Page 49 of My Highland Bride

Instead, I stare across the field to the treetops beyond it. I don’t know what transpired this morn. Erik and my brother slept among the trees last eve, and the first time I saw them today was on the field.

Did they discover anything at the dovecote?

And what, precisely, am I to do this day?

Erik’s answer last eve left me with more questions. I wish for more time, but I know we’ve run out.

A loud cheer forces my attention back onto the field. Soon no lances remain on the field, and as more and more men are “kidnapped,” the remainder are left unseated and on their feet. I find some measure of peace in knowing neither Warin nor Erik will be trampled or crushed to death.

“There is my husband,” Lady Arabelle cries. She points to a man wearing the green emblazoned surcoat. “Oh dear,” she says just as two men in blue capture him, one on each side.

Her shoulders sag. “He can little afford the price he’ll pay for that.”

“What do you mean?”

I know some of the rules of the melee but not all.

“Is it not just one silver coin to be released?”

She shakes her head. “Aye, but look more closely. Both he and his weapon must be ransomed, and a different man picked up his sword.”

Looking more closely, I realize that although Lady Arabelle’s kirtle is well-made, it is simply adorned.

“Does it not cost more to ransom a man than his sword?”

My companion shakes her head.

“Not a sword forged in Murwood End. It was given to him by his grandfather. I told him not to bring it here, but my husband is stubborn.”

I look more closely and realize the man now armed with two swords is none but Erik. I scream as he is ambushed from behind. He fights his opponent off as poor Lady Arabelle’s husband is dragged down the lengthy field.

The attacker retreats, and Erik appears safe, for now.

“Is that your husband?”

“Nay.” I watch as Bradyn runs onto the field in full armor and takes the sword from Erik.

“Your relative?”

I search the field for Warin but do not see him.

“He is either a man I knew in my childhood,” I say as the crowd cheers, though I cannot discern the reason, “or he will be my husband.”

Lady Arabelle’s eyes widen.

“Truly?”

There is no simple way to explain.

“He and my father wish to forge an alliance with our marriage. The decision, it seems, has been left to me.”

If she was surprised by my announcement of a possible marriage, she is much more so at this bit of news.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

She speaks in earnest, her words a needed reminder that despite this week’s deception my father has treated me kindly since Fara’s passing. And yet . . .

“Should we not all be given such a choice? In Pedair Cainc y Hempswood, the author, a Garra and direct descendant of Athea, says that even married women should be allowed to make and sign agreements and bear witness in disputes.”