Page 18 of My Highland Bride

Reyne

“I cannot look.”

Sitting with Warin on the wooden stands and watching as Erik takes his place, axe in hand, I feel the urge to cover my eyes. Aside from the melee, the Triumph is one of the most prestigious events at this tourney, but it is also one of the most dangerous. Our uncle was badly injured years ago on this very field the last time this tourney was held at Ledenhill. Since then, my father has skipped it each year. Warin doesn’t participate either.

I recognize the dangers of the melee are just as great, but logic does not seem to play a role when it comes to this tourney. Or, in fact, in many things Highlander men hold dear.

And yet, two days after arriving at Ledenhill, I am enjoying myself more than I would have thought possible. Aside from some lewd stares and even a few comments that made my ears turn pink, these past few days have been some of the best of my life.

The sense of camaraderie among the Highland families is unmistakable. Blackwell has hosted gatherings and feasts in the past, but none compare to the scope of this tourney. According to Warin, the melee on the last day is the greatest event of all, but if we left now I would be happy.

And then there is Erik.

Last eve, he and Warin drank outside our tent, and my family sat with him for the entirety of the opening day feast. We’ve only spoken around others, and then only briefly, but I’ve oft felt his gaze on me. I’ve wanted to get closer, to talk more intimately, yet I cannot forget his relationship with the queen.

He may be charming. And handsome. And clearly a man of influence. But he is not mine. And I shall never be with a man whose heart belongs to another.

Erik’s axe lands in the center of the painted circle. The poor tree never stood a chance.

I gasp. “Did he win? How can he throw the axe that far so accurately?”

Warin watches me but does not answer.

“Why are you looking at me thus?”

Not for the first time, I feel as if something is amiss. Warin, in particular, has been behaving oddly.

“You like him?” His words sound more like an accusation than a question.

“I hardly know him,” I counter.

“You did once.”

“That was many, many years ago.”

Cheers break out, interrupting our conversation. Erik speaks to the constable and then seems to glance our way.

“Aye,” Warin says, standing, “he has won. And I believe he wishes to speak to you.”

Sure enough, Erik is walking toward us. Without his surcoat, he looks less like a commander and more like a Highlander today. Leather boots, breeches, and a loose linen shirt, its ties hanging open at his chest. I cannot take my eyes off him.

I get up so quickly I almost trip.

“‘I hardly know him,’” Warin mocks as he assists me down the stands. I don’t have time to shush him before Erik reaches us.

“Well done,” I offer, dropping the skirts I’d lifted to descend the steps. As spectators stream past us, we move off to the side of the field.

“Rawlins seems pleased,” my brother comments to Erik. And, indeed, his opponent is staring at us with obvious contempt. I look away quickly.

Erik huffs a laugh. “He is a traitorous backstabber who did not deserve to regain his lands.”

I look between Erik and my brother, attempting to pretend the former is just an acquaintance. Truthfully, I’ve never dreamed of kissing any of my acquaintances . . . or any man, until this morn. Not even Sir Edward, the only man I’ve actually kissed. My parents hinted at a possible match between the border lord and me, and he visited us at Blackwell on his way to the coast. When he approached me in the garden one day, I decided not to decline his offer of a kiss.

Handsome, though not nearly as so as Erik, Sir Edward was also extremely courteous. But that kiss . . . it was nothing like the tales my sister was so fond of reading about, kisses so wondrous they made men, and women, do reckless things.

Before Fara died, I didn’t think to marry for love. I expected to be matched with someone who might strengthen Moray alliances. But my sister dreamed of a match like our parents’ marriage, and after she died, I started to imagine what Fara would have said about each of my suitors. This one was a bore. That one would never let me alone. Another would not allow me an opinion.

I still wait for the day Father’s patience will run out, and I will be told to marry. But, thankfully, it did not happen with Sir Edward.