Page 28 of Falling for the Knight

“No ale in Maine?”

She looked surprised.

“Beer,” she said. “We call it beer, and I always thought they were the same. But I guess not. This is hardly recognizable.”

They ate in silence, listening to the woods come alive. Having grown up in a town, it had taken Tristan some time to become accustomed to traveling through the woods. The first few times he’d ventured away from home, he had been terrified of the noises that came from the darkness. He was no longer that boy, but that didn’t mean other fears did not haunt him.

“So tell me more of it. The future.”

While she spoke, Tristan attempted to concentrate on her words. He should be enthralled. After all, she supposedly told him of the fate of his country. Of the world. But all he could think of was running his hands up along the edge of her gown, using her legs as a guide—

“You’re not listening,” she mumbled. “Typical man.”

She seemed to have many comments about the typical behavior of “men.” Against his better judgment, he asked her about it. “Are men so terrible then, in your time?”

Hannah took the ale from him, drank again, and frowned. “Some, yes.”

And that was all she offered.

Tristan tried again.

“You said women have more ‘opportunities’ in your time. They are considered equal, allowed to vote—”

“Yeah, well, change is difficult. Moving from your time . . . this time . . . where women are thought of like cattle—”

“Do I treat you that way?”

Hannah’s brows drew together. “No, you don’t. Why?”

“Why don’t I treat you like a cow?”

She laughed, the sound drifting through the night.

“When we first met, on the beach, I thought you were a pompous brute.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I suppose because of your size. And your authoritative manner, ordering everyone around as you do.”

“If I order ‘everyone around,’ it’s only because in battle, the men cannot question my words. They must go onto that field knowing I will always do what is best for them, for my people. It’s necessary for them to trust me, whatever they may think of the situation.”

It had taken some time for Tristan to learn that lesson. His first few years at Saxford had not been easy ones. But he’d earned his people’s trust, and he meant to keep it.

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I dated too many jocks . . . men who play sports and care of little else.”

He was curious to know what was considered a sport in her day, but Tristan was much more curious about something else.

“This ‘dating’ you speak of . . . How many times do you do such a thing if you do not intend to marry these men?”

“Please do not make me explain double standards to you, Tristan.”

He had no idea what she meant, so he finished the last of his dried meat and rose to stoke the fire, waiting for her to explain.

“You date as many men as you want, until you find the right one.”

Tristan’s curiosity got the best of him. “And how many boyfriends have you dated?”

Her chuckle was so unexpected, Tristan frowned. “What have I said?”