She fought off a smile. “You flatter me.”
“I speak the truth.”
Catalina wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she simply let her smile blossom as a silent gesture of thanks.
“It has been quite an evening, my lord,” she said. “I am certain you have other things to attend to, so I will bid you a good night.”
“Indeed,” he said, dipping his head as he prepared to walk away. But he stopped as if a thought had just occurred to him. “My lady, would it be too bold to ask for a favor to carry for tomorrow’s bouts? Something that will bring me luck?”
She appeared surprised by the request. “A favor?” she said. “From me?”
“You are my betrothed, are you not?”
Catalina almost had to think about that. It was such a strange thing to consider, but he was right. Shewashis betrothed. Without hesitation, she pulled her hair, thick and wavy, over her shoulder and untied the blue silk ribbon that was securing the braid at the bottom.
“Will this be acceptable?” she said, extending it to him. “I do not know what else I can give you.”
He took the ribbon gratefully. “This is perfect,” he said. “I can tuck it into my tunic easily. Thank you, my lady. This is very kind of you.”
“I hope it helps.”
He chuckled. Then he reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
“It already has,” he said softly.
With that, he turned and headed for the gatehouse, but he turned back around to look at her a couple of times as he walked. Catalina grinned, waving at him both times, watching him as he finally picked up the pace and jogged through the open gates, disappearing inside.
Sweet Jesú… Is this really happening? Is Essien too good to be true?
She couldn’t help but wonder. Certainly, he was beautiful to look at. He was quite tall, with long, muscular arms, broad chest, and narrow torso. His eyes had an ethereal quality to them, a sublime color that was a shade of golden brown. It was pale and lovely. But his smile was his most brilliant feature, for his big white teeth positively lit up the sky when he smiled. That smile made her feel the least bit quivery, too. She’d never felt that way before, so it was both intriguing and exciting.
Hewas intriguing and exciting.
Her prince.
With a smile playing on her lips, she headed off to bed.
CHAPTER TEN
Even in thedark, he could see the tournament in the distance.
The Welsh marches were historically a brutal and mysterious place, lands that were both Welsh and English, lands that had seen more battles than most. There was a certain aura that settled over the area, an aura that conveyed ancient tribes and great passion. There were two kinds of people who loved these lands and loved them enough to fight to the death for them. Those battles had been going on for centuries for reasons that probably would not be decided in his lifetime. Truthfully, he’d never been to the Welsh marches before, but here he was.
He was seeking something.
But finding it was difficult. It had all started on a ship sailing for Calais, one that had caught fire when they were in sight of the shore. It had started when the stove on the ship’s middeck used for cooking and heat ignited some nearby bed fodder. After that, everything went up like a torch. He didn’t even remember why he’d been on the ship, only that he had, and the one thing he had managed to take with him was a small gold cross pendant. The front of the cross had semiprecious carnelian stones on it, and on the back there was an inscription. It readAllez avec Dieu. Go with God. He remembered stealing the cross off someone as theship went up in flames, a man who was already dead. A friend of his, he’d remembered later.Al. Al with the expensive gold cross he liked to flash around. He’d been flashing it around that night.
That was how he’d remembered to take it.
But that fire, for him, had been the first step in a journey where God was not present. That little cross with its inscription mocked him, because he’d stolen it and God did not reward thieves. When he’d grabbed it off Al’s neck, it had been searing hot, so the imprint of it was on his right palm. The fire had been so hot and so terrible that it had damaged most of the skin on his body, including his nose and most of his hair. Men still cringed when they looked at him, and women still fainted, so he’d quickly learned to cover himself up so no one would see the horror he had become.
A caricature of his former self.
A man with no name, no past, and no future.
Along with the external damage had come the internal. The fire had also scorched his lungs and prevented him from breathing properly, so he’d been deprived of enough oxygen that his memory was gone and his way of thinking was rudimentary at best. He could speak still, but the words were slow and simple. He could walk, but it was stilted. He could dress himself and feed himself, but barely.
That damnable fire had taken everything from him.
