Page 31 of My Highland Bride

I’ve drunk two full goblets, rather quickly.

“Aye,” I say, despite it. Taking the goblet from her, I move to a darkened corner as Erik emerges. I left him in a rage, not considering how I would return to the tents. I could walk, of course. It is far, but not so far as to be impossible. But what if I wander in the wrong direction under the cover of darkness, toward the river?

Shuddering at the thought, I sip my wine and decide to ask our host for an escort back. Of course, Erik, who is looking for me, is standing directly next to the man.

Why must he be so handsome? And kind?

And in love with the queen?

It is clear the rumors are true, and he did not even trouble himself to deny them. As I said to him, the idea of marrying a man who loves another . . . I would prefer to be wed to the doddering old fool who visited Blackwell during our May Day celebrations to ask my father to accept a union between us.

Since then, Father has broached the subject more often, but I always deflect the topic back to my brother. He is both older and the heir to Blackwell. Surely he should marry first? But nay, he is allowed to wander the Isle to discover himself while I remain in the mountains with no prospects for a husband and a father increasingly inclined to find me one.

Indeed, Erik Stokerton would have been more than acceptable.

I thought he would kiss me. And I’d have let him do it. What would it be like to kiss a man such as he? He would be well-practiced, a fact that does not exactly recommend him. But still . . .

“Do you think a woman such as you could possibly hide, Reyne?”

My shoulders sag in defeat. I turn, wondering how he managed to sneak up on me when I was looking at him just a moment ago.

“You clearly know nothing of your own appeal.”

My traitorous heart flutters at his compliment. Weak. I am a weak little fool to be wooed by his honeyed words now that he’s shared his true intention.

“I am not hiding.” I hold up my goblet. “Merely enjoying a bit of wine.”

I expect him to chastise me, as my father would surely do at such excess, but he merely smiles.

“Then I shall stand with you, enjoying . . .” He looks around, but there is no maidservant nearby. Having satisfied himself that we are alone, he turns his attention back to me. “. . . you enjoying your wine.”

Oh dear. Resist, Reyne.

“I’d have left already.” I take a sip. “But alas, I’ve no mount or sense of which direction our tents lie.”

“I am aware.”

“Though I’d have found my way.”

“I am aware of that as well.”

I cannot think normally when he is this near.

“Would you like me to escort you back now, Lady Reyne?”

Before I can answer that, aye, I would like that, and also, nay, I would not, the musicians stop and the lord and lady of Ledenhill hold up their hands. We move away from the bonfire toward them.

“Greetings. Have you enjoyed your evening thus far?”

A cheer rises up. I pay mind to my goblet, and not to my companion.

“You are here, past and present champions and former hosts of the Tournament of Loigh.”

Father would never willingly miss such an honor. His decision to stay behind this eve shocked me, both because he has spoken highly of the event in the past and because he allowed me to be escorted alone. His behavior convinced me something was amiss, just like Warin’s, although both steadfastly denied any wrongdoing.

Liars, both of them.

“We gather as a reminder of our triumph over those who would conquer us. These are games, aye, but they represent unity of the Highland way. We also welcome a special guest this eve, the queen’s commander, Lord Erik Stokerton.”