Willow walked to the horse and took her reins in hand. She stared at the landscape. “Which field do you want her in?”
Milo pointed to a distant stretch of land. “Let ’er go by that tree.”
Willow led the mare toward the field.
When she was out of earshot, Milo stared at her and murmured to Christian, “Lucky bastard.”
Christian paused to gaze at Willow. “You have no idea.”
Christian cut the last piece of wood for the fire and piled it onto the rest. He wiped his forehead with his arm. Milo had gone into the home for ale.
“Christian!” a woman’s voice called.
He recognized the tone and inhaled, preparing for the confrontation.
Bea raced toward him, her arms outstretched. “I knew you’d return!”
Christian casually stepped behind a stack of wood to block her embrace. “I had to return the mare,” he said. He didn’t want to be cruel, but he had to be firm. “I want you to meet my betrothed.”
Her hands dropped, and the joy evaporated from her face. “Betrothed?”
Christian looked at the field where Willow was crossing to them.
Bea put a hand to her forehead to shield her gaze from the sun. “Her? Wasn’t she the one with you before?”
“Yes.” He walked to Willow, intercepting her path.
Bea didn’t follow.
“Is everything well?” Willow asked quietly, her stare on Bea.
“Just an introduction,” Christian warned. He took her hand into his and guided her to Bea. “Bea, this is my betrothed, Willow.”
Bea scowled, and her gaze slid from Christian to Willow and back. “Only nobles get betrothed.”
“She is my intended, Bea. I am going to wed her. She will become my wife.”
Willow stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Bea.”
Christian didn’t think that even Willow’s charm could ease Bea’s hurt.
Bea’s face crumpled, and tears filled her brown eyes.
Willow clasped her hands. “Christian is not meant for you,” she said kindly.
Bea bowed her head.
Willow gazed at Christian for a moment before squeezing Bea’s hand sympathetically. “You have to find a man you can depend on when there is no one else. Someone who will go the ends of the lands to protect you.”
Christian realized Willow was describing him.
“A man who looks at you as though you are his world. Who touches you with soft caresses that stir your very soul. Whose glance melts your heart.”
Bea stared at her, hopeful yet saddened. “How will I know when I find him?”
“You’ll know,” Willow said gently. “In your heart, you’ll know.”
Bea peered at Willow for a long moment.
