Page 23 of My Highland Bride

“Aye.”

Though at first I’m glad for her agreement, we’re not far away from the tents before I begin to regret the offer. Reyne fits snugly in front of me, her hair just inches from my nose, the scent of roses particularly pleasant compared to the stench I’ve been subjected to all day: men who’ve not bathed in days despite participating in various events.

One of the oddities at the capital is that baths are regular occurrences, and it’s something I’ve become accustomed to. I’m unsure how Reyne manages to smell so sweet.

“I am a bit nervous,” she says, turning back toward me. In the growing darkness, I cannot see her freckles.

“This is really nothing more than an out of doors feast.”

She looks to the left of us, away from the castle.

In truth, I am nervous too, but the problem of Rawlins’s cryptic meeting and the possibility of an impending disaster cannot be solved this night. I vow to put it out of my mind and concentrate on winning the hand of the woman I’ve now resolved to make my own.

She doesn’t answer. There is nothing to the left of us save the woods and a vast stretch of marshland beyond it. Up ahead, the castle and its many torchlights. Behind us and to the right, the fields and tents from which we just came.

“Reyne?”

She doesn’t answer.

“What is out here that worries you so?”

She turns away from me so that I cannot see her face any longer. A pity.

“The stream.”

The stream?

“’Tis that way, is it not?” she presses.

“Aye.”

I do not understand. Until I do.

Fear is as irrational as it is powerful. It is a lesson I’ve had occasion to learn.

“We will be nowhere near it. That stream cannot hurt you. Do you understand? You are safe, Reyne.”

“I am, aye. ’Tis such a silly thing.”

I pull on the reins, stopping us completely. When she turns back toward me, I resist the urge to kiss her as a way to appease her fear.

“It is not a silly thing. You were there when she drowned, weren’t you?” I guess.

“Aye.”

“There is nothing more painful than watching someone die, especially someone you love.”

Or someone you had a direct hand in killing. Unfortunately, I know what that is like from experience.

“That pain will never go away,” I say, as much to her as myself. “But you will learn to live with it, and to think of your sister without guilt.”

Her eyes widen.

“I will not tell you ’twas not your fault, because you will likely never believe me. But I will tell you this, Reyne. Someday you will stand along a riverbank without fear.”

She shakes her head, but I saw the look in her eyes. I know why she hasn’t come to this tournament before. Why she seems less carefree than the girl I once knew. Why the light within her has dimmed.

“Nay,” she says, not believing me. But she does not have to. I can believe in her enough for us both.