Page 24 of My Highland Bride

10

Reyne

When Erik suggested we ride together, I could not think of a reason to say nay. I knew there was a stream beyond the castle. My father had readily agreed to enter the castle grounds from the west gate, farther away, but I didn’t feel comfortable telling Erik to do so. If I’d been on my own horse . . . but I wasn’t, and I found it impossible to admit my fear to him.

I should have expected Erik to react the way he did. A perfect knight, his manners refined from years at court, he knew precisely what to say. When we were children, I cannot say Erik Stokerton and I were friends, precisely. I saw him few times, and much of his visits he spent with my brother.

Now, as he gives the groom the horse’s reins, I’m sorry our fathers stopped speaking. Perhaps we could have been true friends.

Although the look he gives me now, the same one he graced me with as I came out of the tent, is not that of a friend. I find myself responding, my finger itching to push the lock of hair falling into his eye back into place. A fortnight ago, I wished only to learn how to live in the world without my sister. A sennight ago, I could think only of the journey here, the peril of crossing two rivers and coming closer to the water than I had since losing Fara.

These last two days, my thoughts have been more and more focused on the man offering his arm to me. And while it is a pleasant distraction, it is also a fleeting one. But does that mean I cannot enjoy it while it lasts?

“Good eve, my lord, my lady.”

We are hardly beyond the stables when an older man with kind eyes approaches us.

“I am the seneschal of Ledenhill Castle. As you know, Havefest is held out of doors. If you will walk that path, to the right of the keep, you’ll find your way to the small courtyard.”

A seneschal greeting us here is quite unusual. But then, my father warned me this night will be unlike any other feast I’ve ever attended. Erik and I exchange a glance, our arms tucked together. He smells musky, entirely pleasant, which I cannot say about some of the men we’ve journeyed with.

I realize I’m staring.

“Have you ever been greeted at the stables by a seneschal before?” I ask.

“Nay, I’ve not. But then this is my first Havefest, so I am prepared for anything.”

As we make our way up the cobblestone path, servants and other castle inhabitants watch us walk by. I feel very much on display, but also . . . content.

And something else I cannot name.

“Do you hear it?”

I do now. Music in the distance, up ahead.

“I am surprised you’ve not been to Havefest before.”

And then I realize the high compliment I’ve paid him. Only Triumph champions, those who have hosted the Tournament of Loigh in the past, the leaders of the melee, and the proclaimed champion of the winning side are invited to attend this event. Few men indeed.

“This is just my third time attending the tourney,” he says, “and only once did I participate in the melee.”

That surprises me.

“My father and brother attend every year,” I say.

The music becomes louder as we approach.

“After the Battle of Hendrelds Hill, my father became more distant. More of a Highlander, if such a thing is possible.”

I understand his meaning. We’re known for staying close to home. Traveling little, trusting few. This tournament is an exception.

“But this tourney?” I say. “My father says it is a reminder of Edingham’s foundation. The Tree of Loigh a symbol of new beginnings.”

“It is all of that. But . . .”

We slow down, now alone between the keep and another stone structure, mayhap the bakery or the kitchens? The music in the distance is louder now, and glowing torches line the pathway.

“That tree is not the same symbol for all,” he finishes.