Page 12 of To Honor

“’Tis very generous of you, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Evelina said as one of his fellow knights slowed and moved to join them. He also took off his helm. The blacksmith. He had been to Ashcroft Manor not long ago. Also a very good-looking man, though much quieter than Sir Gareth. He did not seem to smile as easily as Gareth, either.

“Good day, my lady,” he said, looking from her to Sir Gareth. “Sir Alden,” he added. “We met at your home when you and your father graciously welcomed me here.”

“Sir Alden,” she said. She indicated her maid. “This is my maid, Amalia.”

“Greetings,” he said to her as Amalia murmured back the same.

“Perhaps you wish to join us?” Sir Alden said to his companion. In response, Gareth smiled as he did so often.

“Perhaps.” He glanced back down. “If you do find yourself in the village again, perhaps we will meet again.”

“Perhaps,” she said, thinking to leave their conversation at that. Except, there was a part of her, a reckless part of her, that did not wish to leave their meeting again to chance. “I might see you here tomorrow?”

Though she could not see Amalia’s expression, Evelina could imagine it. Her maid would be shocked, for certain. Alden glanced at Sir Gareth, who continued to look down at her, as if trying to determine her purpose.

To see you again.

It was foolish. And misguided. And would lead to naught. Even so . . .

“We are given leave during the midday meal,” he said to Sir Alden. “Are we not?”

“Aye,” the knight agreed. “Though we must go.”

Evelina had also noticed their riding party was well beyond them. If any noticed the two errant knights, they gave no indication of it.

“I will be here,” he said. “Tomorrow at midday.”

She nodded.

With that, both men replaced their helms and rode away. She watched Sir Gareth until he was near out of view.

“Did you just arrange to meet that man here tomorrow?”

Evelina turned to Amalia as if she floated above the ground, ignoring her friend’s expression. “Perhaps.”

“Evie.” Her maid pulled her close, as close as possible with baskets of bread between them. “This does not bode well. Your father has you all but promised already.”

“Promised to a man who may or may not take the throne someday? Who just as well may remain an outlaw? One who does not know I exist? I’ve as much chance to actually wed”—she lowered her voice—“the empress’s son as the actual King of England himself.”

“It matters not. You will wed him or someone as titled. The choice will not be your own.”

Evelina raised her chin. “As I’ve been told many times.”

“Then why agree to meet him?”

Why indeed?

“Because I wish to see him again.”

“To what end?”

If she were younger, Evelina would cross her arms. But she was no child, even if she wished to act like one now. Of course, Amalia was right.

“I do not know.”

“I do,” Amalia said, her voice firm. “I know now why you are enamored with him. The man is as handsome as they come. And that smile . . .” She sighed. “I do not blame you for such feelings, but you are not me. You are not free to pursue him, Evie, and know it well.”