scottish maids she had brought with her.
Paris politely built a fire, smiling openly at her, but Jordan stared at the
ground. Without William to protect her, she was terrified of the strange
knight.
The other three knights seemed to be
interested in anything other than her. Every so often they would glance over at
her, a sort of appraising glance, and then look away as if mulling over their
findings. When they looked away, Jordan would spy at them to see if she could
tell what they were thinking. She knew they hated her, just as she despised
them. She wondered darkly if they wanted to throw her into the flames of the
fire and say it was an accident.
One knight, a young, massively built
blond with untamed curls, had the surliest expression she had ever seen. She
was decidedly afraid of him, whereas the other two, a handsome dark-blond man
with massive neck and shoulders, and an extremely tall dark-haired knight
seemed to be looking at her with curiosity.
She recognized the man with the
thick neck; he had ridden into Langton with William, as had the tall blond. He
seemed to have a naturally gentle expression, one that was difficult to put
into words, and looking at the pure size of the man, she found it difficult to
believe he was gentle in any way. His eyes were inquisitive on her, honest, and
she actually met his gaze for a moment.
It was an odd stand-off game,
everyone staring at everyone else and no one saying a word. Jordan was feeling
vastly uncomfortable.
Paris stood back from the fire,
watching her intently. Educated and charming, he was an arrogant rogue who had
more ladies than he knew what to do with. Women seemed to love his cocky manner
and charisma. Looking over at his lord’s bride, he could see why William had
kept her so close to his vest. She was terribly exquisite.
“Tell me, Lady Jordan, have you
traveled from Langton before?” he asked pleasantly.
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Nay, my lord.”
“I see,” Paris replied. “Then you
have never been to Edinburgh?”
“Nay, my lord,” she repeated, then
added. “But my mother was born in Edinburgh. We have kin there.”
Ah, so she can speak in a
delightful honeyed voice , he thought to himself. Her burr was distinct but
not too heavy.
“And what sorts of entertainment do
you enjoy at Langton?” he asked, making conversation. She seemed dreadfully ill
at ease.
She met his eye then. “We dance and
sing a good deal,” she said timidly. “And my Da reads aloud to us on occasion,
though I dunna understand much of Greek poetry.”
“Greek poetry.” the surly young
knight scoffed. “God, I had no idea Scots could even read.”
Paris shot him a deadly look. “I do
not believe you have been invited into this conversation, Deinwald.”
Deinwald continued to smirk. Jordan,
startled by his loud declaration, suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry. It was
the hatred she had only felt before, now spoken aloud. The lines were
established.
“Do you have a favorite prose, my
lady?” Paris asked, warming to the conversation and ignoring the loud mouth
knight.
Her lower lip quivered. He had
inadvertently reminded her of something her father had said to her in private
the night before. He had been drunk, trying to drown his guilt in whisky, and
had sought her out. He had held her, reciting the story of Danae and Perseus,
and of Zeus who had abandoned them reluctantly. ‘Twas not her favorite prose he
spoke, but it was the one that stuck with her.
“Last night my father recalled a
song of the Greek Simonides, something he found particularly appropriate,” she
said quietly and with feeling. “‘Twas a long prose, but I remember the words he
emphasized to me, the words Zeus spoke expressing his pain at having to send
Danae and
her face. Embarrassed, she turned away.
If William noticed, he didn’t say
so. While he personally saw to the settling of his men, Paris and three other
knights sat with Jordan and the two Scottish maids she had brought with her.
Paris politely built a fire, smiling openly at her, but Jordan stared at the
ground. Without William to protect her, she was terrified of the strange
knight.
The other three knights seemed to be
interested in anything other than her. Every so often they would glance over at
her, a sort of appraising glance, and then look away as if mulling over their
findings. When they looked away, Jordan would spy at them to see if she could
tell what they were thinking. She knew they hated her, just as she despised
them. She wondered darkly if they wanted to throw her into the flames of the
fire and say it was an accident.
One knight, a young, massively built
blond with untamed curls, had the surliest expression she had ever seen. She
was decidedly afraid of him, whereas the other two, a handsome dark-blond man
with massive neck and shoulders, and an extremely tall dark-haired knight
seemed to be looking at her with curiosity.
She recognized the man with the
thick neck; he had ridden into Langton with William, as had the tall blond. He
seemed to have a naturally gentle expression, one that was difficult to put
into words, and looking at the pure size of the man, she found it difficult to
believe he was gentle in any way. His eyes were inquisitive on her, honest, and
she actually met his gaze for a moment.
It was an odd stand-off game,
everyone staring at everyone else and no one saying a word. Jordan was feeling
vastly uncomfortable.
Paris stood back from the fire,
watching her intently. Educated and charming, he was an arrogant rogue who had
more ladies than he knew what to do with. Women seemed to love his cocky manner
and charisma. Looking over at his lord’s bride, he could see why William had
kept her so close to his vest. She was terribly exquisite.
“Tell me, Lady Jordan, have you
traveled from Langton before?” he asked pleasantly.
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Nay, my lord.”
“I see,” Paris replied. “Then you
have never been to Edinburgh?”
“Nay, my lord,” she repeated, then
added. “But my mother was born in Edinburgh. We have kin there.”
Ah, so she can speak in a
delightful honeyed voice , he thought to himself. Her burr was distinct but
not too heavy.
“And what sorts of entertainment do
you enjoy at Langton?” he asked, making conversation. She seemed dreadfully ill
at ease.
She met his eye then. “We dance and
sing a good deal,” she said timidly. “And my Da reads aloud to us on occasion,
though I dunna understand much of Greek poetry.”
“Greek poetry.” the surly young
knight scoffed. “God, I had no idea Scots could even read.”
Paris shot him a deadly look. “I do
not believe you have been invited into this conversation, Deinwald.”
Deinwald continued to smirk. Jordan,
startled by his loud declaration, suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry. It was
the hatred she had only felt before, now spoken aloud. The lines were
established.
“Do you have a favorite prose, my
lady?” Paris asked, warming to the conversation and ignoring the loud mouth
knight.
Her lower lip quivered. He had
inadvertently reminded her of something her father had said to her in private
the night before. He had been drunk, trying to drown his guilt in whisky, and
had sought her out. He had held her, reciting the story of Danae and Perseus,
and of Zeus who had abandoned them reluctantly. ‘Twas not her favorite prose he
spoke, but it was the one that stuck with her.
“Last night my father recalled a
song of the Greek Simonides, something he found particularly appropriate,” she
said quietly and with feeling. “‘Twas a long prose, but I remember the words he
emphasized to me, the words Zeus spoke expressing his pain at having to send
Danae and
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