Page 7 of My Highland Bride

“Aye.”

I would do that, and more, to win back Cettina’s confidence. When the queen named me as second commander, my father had never been so proud. And then “the Hilla affair,” its fallout, and the princess’s disgrace. All because of me and my poor instincts.

Aye, I would do anything to find success here.

I stand.

“To Moray,” I say. “’Tis time to get this done.”

4

Reyne

Rubbing my temples, I return to my father’s tent, now empty as the men have all gone off to the jousting field. Thankfully, I thought to bring a pouch of peppermint. I only hope it will work better this time than it did the last.

I find the satchel easily among my things. Heading back outside, I look toward the circle of rocks with the cold wood gathered inside, wishing there were still a fire so that I might boil some water. I could chew the peppermint, but I’ve found drinking it works better.

Though I’ve never started a fire on my own before, I’ve watched the men do it on this journey and am sure I can manage it easily. After retrieving a knife from the tent, I pick up a rock and bend down in front of the pile of wood, striking the knife repeatedly against the metal as I’ve seen Father’s men do.

I see sparks but nothing more.

“You’ve missed a few steps there, my lady.”

I shoot up and spin around toward the voice.

Forgetting my poor attempts at making a fire, I stare at the stranger before me. He is, quite easily, the most handsome man I’ve ever met.

He is even taller than my father and brother. And wider in the shoulders. A Highlander, aye. But his hair is shorter, more like a Southerner. Or a man of court, likely one who arrived under the queen’s banner.

I don’t know him, but there is something vaguely familiar about the man.

“I . . .” Words fail me before they return in a rush. “I’ve never started a fire before.”

The queen’s man takes a step toward me. I should be afraid to find myself alone with him. I promised Father not to go anywhere without an escort, but when I could not find any of his men unoccupied, I decided to return to the tent on my own.

“I can see that.”

His smile demands a response. Although embarrassed to have been caught as such by a noble guardsman, I manage to collect myself. I toss the rock back onto the pile and slip the knife into the fold in my gown. His eyes fall to the pouchof herbs still clutched in my hand.

“Peppermint?”

My eyes widen. How could he know such a thing?

“Aye.”

It is a wonder I can speak at all. I’ve asked my mother, many times, to tell me the story of how she met Father. Always she tells me this: the moment he stepped into the hall, she was struck silent by the sight of him. Even now, she finds him the most handsome man in existence. The guardsman reaches for my hand. “May I see it?”

He wants to see my peppermint?

“Did you pick it in early bloom but when no more new leaves were being formed?”

I take a stem out and attempt to hand it to him but am mortified to realize my fingers are trembling. Does he notice as I drop it into his hand? Surely he does.

“What do you use it for?” he asks, examining it.

Since it feels odd to confess a headache to a stranger, I grapple for an appropriate answer. But it seems I’ve taken too long.

“You’ve nothing to fear from me, Lady Reyne.”